


A Waning of Summer

by Gyldayn



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Artos Costayne, Dalton Pyke, Earl Harlaw, Elric Karstark, Galazza Galare - Freeform, Hallis Hornwood, Illeo Maegyr, Jojena Reed, Larence Hornwood, Lyanna Targaryen - Freeform, Meldred Merlyn, Warrick Manderly, gendry baratheon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-13 04:15:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 105
Words: 502,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21488191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gyldayn/pseuds/Gyldayn
Summary: "It's done. Targaryens are gone."It seemed so in year 305 After Conquest when winners of the game of thrones have taken it all.One who didn't want anything took the crown of Six Kingdoms, one who always wanted it took the crown of Kingdom in the North.One who was true heir was gone in the wilderness, beyond the Wall, a broken man bearing mark of queenslayer and kinslayer.One who dreamed of a good world was dead, a woman who slaughtered a city, who chose fear over love.For ten years Westeros has enjoyed peace. Winners of the game thought nothing can ever change that.Not even ignoring the will of two peoples in the south, nor even taking land of one people in the north. Winners were wrong.As they were wrong about certain family being gone.Winners of the game of thrones forgot the words of wisdom: "Nothing lasts."Update January 2021. - after watching the last season of "Vikings" - D&D should learn from it how to wrap up the character storylines, do bittersweet ending and all that without turning it into a dumpster fire. "Vikings" have also declined in last few seasons, but still managed to stay away from pointless shock value scenes and subversion of expectations.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Sansa Stark/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 646
Kudos: 491





	1. ARYA

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes off ten years after the events of Game of Thrones finale.  
It will include most of the characters from the GOT, but also those from ASoIaF books and original characters.  
Westeros and Essos politics, wars and magic.  
Targaryen revival.

_Qarth, Essos, year 315 After Conquest_

** ARYA**  


“I hate this fucking game!” he yelled turning the cyasse table over as her trebuchet removed his dragon from the board.  
“Pay what you owe me and hate it as much as you wish, Dalton.”  
Arya said with an amused smile while his eyes were killing her where she sat.  
And he would kill her, if he could. But Dalton Pyke, an Ironborn bastard, was no reason for her to worry.  
“Another time, Dalton,” she said, taking the money that was bet on this game before he could protest.  
She went out of the cabin on the ship’s deck and inhaled.  
The helmsman, man of House Manderly, leaned on a main mast stared at her, a smile on his face.  
“Ya like makin’ enemies outta worst of men, lass?”  
Her smile grew larger.  
“He is far from the worst of men. An eel, not a kraken, not even a squid.”  
He laughed loudly: “Ya’ve got sp’rit, my lass, I like it!”  
She paced the deck along the portside of the ship, taking the atmosphere of the place her vessel laid anchor.

Qarth.  
One of the greatest ports in the known world. It is a sheltered harbor full of colors, with large stone quays reserved for the ships of the various trade guilds.  
At the far end of the harbour are the quays where ships from the Summer Islands, Westeros and the Nine Free Cities are allowed to dock. And there her ship,_ Nymeria_, was docked as well.  
Near the port, winesinks, warehouses, gaming dens, cheap brothels, and temples to peculiar gods all clustered together.  
Qarth is a city of merchants, serving for many centuries as gateway of trade and culture between the east and west, and the north and south. The city has become wealthy due to its control of the Jade Gates.  
Qartheen trade with many goods, from spices and silk to elephants. And slaves, came to her mind as she laid foot on land, for third time since _ Nymeria_ docked, for the third time after ten moons at sea. 

__

Strange and magnificent. That was Qarth to Arya.  
And yet, after second time she went ashore, wish to see more of it was gone.  
That surprised her.  
Was she getting tired of seeing new things, new people, new lands… things strange and exciting, things different and dangerous.

_What is west of Westeros?_

Ten years. It was that long since the last time she laid eyes on her sister and brothers.  
And some moons over ten years when Winterfell was caught by her gaze.  
_ Nymeria_ started her journey from Oldtown, North had no real ports on its western coast.  
There was no need for Arya to go back home once all was done in the capital of Seven Kingdoms…. Six Kingdoms.  
She took another deep breath strolling across the quay remembering all those who were onboard her ship that day.  
Crew of Northmen, from White Harbour to Bear Island and Saltspear.  
She lost more than third of them on this voyage lasting half score of years.  
Storms, diseases, foes on strange shores, all took its toll.  
_ Nymeria_ came close to Westerosi coast just once, five years ago.  
Some men disembarked, some came aboard, but it was not Northern ship anymore.  
In course of time, crew came to be made of sailors from Iron Islands to Lannisport, even picking few Tyroshi and Summer Islanders.  
_ Nymeria_ was now manned by all sorts of skin colours. 

But long voyages exhaust not only sailors, they do that to ships as well.  
Arya’s direwolf of the sea needed repair, so she took the vessel through the straits between Essos and Ulthos, avoiding both land and pirates, passing by the Shadowlands and Asshai and then traversing the Jade Sea they reached the port of Yin in the land of Yi Ti. There first repairs were made, barely enough to help ship reach Qarth where she will be thoroughly overhauled._ Nymeria's_ decks were filled with merchandise from Yi Ti intended for Qartheen markets, vessel was engulfed with scent of saffron. _A needed improvement_, she stated in her mind while sailing towards Qarth, from usual odours. 

When reaching the furthermost point of the quay, she gazed towards the city for a while, even from where she was standing, she could see the high and slim towers reflecting the sun as they were coated in jade and obsidian.  
On the closest line of buildings, she saw their delicate balconies, build twice as thin as those she was used to back home.  
For a moment she was oblivious to the people around her, but just for a moment.  
Port seemed to her as a nest of angry ants, men coming and going in all directions, all sorts of men and some women as well.  
The Qartheen, tall pale folk in their linen and samite adorned with tiger fur, few women wore gowns that left one breast bare as was custom of Qarth, though hardly they were ladies, merely well-dressed pleasure slaves.  
Whores, as her helmsman would delicately put it. Others were foreigners, like her, Volantene merchants, Yunkish nobles in their tokars, a garment not fit for any kind of work, she spotted a band of drunk Arbor men waddling back to their ship, anchored nearby displaying the colours of House Redwyne, a blue shield with grape cluster on the main sail. 

Then someone brushed her arm passing… running by.  
A Braavosi boy, he couldn’t be counting more than seventeen namedays. A flanged mace in his hand, he rushed into a side alley where some of smaller warehouses of this quay could be found. Trouble.  
_Mind your own affairs, Arya. But… that is not me._

She went after the boy. Back in the alley, he and two more youths, all in clothes of Braavosi seafarers, cornered a little girl. Arya saw a dagger in girl’s hand and the way she was holding it spoke of training. And the blood stain on the shirt of oldest among the attackers, slash went across his chest.  
He had a knife in hand but was shaken enough so his two companions stepped forward, one with mace and other with hammer.  
_They picked up whatever came first from their boat and came after this… this child…_ Arya concluded as she was getting closer.

“Skoros gaomagon emi kesīr?” asked Arya in High Valyrian (_What do we have here?_) In ten years, she learned the main language of Essos well, though her gruff Northern accent remained. One of boys, the slashed one, turned to her:  
“Qrīdrughāks, Vesterozia live!”(_Go away, Westerosi whore!_)  
Hearing this, she gave the boy a look and a response that froze him where he stood:“Iā ābra iksis daor iā live. Iā ābra iksis daorys.”  
(_A woman is not a whore. A woman is No One._)  
His companions reacted the same and the very next instant they were running from the alley uttering in frightened tone: “Valar morghūlis”

“Valar dohaeris.” she nodded and then turned her attention to the girl who still kept her defensive posture, right hand bent in the elbow and raised to shield her face and chest with fist firmly grasping the dagger.  
Arya gave her a long look. A ten-year old, if she were any good at telling someone’s age. Raven black hair framed the pale skin of her face, eyes fixed on Arya with same sharp enmity as they were on the attackers.  
Dark tunic and breeches, garments fit for a boy. Then she noticed red trace on the girls’ left hand which she held tight to her side. And drops of blood on the ground.  
“Issi jeme paktot?” (_Are you all right?_)“Iksan daor jāre naejot ōdrikagon.” (_I am not going to harm you._)  
Girl did not reply nor did she move.  
“I figure you don’t understand me. Which means we have a problem since I don’t speak Ghiscari or Qartheen to save my life.”  
“Iksan mirre paktot. I am all right. And I speak the language of Sunset Kingdoms. Better than you speak Valyrian.” 

Arya nodded with smirk. Girl was actually right. She spoke Common Tongue without accent, like highborn speak in the Reach or Crownlands.  
“That may as well be true, but you’re not all right. You have cut on your left arm.”  
Girl turned her gaze and sighed seeing that Arya was right. “It is nothing. I gave him a better one.”  
“Aye, you did. He’ll remember you by that scar for many years to come. Still, you should have someone to tend that arm.”  
Girl again made no response. Arya gave her a long look again.  
“It is not polite to stare at other people.” said the girl angrily.  
“No, it is not. Just as it is not smart for noble girls to roam around such places. The port is the last where someone like you should be caught alone.” “I am not noble. And I am smart.”  
Arya almost laughed: “Oh, forgive me, I am ignorant about ways of the Qartheen, I didn’t know that even smallfolk here is fluent in both High Valyrian and Common Tongue. But even if you’re not noble, still you’re not smart either for being here on your own.  
You know what those Braavosi scum wanted to…”  
Arya paused. This girl is still too young to hear about the horrors which men can inflict to a girl, even in the youngest age.  
“What are you doing here in the first place?” 

Dark-haired child kept her silence for a short while and then finally lowering the dagger hand said with trace of disappointment in her voice: “I wanted to see the Wolf ship.”  
Arya’s eyes glowed: “The Wolf ship. Why?”  
“They say she has sailed across the whole world. And has a huge wolf head on the prow. It wanted to see that ship.”  
Now she was smiling at the girl. “What would you say if I were to take you to the Wolf ship and show it to you from stern to bow – and the only thing in return that I ask is to see that slash on your arm?”  
Girl’s eyes were wide now but still cautious. “How do I know you’re not liar and a slaver who will steal me and sell me in the next port?”  
“Hmm… good point. I guess there is smart in you yet. Here’s what we’ll do. There is a Civic Guard patrol in the quay, not far from where we stand. They’ll be your escort while you tour the_ Nymeria._”  
“Nymeria?” “Yes, that is how I call the Wolf ship. My ship. Do we have an agreement?”  
Girl nodded. “We do, my lady.” Arya shook her head: “I am not a lady.” 

“Oh, for fook sake!” blurted helmsman of _ Nymeria_, Warrick Manderly as he witnessed Arya returning accompanied by four members of Qarth Civic Guard and a small girl. “Wha’ did ya do now, lass?”  
His thick Northern accent drove attention of the child standing next to Arya as she gave him an inquisitive look and Warrick sent the same look to the bloodied sleeve of her tunic. “Pray, don’ tell me ya got in a fight with a toddler.”  
“I am not a toddler, Ser, you wrong me saying that” came the rebuttal from the mouth of a girl with raven black tresses and that left helmsman with no words. Dalton Pyke came from below the deck just in time to hear it all and said to himself:  
“Ha, Qartheen cub not only looks like bloody Stark, she even sounds like one.” 

“Tell Devan Lantell to come to my cabin, there is wound that needs tending.” Arya ordered and then invited the girl to the stern where her cabin was. Devan of House Lantell from Lannisport, a minor noble house related to once mighty Lannisters of Casterly Rock, served as healer aboard _ Nymeria_ since ship’s second maester was washed away during storm in Jade Sea. First maester met worse fate, succumbing to venom of four headed lizard. It was a breed of sluggish lizards as large as a deer with curves and bumps on its body that gave an impression of many heads. It was first landing of _ Nymeria’s_ crew on the islands in Sunset Sea.  
Lizards were slow and appeared docile but they could spat their venom almost four yards away.  
One such spat hit Arya’s left hand causing mortification of two fingers, maester managed to save the others but then paid the highest price for being too curious about this venom as he tried to extract it from the gland of dead animal. 

Devan Lantell’s knowledge was nowhere near a maester, nor any other high level of medical education, he was an auxiliary healer at best.  
He had to do until proper healer or maester comes aboard.  
Arya already decided to try finding someone from Essos to take the task of keeping the crew healthy and tend their wounds.  
No maester from Westeros would travel so far east just to go from one ship to another and _ Nymeria_ would not be heading home so soon.  
Poor Devan tried to compensate his lack of expertise with bedside manners but it made him no more popular among the crew.

“Me help you. This. Take off.” Devan addressed the girl who was half seated on Arya’s bunk using gestures to further explain what he wants.  
She turned to Arya who stood by the bunk amused by all this:  
“Iksis ziry iā mittys?”(_Is he a fool?_)  
"Daor, ziry nūmāzma sȳz. Ȳdragon naejot zirȳla isse Quptenkys Ēngos, kostilus” (_No, he means well. Speak to him in Common Tongue, please._)  
“If you want me to take off my tunic, please say so.” girl says to Devan who immediately felt like an idiot “Well, yes… that...”  
She unbuttoned her tunic and slowly pulled her wounded arm out. Arya stepped closer.  
_Good, it is not deep, but it’s not a graze either, enough for a girl of this age to be scared. Not that this one is…_  
Arya watched how Devan was treating the slash on girl’s forearm and then her gaze went to girl’s face.  
_A growing beauty, she thought, pale face and dark hair that falls in curls… and grey eyes…_ Arya frowned… _grey eyes.  
I never saw an Essosi with grey eyes, that’s the color you will find in the people of the North. That’s the color of my eyes._

Devan tied the small bandage and nodded: “I am done, my lady.”  
“Thank you, kind Ser.” girl replied politely giving away that she was educated as nobility.  
Arya thanked Devan as well and sat on the stool next to bunk, passing the girl a cup with beverage which was still hot.  
“What is it?” girl asked. “Tea made of herbs from Yi Ti hills. It has soothing effect.”  
Arya’s guest paused measuring the cup and her few times. “What, are you afraid that I will poison you?” “No…but...”  
“You’re distrustful of strangers?” Girl nods.  
“Good. You will live longer, it worked for me just fine all these years not to trust every stranger.”  
“How many years?”  
Arya chuckles: “Did you just ask me how old I am? Two moons ago I had my eight and twenty nameday. That ought to sound very old to you.”  
“It does not. I didn’t mean to offend you asking this, my lady.”  
“There was no offence and I am not a lady.”  
“…Captain?”  
“Even worse. You may call me Arya. And your name is…?”  
“Lyanna.” 

Arya’s eyes widened upon hearing this.  
“Your name is Lyanna? Who… that is not Qartheen name.”  
“I am not Qartheen. My family lives here but we are not of Qarth.”  
“No, with that name you surely are not. It’s a name which only women from where I come from are given. My aunt was your namesake.  
And I knew of one more Lyanna… not much older than you she was when she died in battle… are your parents Westerosi?”  
“Yes.” “Are they from the North?”  
“No. My mother is not, but I only have her. I have never met my father. And I was told his mother was Lyanna too.”  
Arya looked at the girl, now she seemed more familiar to her.  
  
_Northern name and Northern looks… Lyanna were a popular name after Robert’s Rebellion, after my aunt died.  
Many people, lesser lords and smallfolk alike have shown their respect to House Stark by giving their daughters name Lyanna and their sons Rickard and Brandon. And after Lyanna Mormont killed that wight giant at gates of Winterfell new generation of Northern daughters got the name to honor the fallen hero. This one here is surely a daughter of a Northerner, a father she never got to know._

“Your father honored his mother by naming you after her.”  
“No, it was my mother who named me. My father was never with us.”  
“I had a father. He was taken from me when I was your age. And then I spent many years apart from my family.”  
Lyanna was now one with sad face: “How did you find your way back to them?” “I did in the end. That is only what matters.”  
“I don’t know if I could live without mine even for a day…”  
Arya smirks: “Then let this day be a lesson to you. Alone in this vast city full of strangers.”  
“But you’re a stranger and you’ve helped me.”  
“I guess I did, but it doesn’t mean that you’re not a silly girl who went alone to see some odd ship from half a world away.”  
“It is not an odd ship; it is a Wolf ship. Why is it called Nymeria?”  
“Nymeria was my wolf. When I was a little girl, she was my pet. But I had to let her go. And she was no ordinary wolf, she was a direwolf.  
When she grew up, she was size of a pony. Grey fur and eyes of dark gold.”  
“You had a wolf?!” girl was in awe “When you were like me…? You were so fortunate. I can only dream of having a wolf. And I do sometimes.  
But I dream of a white wolf, a big white wolf.” 

Arya frowned hearing this and Lyanna noticed.  
It was moment of silence between woman and a girl, both with pale skin and raven black hair, gazing at each other with grey eyes.  
_Gods, Arya, child from the far side of the world dreams of Ghost. No wonder, that direwolf was known among Northerners.  
This girl must have heard stories about him and children do dream all sorts of things._

“Lyanna, I will show you the ship now. That slash can’t go unrewarded. And then, I will personally escort you back to your family. I owe you and them that much.” Girl agreed without saying, to Arya’s pleasure.  
_I want to meet her family. If naught to show them respect as they have kept the traditions of North here, so far away from home._

She was about to lose her temper when Dalton Pyke produced a horse cart from somewhere in the quay.  
"There is no way in seven hells that I’ll be travelling in a box carried by a half dozen men holding two sticks. And neither is she.”  
Arya disclaimed when palanquin was offered as a mean of transport. Girl standing next to her approved.

Lyanna gave her directions how to avoid the crowded city streets and they were on the way towards the eastern part of the city, further away from marble palaces and fragrant gardens, this was a less rich quarter where large brick houses turned blind walls to the street. There were fewer horses and camels to be seen, and a dearth of palanquins, but the streets teemed with life. Still, even these brick mansions would put any part or King’s Landing to shame.  
“How did you get to the port from here? It’s quite a ride.”  
“I hid under a cart that brings spices from western quay to here...” girl said proudly “...I wanted to return the same way but…”  
Arya smiled at her: “Plan didn’t work. Instead of sneaking under carts and getting into knife fights shouldn’t you be learning things more appropriate for a lady; like most noble girls do?”  
“Most girls are idiots.”  
Arya bursts into laughter: “You know what, Lyanna, I’ve really started to like you.”  
Girl smiled then cautiously asked: “Why do your blades have names? Needle and… Catspaw?”  
“One of my brothers gave me Needle and the other gave me Catspaw. Here…”  
Arya pulled out the dagger and handed it to Lyanna: “Take a look.”  
“It’s beautiful.”  
“Aye, Valyrian steel adorned with dragonglass. To me it’s the most beautiful dagger in the world.”  
_It has saved the world._  
“My dagger is so plain” girl said with sad tone “It doesn’t even have a name.” “Can I see it?”  
Arya took Lyanna’s blade in hand and sliced the air half a dozen times. “It’s well balanced and good craftsmanship.”  
_I saw a dagger like this already, but where and when… time does leech one’s memory._  
“Who gave it to you?” “My father gave it to my mother. And I took it with me today.”  
“That is stealing, in a way.”  
“You can’t steal what is yours, Arya.” girl defended.  
“Well, either way, you can name your dagger however you like.”  
“No.” girl replied with solemn voice “Mother said once it is a dishonored blade.” 

_Strange thing to say_, crossed Arya’s mind right away but before she managed to say anything, Lyanna pointed at the courtyard protected by the ten feet high brick wall: “We’re here. This is my home!”  
“And you told me you’re not noble. With home like this you surely are.”  
Arya led the cart to the closed gates, a barrier made of steel painted in black with droplets of red on every bar and was about to call when two men approached. Though dressed as Qartheen servants there was something about them that made her wary.  
“Ñuha riña, īlin zūgagon nūmāzma ao. Aōha mandia olvie hen mire.” (_My lady, we were all worried about you. Your sister above all._) 

Cart went slowly towards the house, both were silent, deeply in their thoughts.  
“I guess I can expect a serious scolding now.” girl said with disheartened tone.  
“_Mandia_… you have a sister, Lyanna?” “Yes, my twin sister. Rhaella.”  
Arya almost dropped the reins… “Your sister’s name is Rhaella??”  
“Yes, she’s named after my mother’s mother.”  
Arya pulled the reins and horse obediently stopped.  
“Lyanna, what is your mother’s name?” she turned to dark-haired ten-year old with seriousness in her voice.  
That caused a visible fright as girl sensed the change in Arya’s mood. 

“Riña Līāna, īles jēda syt ao naejot māzigon lenton.”(_Lady Lyanna, it was time for you to come home._) voice came from the side of the cart where girl was seated. “Emā rōva hen vestriarzir naejot gaomagon.” (_You have a lot of explaining to do_.)  
Arya turned her gaze in that direction. Next to cart stood a beautiful young woman. of long, dark hair and eyes of light green color. Her long, red robe and her distinguishable necklace told Arya exactly who she was.  
A priestess of the Lord of Light, just like the Red Woman, Melisandre, who died after Battle of Winterfell.  
“Kinvara, eman ūndegīon se zokla lōgor!” Lyanna was loud as she went off the cart into woman’s arms. (_I have seen the Wolf ship!_)

Arya stepped out from the cart with utmost caution, both hands rested on the hilts of her two blades.  
Soon she noticed dozen or so servants encircling the cart. Some carried short spears, some swords.  
They didn’t have to wear helmets for her to make them out. _Unsullied. Fuck. Still, you can fight your way out of this courtyard, Arya._

“Lya!” a child’s voice came behind the red priestess.  
Arya knew her jaw dropped as she watched a silver-haired girl running to embrace her sister with raven locks.  
Girl’s face and eyes and braids… _What is this place_… flashed in Arya’s mind… _Qartheen are known for warlocks and their sorcery_…  
still the embrace of these twin sisters was the purest display of affection Arya saw in many moons.  
“Qilōni iksis bias, Lya?” sister asked Lyanna. (_Who is this?_)  
“This is my friend, Rhae… her name is Arya. She rules on the Wolf ship.”  
Kinvara placed each hand on one of the girls and corrected:  
“Daor, byka mēre. Bisa iksis Āria hen Stārke Lentor. Issa aōha dubāzma.”(_No, little one. This is Arya of House Stark. She is your kin._)  
Arya felt how her confusion meets with rage:  
“What in seven hells is going on here?”  
Kinvara said calmly: “After today, Arya Stark of Winterfell, you will finally know.”  
“Know what?” “What kind of a woman you truly are.”  
“Arya…” Lyanna spoke softly “...my mama’s name is…. Daenerys.” 

Hands gripped hilts of both Needle and Catspaw so tight it hurt. 

Night fell on Qarth. Light wind brought noises from central part of the city, illuminated by fires of his towers, balconies and streets.  
The greatest city that ever was or ever will be – never slept. 

Arya paced nervously in the garden of the house she returned Lyanna to.  
Her only company were fish in nearby fountain, little did she care about them or the spraying of water.  
_She lives. Daenerys Targaryen, the Dragon Queen… the Mad Queen lives. And she gave birth to twin daughters.  
Jon’s daughters. Jon… he came to her mind… it seems a lifetime when I saw you last._

It was not a lifetime. It was five years ago.  
That one time when _Nymeria_ returned to Westeros.  
Arya ordered ship into the Bay of Ice and anchored close to Westwatch-by-the-Bridge, the westernmost castle of what once was Night’s Watch. She sent raven to Castle Black but he was no longer there.  
He was beyond the Wall. It took almost ten days for her brother to come accompanied by the red-haired wildling Tormund and some others.  
But that was not Jon Snow she knew. It was a man haunted by the ghost of the Dragon Queen.  
Dany’s ghost gave him peace during day, but came to his dreams every night.  
Queenslayer…kinslayer…oathbreaker he uttered in his sleep.  
And her name. Always her name. 

Of little comfort were Tormund’s words that it was much worse before, when the wound was still fresh and Jon Snow wanted to find peace in death.  
In the first year since he stabbed her, he tried to get himself killed by searching fight whenever his path crossed with wildlings that were not Tormund’s men. Or he would go hunting for bears and mammoths hoping one will tear him apart or crush him into ground.  
Only once during that fortnight with Jon she tried to tell him that he had no choice and Arya lived to regret it. His heartbreak broke her heart too. It was that day Arya decided she was done with Westeros.  
Her pack, the last of Starks was asunder.

Thought how her brother suffered for all this time ridden with guilt for doing what was right, while life he took was brought back on the other side of the world, filled her with rage.  
She lives. And has his two daughters. One pure image of Jon, other of Daenerys. His own family. Something Jon wanted all his life.  
A wave of sadness came over her, but soon the rage was back.

Kinvara finally came and that was sign for Unsullied guards to disappear in the dark. They’re close, Arya was certain, it takes one rushed move from my part and spears will come at me from the dark.  
“I’ve met your kind before.” Arya said to the woman in red robe “Thoros of Myr, Melisandre… she brought my brother back when he was betrayed by his own men and he, he brought one man many times back.”  
“Beric Dondarrion. He had a purpose with Lord of Light and he fulfilled it. He died saving you.”  
“And you… you brought her back. A mad woman who burned thousands in one single day. How shall she serve Lord of Light? To burn more cities to the ground? Is that what your Lord wants? She still has her dragon; I assume he is even larger now.”  
“Drogon now is of size that could cover the whole Winterfell castle.” priestess replied dryly.  
“And she will deliver her vengeance on this world serving it cold, is that it? It’s a wonder she waited this long to strike.”  
“She didn’t strike before; she won’t strike now or ever again. She is not the same as she was. Ruling means nothing to her now.  
But she still has a role to play.”  
Arya hissed: “She played her role all right. Your god is a fire god; he must have been proud of her when she burned down entire King’s Landing.”  
Her voice turned to yelling: “Hundreds... thousands of innocent men, women and children died that day, I almost died that day. And you brought her back.” 

Kinvara responded calmly: “Everyone does what he does for a reason.”  
“Keep talking like that and I will have a perfect reason to slit your throat.”  
Arya gave her a warning look, but red priestess was unaffected. “I know a killer when I see one, Arya Stark, and you were good at that.”  
“Why did you bring her back?”  
Kinvara replied with ever same tone of voice: “You would rather that I have not brought Daenerys back?  
That Lyanna and Rhaella were never born. Your own flesh and blood.”  
This made Arya’s rage to boil: “Damn you to whatever hell you believe in. I never knew about them till today.” 

_And Jon… he… he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know... _flashed in her mind  
“If she was with Jon’s children… he…he killed his unborn daughters when he stabbed Daenerys… what kind of vicious cunt is your Lord of Light when he allowed that to happen?? Answer me!”  
_Gods, if Jon were to know he killed his own unborn children, he’d cut his own throat._

“Lord of Light brought Jon Snow back from the dead. And made Daenerys to stay with child even if she thought that was impossible. And brought her and her children back when duty became the death of love. Because they still have a role to play.  
Them and their children. Just as you have, Arya Stark, Hero of Winterfell.”  
Arya ignored what Kinvara said and slumped on a stone bench near the fountain. “Do you know how he lives for past ten years… ten bloody years or have your flames failed to tell you that? You don’t. But I do. Where is Daenerys? Is she here? If she is, I want her to hear what misery she brought to my brother.”  
“You will not see her here. But it was important for us to be in Qarth today.”  
“Why?”  
“How else would you and Lyanna have met? It ought to happen this way.”  
“Ah yes, the will of your Lord of Light. He better finds the will for Jon to meet his daughters. And soon.”  
“He will meet them. He lives, it is not a happy life but he lives. That is what matters the most now.”  
“Why did you wait for ten whole years to reveal all this? If you and your fire god were waiting for me, you could have found me years ago.  
Why now?” Arya’s rage burned out, but questions remained.  
She was not willing to listen to riddles.  
Kinvara sat next to Arya: “I’ve told you; nothing happens without a reason. Daughters of Ice and Fire are now of same age like you were when you started with your path. Who better to prepare them for the future than you?”  
“Prepare them for what future?”  
“For a war to come, war against the same evil you slew at Winterfell's Godswood.”  
“The Night King is gone, the White Walkers are gone, the army of the dead is gone. We won the Great War.” said Arya with hand waving in dismissal.  
“If so, why would Lord of Light bring back Daenerys, made her a mother of two and kept Jon Snow from killing himself. If Great War is over, Lord of Light does not need his champions anymore. And yet, both of them are among us, living by the Lord’s will just like their children.  
None of them can be reached by the evil which rules in King’s Landing. They are protected from his sight.” 

Arya jumped at her feet hearing this: “My brother, King Bran is not evil.”  
“He is not your brother anymore. He told you that. Boy who was Bran Stark died in a cave far beyond the Wall.”  
“All right, so he calls himself the Three Eyed Raven, that does not make him evil.”  
“It does not, but the body that once was Bran Stark hosts one more being along the Three Eyed Raven. Night King marked him.  
And when you have destroyed the ice body of the Night King, sorcery that made him thousands of years ago was not destroyed.  
It moved to a new host, Bran Stark, who was right there, that night in Godswood of Winterfell.  
That evil stayed dormant for all these years, making the Three Eyed Raven unaware of his presence while he was ruling Westeros wisely and ably but the summer that lasted for almost ten years will soon be coming to its end.”  
“That is madness talking from you…. All of you red priests would like for world the end in fire…” what she just heard seemed like nonsense to Arya. 

Kinvara placed her hand on Arya’s shoulder: “When that who once was Bran Stark has been elected king, why were you so eager to leave Westeros, to seek what is further west? Why is Jon Snow far beyond the Wall now and not serving as Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, no matter how aimless that service now is.  
Why you both have moved as far from the Realm as you could? You have the answer, only must search deep to find it.”  
High Priestess of Volantis rose from the stone bench and went towards the house with slow, dignified pace. 

“Am I free to leave?” Arya asked. Her anger calmed, but was still there.  
“Iā ābra iksis Āria Stārke hen Vinterveli, se issa dāez naejot jikagon skoriot jaelza.” Kinvara replied.  
(_A woman is Arya Stark of Winterfell and she is free to go wherever she wants._)

It was already late in the night and she decided to stay until it dawns, not risking a long night ride to the port through city she did not know well enough.  
_I’d rather take my chances with this handful of the Unsullied and Red priestess than with Qartheen thieves and cutthroats._  
Night was warm and she lied down on the stone bench to rest, keeping both of her blades unsheathed and close.  
She didn’t want to sleep, only to wait for the first sunlight.  
Thoughts were swarming in her mind, thoughts of Jon, of his Dragon Queen, then burning city flashed before her closed eyelids…  
Night King once again held her throat while she planted Catspaw in his heart of ice... Jon was on Rhaegal above Winterfell… and then it all disappeared. Sleep came and tricked her. 

She felt warmth on her face as sun bathed the stone bench and Northern woman asleep on it.  
At first her eyes opened slowly, gaze wandering over ground and then she saw a man’s feet not more than couple of paces away. In an instant she was in sitting position, dagger and sword in hands, ready to jump him.  
It was one of the Unsullied, armed with sword and shield he bowed to her.  
“Bisy iksin rigle naejot mīsagon ao isse aōha ēdrugon.” (_This one was honored to guard you during your rest._)  
Arya nodded back, hiding her surprise and thanked: “Kirimvose.” Guard turned and marched away. You may dress an Unsullied in silks and velvet he would still be a man of shield and spear, came to her mind. 

She rose from the bench and stretched. _You’re not old, Arya, but neither are you a girl that was used to sleep on grass and on the rock._  
Two servant girls from the house were coming to her, one carried a small wooden table, color of ivory and ornate with scenes of camels, elephants and tigers.  
Other brought with her sweet bread, bacon and sausage and bowl of persimmon soup, all to break her fast. Arya thanked them and sat back on the bench to eat this mixture of Qartheen and Westerosi meal.  
She gave advantage to soup over bacon, the latter she had more than enough on Nymeria. With real healer she could also bring proper cook aboard. Both would make crew happy. Devan Lantell as healer was as good as Willard Stout among pots and pans. 

Garden was quiet and she knew there was no one else. Her pace was slow and cautious and aimed towards gate.  
She had no wish to trade more words with the priestess.  
_I’ve learned too much too soon. And I don’t know what to make of this knowledge._  
“Nyke ērinagon!” came a joyful voice, that of a child, from a small courtyard which was parted from the garden with wooden pillars.  
Victory was proclaimed in High Valyrian followed by “And I will win again!” in Common Tongue.  
Next sound was that of something hitting the ground. She knew that sound all too well. A wooden practice sword.  
It took her less than dozen steps to be leaned on one of the pillars watching two girls training with wooden blades and small, round wooden shields. One with silver, other with raven hair, both with simple braid falling to the small of their back.  
Girl with Stark features was more agile and advanced against her twin, Daenerys lookalike, which kept blocking Lyanna’s sword with shield hand and tried to slash her legs. It gave no result as Rhaella was losing more ground, being pushed back. 

_Daughters of Mad Queen. Dragonspawn... _thought of disgust flashed in Arya’s mind but the very next moment she cursed herself for that... _Father would be ashamed of me, he kept one dragonspawn safe till his very death. My brother. And these are his girls. Just as they’re hers.  
My blood. Not only of Old Valyria but also of First Men. I cannot hate them or deny them. That is not me…_

Silver-haired girl in her retreat before sister’s assault came only couple of feet away and couldn’t keep the balance, after one more strike that she managed to stop with her shield, Rhaella was to come down on her back….  
But then much to her surprise girl ended in Arya’s lap.  
And smiled as she turned to face this Westerosi woman. “Arya!” Lyanna yelled cheerfully. “I win! Again!”  
“And I have to yield again.” said her disappointed twin with Targaryen features . It was the first time Arya got a better look at Rhaella.  
She was a true image of her mother, but Arya could see a lot of Jon as well.  
“I will never be good as Lya.”  
“Who says she is good?” Arya smiled back to her. “She is doing it all wrong. Just as you are.”  
“I do not.” protested the girl with Stark traits as she came closer and now both were standing next to Arya.  
“Yes, you do… the sword or the shield, both of you don’t treat it as it must be treated.”  
“How is that?” both asked in one voice.  
“As they’re part of your arm. Just as your fingers or elbow, that is how you must think of your sword and your shield.  
Sword goes where your eye wants it to go, not the other way around.  
And, girls, never in a fight trouble yourself with what will your opponent do next, let your opponent trouble himself what will you do next.”  
“Arya, will you stay with us and teach us how to be good with a sword?” Lyanna pleaded joined by Rhaella: “Yes, stay with us.”

She looked at the twins, her little cousins and smiled: “If I stay, I won’t be teaching you swordfight. I will teach you how to water dance.”


	2. DAENERYS

_Port Yhos, Essos, year 315 After Conquest_

**DAENERYS**

_“Why?”_  
She did not have an answer. Today as she did not have it before. _Mayhaps I will never have it._

The waves of Summer Sea she watched from the terrace of her manse always brought her serenity. This place was her favorite since she came to live again.  
Port Yhos was the last settlement of the Qartheen to the west and the smallest.  
Coastal road leading east towards Yhos’ mother city of Qarth, the northern road going to the lands of Lhazareen, _haesh rakhi_ as Dothraki use to call them. The Lamb Men.  
The same road continued to north and west, meeting the Skahazadhan river and entering Meereen from inland, then descending along the coast of Bay of Dragons to Yunkai and Astapor.  
_Meereen. Yunkai. Astapor. I’ve seen them all and conquered them all. When I was just nine and ten. One should not feel old at three and thirty. And yet I do sometimes._

Port Yhos had no road leading westward.  
There beyond the mountains lies ruin of Old Ghis.  
Five times did Ghiscari fought with Valyria, each time being defeated by dragon flame.  
In the end, Ghis and its legions were shattered in last war, city turned to ash and cinder and its fields sown with salt and sulfur. And bones.  
That was thousand years ago. But it was not that ancient foe of her ancestors the reason she liked there is no road going west.  
For west of Ghis, across the Gulf of Grief was Valyria, doomed land of her people.  
And further west were the lands she wanted to rule once, in previous life. But not in this one. 

Daenerys turned her gaze from the sea to four towers of her manse.  
It was built in style of those in Pentos, with high brick walls covered with pale ivy; the entry hall with mosaic of colored glass depicting island of Naath, beaches of white sand and butterflies;  
pillared outer courtyard also covered in pale ivy and another one, inner courtyard with pool of water where she refreshed many times when heat of day or even night became unbearable.  
_It was a long way to here from that temple in Meereen where I was brought back_, came to her mind though she’d rather not have such thoughts.  
Even in memories she did not want to go back to that temple hall where she woke up from nothingness, from the void; to feel that weakness again, the disillusion, the pain… to think of... No. 

_I am not that woman, not anymore. I am not Dany; Dany fell in love with a man who in the end could not love her back because of his honor no matter how much Dany sacrificed for him. _  
_I am not Mhysa; she wanted to be a mother of her people, to rule justly and wisely and to be loved by all her subjects – a fool’s dream._  
_I am not a Dragon Queen either; she came when Dany and Mhysa failed only to fail even more, much more… it was Dragon Queen who burned the city with thousands of innocent people._  
_I am Daenerys Targaryen._  
_Not a queen, not a khaleesi, not breaker of chains._  
_I don’t need that to live._

When priests of Lord of Light brought her back, she was lost for a while. Defeated in more ways than one.  
And then a miracle happened, greater than her coming back to life. A new life was growing inside her, something she thought it cannot come to pass.  
But it did. She did not accept it right away, she could not, knowing with whom she created that new life.  
It took some weeks and for that time the red priests kept close watch on her, fearing she could harm her unborn or herself. 

She would never do that and she never did.  
“Ao iēdrosa emagon iā naejot tymagon, Daenērys Jelmāzmo.”  
Kinvara kept telling her. _You still have a role to play, Daenerys Stormborn. _  
“Daor.” she replied just as many times. “Iksan gaomagon tymagon.” I am done playing. No more roles. No more great games. No more desires for a good world.  
She wanted it to happen, to usher new era. She had nothing but that goal.  
All others around her could not remain loyal to that goal, their loyalties were divided and, in the end, they’ve chosen their families.  
Dwarf betrayed her for his siblings, bastard betrayed her for his.  
I never had family to be loyal to. 

“Yn ao gōntan. Īles daor iā nādrēsy. Īles aōha lentor. Se emā qringaomatan naejot ōregon zirȳla hae lentor. Hae Jaehaerys ōregon Alysanne. Ao qringaomatan naejot arlie qogron hen dāryssy.”  
Kinvara’s words were stingers. (_But you did. He was not a bastard. He was your family. And you have failed to embrace him as family. Like Jaehaerys embraced Alysanne. You failed to renew a dynasty._)

“I don’t need a dynasty. I will have my children. That will be my role. Mother. Not Mhysa but muña. Mother, not of dragons, of living children.” 

As her belly became more swollen with every passing sennight Daenerys started to ponder how to go on with her life.  
She was still Queen of the Bay of Dragons and the Khaleesi of the Dothraki and could resume ruling as both.  
She had no desire for ruling anywhere anymore, but power does not reside only in titles and thrones.  
Drogon was with her, he came and go as he pleased, flying free across the Essosi skies and growing still. On his back, she could bend every part of Essos to her will.  
But that was behind her. It was time for something new. 

Two moons after coming back to life, she met with Daario Naharis.  
The Second Sons were still keeping order in Meereen, Yunkai and Astapor, their ranks being reinforced with former slaves.  
After Golden Company’s decisive defeat before the gates of King’s Landing, Second Sons were the strongest sellsword army in Essos. 

Meereen was ruled by the Council of Citizens, assembly of twenty-one men and women from the ranks of nobles and former slaves.  
Same form of government existed in Yunkai and Astapor. Daario was there to ensure that cities don’t sink back into chaos of civil war.  
He obeyed the commands she gave him almost three years ago, before she took her armies to Westeros.  
He was jubilant to see her, she knew what he was hoping for, for them to be as they were while she ruled Meereen, but then he saw her belly and all his hopes sunk.  
Even if I weren’t with child, I would not go back to him. _When you embrace the sun, a melting candle can give you no comfort_.  
She thanked him for his loyalty and told to carry on with same duty.  
Daenerys was not going to stay in Meereen. She needed the place where she was stronger.  
But she will keep eye on the Bay of Dragons. Ever watchful eye. Those were her first victories and she wanted them to stay that way. 

She was seven moons pregnant when Drogon took her to Vaes Dothrak.  
By that time Dothraki who have survived the Great War and what she called the Last War in Westeros came back across the poisoned water.  
She knew that they will all ride to their only city to give thanks before Mother of Mountains for their victories and safe return.  
They have lost their khal of khals, the Khaleesi, but they have killed the men in iron suits and tore down their stone houses. 

Drogon flew over the Horse Gate, the two gigantic prancing bronze stallions whose hooves met at hundred feet above the roadway forming a pointed arch.  
Dark winged shadow came over the broad, windswept streets and city’s variety of buildings… carved stone pavilions, manses of woven grass, wooden towers, stepped pyramids and log halls…  
all construction styles brought to the city by slaves from the lands the Dothraki have once conquered.  
Drogon roared as she came down from his back.  
She could see how the disbelief turned to fearful adoration on the faces of new khals which emerged from power struggle that followed after they’ve returned to Essos, some were khals for merely few weeks.  
And now, on the spot where once temple of Dosh Khaleen stood, them and their riders were once more prostrating before her, just like that night when she rose unburnt from the flames that were devouring the temple.  
Their Khaleesi was back while they believed she was killed by a treacherous Westerosi, one whose home half of Dothraki died defending.  
_The old me would relish watching them bow, but I need them to listen, now more than ever_, was her only thought. 

“Qoy ki tih qoy, yeri hashi ei yeri ase to anna. Ajjin, anna kashi yot ki najaheya.”  
(_Blood of my blood, you have kept all your promises to me. Now, it is time to pick the fruits of victory._)  
They were all back on their feet, cheering and screaming, just like they were cheering in front of destroyed Red Keep, but this time without their arakhs and spears.  
Blades were not allowed in Vaes Dothrak.  
“Yeri ha jinak asshekh vitihirak ki vezhven havazh.”  
(_You will from this day on be the guard of Great Grass Sea._)  
“Ei verakasar, ei jerak ha leitha ve titha zafra yeri she azhadi ma vizhadi. Che hazze tikh vo verakasar akka vo jerak.”  
(_Every caravan, every merchant from west to east will give you homage in gold and silver. Or there will be no caravan and no merchant._)  
They screamed louder as they understood what she meant. 

And in weeks and moons that followed they did what she asked.  
Dothraki rode out to take control of every one of caravan roads from Free Cities in the west to Samyriana in the east, from New Ibish in the north to Qarth in the south.  
Fifteen moons after she rose again in that Meereenese temple she had control of all trade routes in Essos and all the traders were paying for safe passage.  
Her wealth and the wealth of the Dothraki begun to accumulate.  
Soon those merchants which could not afford to pay in gold and silver for the safe pass of their goods from one part of Essos to another had no choice but to work for her, though they all believed they work for the Dothraki. 

Daenerys was still hiding from the world and had no problem with it, she loved her secrecy, most of all when she gave birth to twin girls.  
Her daughters were born in Vaes Dothrak and unlike during her birth, the sun was singing that day.  
She counted nine moons back and concluded that twins were conceived on that day when he first rode Rhaegal, when they came to that waterfall…  
_We could stay a thousand years_… they did not.  
But they stayed long enough to share their love, even wrapped in thick fur coats their bodies joined.  
That was last time she was with a man. Any man. She hoped for hundreds of such days with him. But it was the last one. And it gave her miracle.  
When Kinvara and Dothraki midwives placed two babes in her hands, she wept.  
Tears of joy. There they were. Her girls. Both had velvety hair on their heads, one silver, other dark. Targaryen and Stark.  
She cried even more now, knowing how these babes died with her that day. How their father killed them, all three of them.

“Ñuha zaldrīzītsos, muña kessa gaomagon ao ȳgha hen bisa tubis naejot ñuha mōrī tubis.”  
(_My little dragons, mother will keep you safe from this day till my last day._)  
She named the silver-haired babe by her mother, Rhaella. Mother who died giving her life in that night of worst storm that ever fell upon Dragonstone.  
The other girl, one with raven hair, she named Lyanna, after the love of her brother Rhaegar, the mother of…  
Rhaegar died in the waters of Trident, calling that name with his dying breath.  
She often wondered did he rode to meet the Usurper because of duty or because of love… or was he fighting for both, something his son was never able to.  
Daenerys chased thoughts of him from her mind. She named her daughters by their grandmothers and never doubted if that were the right thing to do. 

Years were passing by and she watched her children grow. All of them.  
Girls spent their first four years in Vaes Dothrak, they already knew how to ride horses at that age.  
Drogon was now twice the size he was when she battled the Night King in the sky over Winterfell. And he was just three and ten years old. 

Daenerys moved to Port Yhos when Lyanna and Rhaella reached age of five. There is more of this world than Dothraki Sea and she wanted her girls to see it. But not all of it.  
Certainly not Westeros, a land that had shown her only contempt, she was truly glad to hear how their high lords and ladies have elected a new king of now Six Kingdoms, the one they call Broken, just weeks after she was killed.  
She learned how her dragon has melted the throne of her ancestors and was happy that it was gone, that those who were not Targaryen will not sit on it.  
Tale of independent North with red-haired Stark sister as queen has amused her even more.  
She was content that he whose name she wasn’t able to utter ended in exile, sent back from where he came and that her loyal Grey Worm was one who insisted on it.  
From the Dothraki she learned that he took the Unsullied to island of Naath, a home of his beloved Missandei… she was happy for him. 

It was second year of her new life when she decided to fly to Naath, to see her Unsullied once more.  
Kinvara who spent a lot of time at her side was wary of that.  
“Ñuha dāria, hāre laes vōljes iksis jurnegēre syt Drōgon mirre bisa jēda. Zȳhon laes daor ūndegon zirȳla isse uēpa Valyria, se magi hen vējes issi kostōba. Yn kostas ūndegon Drōgon isse Naath.”  
(_My Queen, the Three Eyed Raven is searching for Drogon all this time. His eye cannot see him in Old Valyria, the spells of Doom are too strong for his gaze. But he could see Drogon in Naath._)  
The fire magic of Lord of Light was shield that broken king of Six Kingdoms could not pierce, Daenerys knew.  
She and her girls were safe as they were brought back from the death by the will of R’hllor, the Lord of Light.  
“He could see Drogon, but he cannot see me. Fear not, Kinvara.”  
Her decision to go to Naath was not something to be negotiated. 

Two moons before twins’ third nameday she was flying to Naath. In those three years she established control over all trade routes in Essos with scores of merchants and caravan masters working for her and filling her treasuries.  
There were some among them who believed they can do trade without her but soon only trade they were part of was being killed or sold into slavery by the Dothraki.  
The once slaver cities were not able to trade outside the routes she controlled.  
_I am more Queen of the Bay of Dragons now than when I was in Great Pyramid_, she said to herself.  
It was a long flight. Drogon flew from Vaes Dothrak to Meereen where she spent the day in the temple and then with sunset dragon flew south, towards Old Valyria.  
Daenerys watched from high above the ruins of her ancestral home, the greatest empire the world has ever seen.  
A poem she learned in childhood came to her mind:  


_They held each other close and turned their backs upon the end  
The hills that split asunder and the black that ate the skies;  
The flames that shot so high and hot that even dragons burned;  
Would never be the final sights that fell upon their eyes.  
A fly upon a wall, the waves the sea-wind whipped and churned.  
The city of a thousand years and all that men had learned;  
The Doom consumed it all alike and neither of them turned._

__

__

Her dragon flew hard above the waves of Summer Sea and with the first rays of dawn, they landed on white sand beach of Missandei’s home.  
Drogon shrieked so loudly that it echoed across half of the island.  
Beach was soon crowded with people, Naathi men, women, children, many of whom reminded of her closest friend’s beauty and also with the Unsullied, some in their full battle uniform, some in Naathi clothes carrying spears and shields.  
Faces of fear and confusion surrounded her and her large dragon. Tension was high and she knew it will take only one spear thrown at her for Drogon to unleash hell in this island paradise. 

“Dovaogēdy, gaomagon daor ao gīmigon aōha dāria? Iksan Daenērys Jelmāzmo, se pryjatys hen belma!”  
(_Unsullied, don’t you know your queen? I am Daenerys Stormborn, the breaker of chains._)  
The sound of her voice which they knew too well made all the Unsullied to kneel with their spears and shields laid at her feet.  
“Skoriot iksis Turgo Nudho?” she asked of their leader.  
Then finally she spotted the familiar, severe gait left of where she was standing, hands clasped behind his back as he rose up.  
Behind him was group of Naathi children.  
“My Queen…” he spoke in his heavily accentuated Common Tongue “…but how… he told us he killed you… How?”  
“Torgo Nudho, you of all people should know that with me impossible things happen.”  
And then she embraced him, she never did that when she was his queen but he now was last living friend from her youth, not her Master of War, her friend. 

When Naathi have learned who she was and how one of their stolen daughters was liberated from slavery by this silver-haired woman and became the adviser of a queen feast was prepared in her honour.  
She spent that entire day with the people, meeting Missandei’s relatives and there were a lot of them since people of Naath do not know of marriage and hence have no issues of fidelity while the Unsullied were eager to hear what she commands.  
After all they were soldiers and their ruler has come back from the dead.  
“Nyke udrāzma ao naejot sagon biare.” she told them as they have assembled before her, not like that day in the ruins of Red Keep in strict formation, they made a circle, almost three thousand of them.  
“I command you the new life.”  
She saw how befuddled they are.  
“Nyke udrāzma ao naejot. Sepār hae iksan. Ñuha vīlībāzma iksis gaomagon. Aōha vīlībāzma iksis gaomagon.”  
(_I command you to live. Just as I do. My wars are done. Your wars are done._) She felt a tremble in her voice and her eyes begun to water.  
“Daor dāria mirre ēdas iā nēdenka se tolī pazavor azantyr. Yn sir jaelan ao naejot glaesagon isse lyks. Kesan va moriot sagon lēda ao. Se bisa iksis daor se mōrī jēda īlon ūndegon toile.”  
(_No queen ever had a braver and more loyal army. But now I want you to live in peace. I will always be with you. And this is not the last time we see each other._)  
Three thousand men were silent for a couple of moments and then first cheer “Mhysa!” and another and another…  
the beach of white sand on island of Naath echoed with same word she has heard for the first time at Yunkai, many years ago.  
She bid farewell to Gray Worm that evening.  
He offered his services to her, to be her Queensguard but she refused: “I am no longer a queen and I see you are happy here, you are closest to her here, you’re doing what she would’ve wanted, helping and protecting her people.  
She is proud of you, if there’s afterlife, she is proud of you. That is your purpose now, not guarding a fallen queen.”  
“You are not fallen, you have not fail, you were betrayed.”  
She placed her hand on his cheek “It doesn’t matter now. I live a new life and I am happier than I ever was. And I tell you to be just like that.”  
She smiled and slowly paced towards Drogon. “My Queen, some of my men would like to go back to Essos. they say they miss their home.” he said cautiously.  
Daenerys turned back “How many?”  
“I think no less than five hundred, mayhaps more.”  
“When I get back to Meereen, I will order to send ships to Naath to take them to Essos.” 

She climbed on Drogon’s back while Grey Worm still watched with disbelief how black dragon was large now. “Till we meet again, Torgo Nudho, I wish you good fortune in years to come.”  
“Lyks se bōsa ābrar, ñuha dāria.” he replied (_Peace and long life, my Queen._)

Two moons after her visit to Naath, almost six hundred Unsullied were transported to Meereen and all placed themselves in her service.  
Most of them were now here, at Port Yhos, others remained in Meereen with one company in her manse in Qarth.  
When she came to Port Yhos, she felt as she’s closed all the books of her previous life.  
There were new relationships with Meereen, with Dothraki, with the Unsullied. She made peace with her Essosi past.  
Still, no matter how difficult that past was, it was next to nothing compared with her past in the lands where her family once ruled.  
Daenerys pushed aside that past, locked those memories in some hidden vault of her mind and hoped it will never be unlocked. 

But as her daughters grew older, so did their understanding of the world.  
“Zaldrīzes liorilaksa dȳñes iksis daor.” (_Dragon is not a pack mule._) she used to tell Drogon, nonetheless she placed most precious cargo, one that came in small package, on him and made night deliveries all over Essos.  
That kind of transport was four times costly than caravan trail but some were ready to pay the price. And she needed to fly on her dragon.  
Seldom did she used the word _Dracarys_ but Drogon needed to breathe the flames, usually on livestock that was prepared for his meal or to burn something which was meant to be burned anyway.  
Drogon saved her many times in her previous life and without him she would not have enjoyed this one. 

She came back from one such flight and as Drogon flew away from Yhos, westward to his nest in Old Valyria, Daenerys went to see her now six years old daughters.  
They were playing in the inner courtyard, next to water pool. They were in her embrace the moment they saw her.  
She sat on the carved wooden bench shielded from the sun by baldaquin overgrown with pale ivy, each of girls sitting on one of her knees.  
They talked how they’ve spent their day, until Rhaella asked with sad tone of voice: “Muña, why don’t Lya and I have a father?” “Yes, mommy, why?” dark-haired girl asked also.  
“Surely you have a father, you know how babes come to the world.” 

Daenerys provided her daughters with best teachers this side of Narrow Sea. Growing up in constant run from the men sent by Robert Baratheon to kill her and her brother Viserys she never had a formal education.  
She made sure her children did. At age of six, twins already knew how to read and write in High Valyrian and Common Tongue and also were taught history and geography of both Essos and Westeros.  
“Why is he not with us then?” Rhae insisted. She had Targaryen features but despite those silver tresses and dark lilac eyes often a somber tone of direwolf family came out when girl was unhappy.  
Lya had Stark looks with temper that spoke of a match of dragon and wolf, she was not easiest of children.  
“He didn't choose us, my little dragon…”  
“Then he is a fool. How could he not choose you and Rhae and me…” said girl who had the hair and the eyes of that fool. Daenerys chuckled and kissed Lyanna’s forehead:  
“Sometimes fathers are fools. What both of you must know is that you are children of love. Mama was very happy with your father once. But now, he is far, far away, in the land covered with snow and ice.” _If he lives, that is…_

Few days later she flew Drogon to Meereen, to meet with Kinvara.  
Priestess now lived between Meereen and Volantis as former had more and more R’hllor believers and occasionally she’d came to Port Yhos.  
Daenerys entered the temple, that very same place where she was brought back to life, and felt certain unease.  
Memories of drawing first breaths of this new life came back, memories of pain beyond sanity and then of her crying.  
Kinvara stood next to the Great Altar and smiled when became aware of her presence. “I know why are you here. Questions have been asked, right?”  
Daenerys nodded “Yes, questions about him.”  
“Children are by nature curious. But now so are you. You want to see if he’s still among the living.”  
“I do. It will help me to answer questions when they come next time. Can… can I see him in the fire? He is on the other side of the world…”  
Kinvara smiled “Distance means nothing to the Lord of Light. But fire alone cannot show anything. To see, to really see in the flames we must add blood of the kings to the fire. And luckily for us, we have that in you.”  
Daenerys frowned a bit: “How much royal blood do you need?” “A few drops will do.” 

Priestess took her right hand and placed it over a small brazier which stood next to altar. Kinvara whispered the words of prayer and flames began to dance and when the final words left her lips,  
she cut Daenerys’ thumb and pressed it for blood to drop in the fire. Flames surged feet high.  
“Blood of dragon indeed.” Kinvara smiled “Now we shall look together.” 

Daenerys gazed at the brazier whose flames swirled around and then she could see…  
A log cabin in the woods, animal hide covering what supposed to be the door, more animal hides tanning on the roof, chopped wood stashed on the back side of the cabin, horse tied to a pine tree few yards away.  
_Home of a hunter_, came to her mind, she saw couple of such on her march from White Harbour to Winterfell more than seven years ago.  
Then she saw back of a man approaching the horse, patting the animal and giving him something to eat.  
Long, uncombed dark hair fell to the shoulders, he wore jerkin made of boiled animal hide over a grey shirt and breeches of black color.  
After feeding the horse, he turned around… first she saw was a sword hanging on his left side… a white pommel in shape of beast’s head… Longclaw… then beard, of lighter colour than his hair, long and untidy… and grey eyes…  
grey eyes she was drowning in so many times when she was with him… Jon Snow. Man who killed her.  
_Time was merciful to him_, came to her mind, _he is still comely even if covered with hair and beard_.  
But he was pale in face and looked fatigued.  
Next thing the flames showed her was inside the cabin, it was night time, fire was slowly going out in the small hearth and she saw him lying on a makeshift bed, he was still in his breeches and shirt, only his feet were bare…  
he tossed and turned and she could tell he was dreaming. And talking in his sleep… _Dany… Dany, please… world of mercy, it must be…a good world…_  
his voice was soft and full of pain and then it changed into anger… _kinslayer… queenslayer… forgive me, Dany_

Her gaze into flames was deep as was her breath, her mind swarmed with thoughts… and she felt strange sensation below her left breast, where scar from his dagger was.  
He was dreaming of her. After all these years he was dreaming of that day in the throne room, of killing her. And was haunted by it.  
“He suffers. His every night is like this, full of nightmares.” Kinvara said.  
Daenerys responded dryly: “Good. He deserves this. To live that day over and over again in his dreams.”  
“He is not an evil man; he never was and never will be.”  
“No? He killed me, he stabbed me when I was in his embrace, kissing him.”  
Priestess shook her head: “One day, Daenerys Stormborn, you will know that he has saved you.”  
She looked at Kinvara: “My dragon and you have saved me. And my daughters. That is all I know.”

She left the temple and walked across the terrace on whose edge Drogon was perched, waiting for her.  
Then, she started crying and knew that for a brief moment she was again Dany… _Jon, why have you ruined us both._

Daenerys was no stranger to troubled dreams. Two years she spent in Westeros seemed as one long nightmare and those happenings revisited her in dreams.  
Jorah dying on the battlefield among stacked corpses of wights, Viserion falling in frozen lake, Rhaegal disappearing under waves of Narrow Sea… the sound of Missandei’s body touching the ground beneath the walls of King’s Landing,  
Varys being engulfed in flames, Jon’s face when he could not touch her as woman anymore… the worst dreams were those haunted by scenes of King’s Landing burned by dragon flames and wildfire, by her.  
Sound of bells before Drogon lifted off in the air and began burning everything and everyone on his path to Red Keep.  
_Why, why did I do it…_ every such dream ended the same, with her sobbing…_ I’ve killed hundreds of children in most gruesome way… I am not my father; I did much worse. Why… _  
She couldn’t find the answer.  
Simple answer would be to admit she was the Mad Queen. She was not. Not before the dagger in her heart, certainly not after.  
Those who are mad do not feel remorse. And she felt it every day of this new life. 

Through Council of Citizens of Meereen she gave large contributions to charity of King’s Landing, for the victims of destruction she caused, orphans, crippled, homeless.  
New rulers of Westeros believed that it was Meereen’s desire for good relations between two cities once ruled by the same… tyrant?  
They were free to believe what they liked. She wanted to give at least some heal to those she has hacked. It was not for absolution; she knew it was sin beyond absolving to slaughter the city. 

Daenerys was now at the eastern balcony of her manse from which there was a splendid look on the small harbor of Port Yhos.  
Today she was awaiting the return of her daughters from Qarth after two moons.  
Twins were ten years old now and she didn’t need to watch over their every step.  
Being on their own in her Qarth house with household servants and Unsullied guards was to be part of their learning how a lady can run her affairs in a world of men.  
She was surprised when four days ago a word came from Qarth that they’ll be returning by sea.  
Daenerys knew how long it takes for a ship to sail from Qarth to Yhos and she expected twins to arrive today.  
And she was right for in a distance white sail was approaching along coastline.  
There was a hammock on the balcony and she lied in it, waiting for that ship to arrive.  
She dozed off, it was a warm afternoon and balcony offered a pleasant shade.  
A sound of large harbor gong woke her up, three times gong sounded to hail the vessel that came to Port Yhos and ship returned the greet with three blowing of horn.  
_Horn?_ She wondered while walking to the edge of balcony _Not drum or fanfare which is common for most of ships of Essos… but horn? _

Ship was now clearly visible; anchor was already dropped and crew climbed the mast to begin furling the sails.  
White sails with grey head of direwolf of House Stark painted on them.  
Daenerys sighed.


	3. LORD OF KARHOLD

_Wolfswood, Westeros, year 315 After Conquest_

**LORD OF KARHOLD**

Five days ride from here was the capital of Northern kingdom with landscape of grey flint hills and tall watchtowers on their stony summits, further east land flattened, cut only with narrow rivers that provided water for small farms and holdfasts with walls of wood or stone.

It was different here.  
This was a dense wood of oak and black brier and evergreen; old and dark place. Known to all as wolfswood.  
Farms and holdfasts were scarce and small the further one would venture northwards, going deeper into the darkness of this forest.  
On the north western part of wolfswood lies Deepwood Motte, home of House Glover, one hundred leagues from Winterfell and five leagues south of the Bay of Ice.

Gawen Glover rode twenty leagues into the wolfswood to attend a meeting.  
He was the eldest son of Robett and Sybelle Glover who both died in the war against the dead leaving him to rule over this portion of North since he was eight years old.

That was ten years ago. Gawen is now among most experienced young lords of northern Westeros.  
_At least he should be_, thought another young man while watching the rider in scarlet surcoat embroidered with mailed fist on the chest.

Elric of House Karstark, oldest grandson of Arnolf Karstark, castellan of Karhold awaits the rider.  
He is twenty years of age, being only ten when he took the lead of House Karstark.  
His clothes are in contrast with Gawen’s, black woolen cloak patterned with white sunburst, the sigil of his house.

Sun of Winter.

Or mayhaps it was Son of Winter at the beginning, a thousand years ago when Karlon of House Stark was rewarded with land for deeds against his father’s enemy and he built his holdfast, the Karl’s Hold.  
With passing centuries, castle became Karhold and Starks of Karhold, a cadet house of Winterfell Starks, became Karstarks.

_Scratch a Karstark and you'll find a Stark_, Ramsay once said only to be corrected by his father, Roose Bolton: _After the scratch Robb Stark gave Lord Rickard, that may be somewhat less true than formerly. _

He was right. There was not much kinfolk love left between direwolf and winter sun.

Jamie Lannister killed Tohrren Karstark while trying to escape from Robb’s captivity which caused Lord Rickard Karstark to become enraged and demand revenge.  
_And then feeble-minded Catelyn Stark_, Elric recalled, released the Kingslayer in promise of her daughters' safe return from King's Landing.  
_Old Rickard saw it as insult, his murdered son being treated of lesser value than two Stark girls.He acted by killing two Lannister boys and for that Robb Stark, King in the North, took his head off. Men of Karhold left the Northern host after that and returned home, forcing Robb to seek new marriage accord with Walder Frey. And what marriage it was, a Red Wedding._  
_Some years later, Stark and Karstark men crossed swords at the Battle of Bastards, Starks won. Karstarks had to bend the knee to renew the wows and fight for direwolves at Winterfell and at King’s Landing.  
The line of Rickard Karstark was extinct, ending with his granddaughter Alys who died defending Bran Stark from wights… line of castellan took the lead. _

__

“My lord…” greeted Gawen as he dismounted.  
Elric nodded “My lord…” then both laughed and shook hands.  
“For fuck sake, Gawen, you are as formal as some southern cunt from the Reach.” “Is this not a formal meeting, Elric?”  
“In the middle of wolfswood on the forest road? Indeed, a proper council of high lords… don’t consider it a formality, I wanted to hear first-hand how you stand about certain things. I don’t trust in sending ravens, not anymore. Do I have to explain why?”

Boy in scarlet surcoat shook head: “Not to me, you don’t.”  
“Good. Now, did you bring your hunting bow?” “Aye.”  
“As did I. Then by all means, let’s go and kill something. And talk.”

Both were now with bow in hand and quiver across the back.  
They moved slowly through the woods, avoiding rotting trunks and bushes.  
Their paces were slow but they made little effort to remain silent as Glover wanted to hear of real reason for this meeting.  
“So, what do you want to hear, Elric Karstark?”  
Brown-haired twenty-year-old with trimmed beard made a little grin: “About the Kingdom of the North.”  
“I will defend it till my last day.”

“Gawen, if you’re about to recite oaths, you’re wasting your time and mine…  
I want to hear how do you asses the state of our kingdom?”  
“You mean the state of our queen?”

_What else_, thought young Karstark, _though I couldn’t care less about her state. To influence that state, that is different thing entirely. _

“I mean exactly that. How old is our dear Sansa now?”  
“Thirty if I am not mistaking.” Glover responded.  
“You’re not. Thirty, unwed and without children.  
A slightly more time will pass and her childbearing years will be gone.  
What would that mean for the Northern crown?”  
“Matters of succession.”  
Elric chuckled: “To put it mildly. Sansa is the last Stark in Winterfell.  
None of her blood is at her side anymore.  
Younger sister went sailing in Sunset Sea, no one has heard of her in years,  
she could be rotting at the sea bottom for what we know.  
Who will inherit the North after Sansa?”  
“King Bran is a Stark.” Gawen said, though absently.  
“He is not a man, at least when cock is in question; he is not even a Stark anymore. His sigil is raven, not direwolf. And if he were to inherit Northern crown after Sansa, do you know what that means?”  
“He’d have two kingdoms to rule…”

Hearing this Elric was annoyed…_You really are daft, Glover. _

“Forget two kingdoms. He’d rule it as one. Better said not him but the Lannister Imp and that mummer Small Council of his. And once Bran is gone, North will again be part of Seven Kingdoms. With new Southron king.”

Elric waited for a brief moment, for Gawen to comprehend all this.  
Glover then made a look as he seemed to recall something important:  
“What about Sansa’s bastard brother?”  
“You mean the previous King in the North?  
One that bent the knee to Dragon Queen only to kill her later?  
He cannot inherit. He was sent to the Wall as a criminal.  
A slayer of Queen, an oathbreaker. Fuck him.”  
“Then who?” young Glover asked.  
“Me.” young Karstark replied with all seriousness.

Elric could tell that Gawen was barely keeping himself from bursting into laughter and somehow managed to ask “How?”  
“I am going to propose the ginger bitch.” said Elric calmly.  
“She is ten years older than you.”  
“All the better, she will be gone before me if all goes by nature’s course.  
And then I’ll be free to marry a young woman.”  
“What if she provides you with an heir even this late in life?” Gawen wondered.  
He dismissed it shaking his head: “She was betrothed to king Joffrey, married to his uncle and to Ramsay Bolton. So, when she was younger than you and I, two bastards and one imp fucked her, surely in all her holes – and nothing.  
She can’t give an heir. She probably knows this and that’s why she is unwed.”

“You can’t just show up in Winterfell and demand her hand in marriage.”  
Elric grinned: “No, I cannot. That is where you come into play, you and some other houses.”  
“In what way?”  
“How many great houses are left in the North? Umbers are gone, Mormonts are gone, Boltons are gone, dozen or more of lesser houses are gone, all in the last war.But if Karstarks and Glovers come as united force plus some others, Cerwyn, Dustin, Tallhart. Sansa cannot ignore that.  
She is alone. Who remains to back her up against us?  
Those fat fucks from White Harbor, the Manderlys?  
Courage does not come from weight and body fat otherwise they’ll be ruling on both sides of Narrow Sea.”  
Gawen laughed. “True, very true.”  
Then he got serious:  
“She could ask for support from the Vale, their lord is her first cousin.”  
“She could but she will not.  
Vale is part of Six Kingdoms, they’re foreigners now. What kind of queen asks for foreign intervention in matter of marriage proposal?”

Youth in scarlet surcoat agreed once more and pondered about something while Elric took down a wood grouse he spotted on a pine tree some dozen yards away.  
As he went to pick his kill, Glover asked:  
“What happens if Sansa were to refuse you?”  
Elric picked up the dying rooster of the woods and wring bird’s neck:  
“There is a good word for that course of things. Abdication.”


	4. COUSIN AUNT

_Port Yhos, Essos, year 315 After Conquest_

**COUSIN AUNT**

She was halfway done with ship’s log entry when knock on the door of her cabin prevented her from finishing.  
“Yes? Enter.”  
It was Artos Costayne, ship’s first mate:  
“An envoy from ashore, Arya. He brings you message and a gift, it seems.”  
“A gift? I don’t recall having friends in this city, I’ve never set my eyes on Yhos till today. Send him in.”  
“As you order.”  
Costayne stepped out taking post sideways of the door while tall, brown skinned man in Qartheen garments entered carrying something wrapped in black cloth and tied with blue cord.  
He bowed and addressed her in Common Tongue:  
“Lady Arya of House Stark, I am Mallaro Deeth, here to speak on behalf of my Mistress who invites you to her home in the city.  
And sends you this token of her gratitude for delivering one of her daughters from peril and for bringing both of them safe to Port Yhos.” 

Man placed the package on the table in front of Arya and unwrapped the cloth and then took few steps back and bowed again.  
It was a sword, resembling to a Dornish scimitar but only slightly curved.  
Arya recognized the Valyrian steel right away. Blade was smooth, just above one arm length long, joined to a simple hilt with jade orb as a pommel.  
“This blade was forged in Sar Mell, before the Rhoynish Wars, using steel from Old Valyria. That makes it very rare since Freehold did not share secrets of steel on many occasions, surely not with Rhoynar.” Mallaro described the gift.  
Arya rose from the chair holding sword in hand, still in wonder. She sliced it slowly through the air, trying it. Sword was perfect for her to handle, with one hand or both.  
She placed it back on the table and made a slight bow to her guest before sitting down: “  
Your Mistress honors me with this gift. I will use it to protect those who cannot protect themselves.”  
Mallaro made a nod to confirm those words:  
“My Mistress would like to host you in her home tomorrow after noon for she desires to speak with you. What reply should I be bringing to her?”  
“Tell your Mistress that I accept.” He nodded again. “I shall be waiting for you ashore with carriage as noon passes tomorrow.” Then Mallaro bowed and left the cabin. 

_So, tomorrow I will get to see her. She is thankful for what I did for her daughters. I didn’t do it for her daughters, I did it for his daughters and for my nieces. Or cousins once removed. It doesn’t matter. I did it for my kin. _ Arya was reassuring herself in her mind while slicing the air of her cabin with Rhoynish blade _She’s sent me this exceptional token of gratitude as a peace offer. I will accept that offer, for a while at least._

_Nymeria_ set sail four days ago from Qarth with cargo of gold and ivory intended for Port Yhos from which caravans will take it inland, towards Lhazareen cities of Hesh and Kosrak.  
Ship was docked in Qarth for more than two moons and passed an overhaul though Arya wasn’t very pleased.  
True, ship maintenance abilities of Qartheen are undisputed when it comes to sailing across the Summer or Jade Sea but _Nymeria_ was meant to ride the rough waves of Narrow, Sunset and even Shivering Sea.  
_We’ll do another overhaul when we get to Free Cities_, she decided before leaving the quay and heading to Yhos.  
She had three passengers aboard as well. Kinvara, the High Priestess of the Red Temple of Volantis as woman in red robe called herself. Arya came to tolerate her. Barely.  
_I didn’t toss her overboard in these four days, that is some improvement. _

Other two passengers were little girls that have found their way in Arya’s heart so sudden it surprised her. Lyanna was Stark on outside and very much on the inside with strong streak of temper of her mother’s side of family.  
Rhaella had her mother’s features but was more silent child, taking after her father of which Arya couldn’t think now without feeling great pain.  
In past two moons she has spent a lot of time with twins, teaching them from swordfight to history of the Starks, though she wished her own knowledge on the subject was more abundant, but also of Aegon’s conquest and Dance of Dragons.  
On one occasion, on the plain west of Qarth, she witnessed how both girls are skilled in horsemanship and how good mounted archers they are. 

_That’s living among the Dothraki for you… _ she concluded; _in its own way grass sea just as salt sea gives you freedom. _  
For the duration of voyage from Qarth to Port Yhos, twins wore thick veils to hide their hair and faces. It would arise too many questions from the crew to see one girl with Stark looks and one with Targaryen looks running across the decks.  
She explained the veils with need of the Qartheen to hide their maidens even in youngest age from the eyes of foreigners.  
Crew didn’t care. 

Dalton Pyke had made clear that womenfolk without heavy teats and fur between legs are no interest of his. He was a crude man and Arya knew he was pondering about fucking her for a long time.  
_You’ll have to do with stroking your cock_ she often thought, _ I’ve said no to a tenfold better man than your miserable Ironborn arse is._  
_Who knows what is Gendry Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End doing now…probably learning his third son how to wield a war hammer_ thought of blacksmith from Flea Bottom came to her,  
_and here I am, half the world away, about to meet the woman who made him Baratheon. _

It wasn’t a large chamber, its size paled in comparison with chambers of lords and rich men that she saw in her lifetime.  
Richly ornate sandalwood table on which there was meticulous layout of books, documents, parchments, silver inkwell with quill, a feather of dark indigo color.  
Behind the table was one sandalwood chair with padded seat and in front of it two more.  
Splat of the chair was ornate displaying the crouching dragon with folded wings, not unlike those large stone statues on the island in Narrow Sea, once seat of powerful house.  
To the right of the table she could see detailed map of Essos, covering almost that whole side of the wall, there was no mountain, river, lake or bay to be omitted from that map and all the settlements were there as well, those where people were thriving had symbol of house in brown color next to its name, those long abandoned, ruined of fallen had same symbol in white. Her eyes caught how all the cities in Dothraki Sea were accompanied by white house symbol except one, Vaes Dothrak. 

To the left was a bookshelf, some three feet tall and twice as that in length, filled with books and parchments in many languages.  
She could distinct the titles in Common Tongue, High Valyrian, Low Valyrian of former Slaver’s Bay, Ghiscari, tongue of Rhoynish… all arranged in same strict order as the papers on the table. 

Chamber had two windows, one right behind the table offering splendid view of the open Summer Sea with only land in sight that of Ghiscari shore which seemed as bluish misty shadow.  
Second window was smaller and was here to provide the cooling of the room, next to it was a tea table set, one feet tall round table with four round stools, also of sandalwood with ornate legs depicting elephants and camels which spoke of its Qartheen origin.  
What room lacked in size, it had in its richness.  
Her eyes wandered around as looking for something until it was found. On the wall between the main window and the large map a small shield was hung, black shield displaying red three-headed winged reptilian beast. Sigil of dragonlords.

Then she heard the sound of door opening and closing and steps approaching.  
_Whatever god or gods are there, give me strength for this_, was in her mind as her entire body stiffened. One more step and another… and there she was. 

“Lady Arya of House Stark…” voice came to her ears, voice she last heard in the ruins of the Red Keep. It wasn’t soft as now; it was loud and spoke of war for liberating the whole world of tyrants. She lifted her gaze, slowly, unwillingly.  
Before her stood a woman in early thirties with silver hair braided in simple ponytail that went down to the shoulder blades, violet eyes were bright and piercing, pale heart shaped face… her ethereal beauty was untouched by passing of time.  
She wore black silk trousers and sleeveless black silk jerkin that left her arms bare and red sash belt also of silk around her waist.

_If pirates had a queen, this would be her garment_, came to Arya’s mind.  
But it was perfect choice of clothes for the climate of southern Essos. Arya now felt her flowing skirt and white shirt over which she wore short woven jacket, clothes of Braavos, were as heavy as chainmail armor. 

She rose from the chair and returned the greeting with slight nod: “Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen.” Her host made a hand sign and they both sat down.  
Arya kept her eyes on woman in black silk.

“Lady Arya, I was told by both Lyanna and Kinvara what you did for my daughter in Qarth. I want you to know that I am wholly grateful. If there’s anything I can do for you or your crew and ship, please say so.”  
“I did what was right. Simple as that.” she said dryly “I don’t ask compensation for what I did. I’d do it again, for any little girl in such danger. Though I thank you for the sword you gifted me. A blade yet unseen.”  
“I was also told that upon learning the truth about Lyanna, you did not take it well. That you were quite angry about it. Mostly about me living again.”

Arya took a deep breath and leaned back:  
“True. It would be a lie to say I was happy of hearing that news. Strange, though, we haven’t exchanged this much words back at Winterfell, all those years ago.”  
“No, we have not. And now I see a woman where young girl once was.”  
“As do I... Mayhaps I should have talked more with you then, to know you better, to understand why my brother gave up the Northern crown for you.”  
“Yes. Probably you should have. He told me, your brother or cousin to be exact, that as a girl you liked stories of Visenya and Rhaenys and their dragons. Yet, when dragons were at your very doorstep, you ignored them. You choose to listen to your sister.” Daenerys’ voice was devoid of emotions.  
“She did not trust you. Nor did I.” Arya replied.

Violet eyes gazed into grey eyes as the battle of wills was to begin.  
"She judged me the first moment she met me, as unfit for your brother, as unfit to rule Seven Kingdoms. And both of you used the secret Jon has foolishly shared with you to bring me down.”  
Arya’s voice became slightly angered: “I’ve sworn to Jon to keep the secret of who he truly is in the Godswood and I’ve kept it to this very day. Don’t hold me responsible for deeds or misdeeds of my sister. I am not Sansa just as she is not me.”  
She saw her host nodding: “All right, that is fair.” 

“What is fair? Back then, what you’ve asked of Jon… to hide who he really is so that you can take what was rightfully his? Was that fair?”  
“He never wanted it. I did, I’ve wanted it since I was old enough to want anything.”  
“Then it was upon him to reject the kingship, publicly, not by making people swear to keep secrets so that you can be happy. And he did it, he did whatever you asked. He loved you to a fault.”  
Now it was Daenerys’ voice painted in anger:  
“He loved his family. He loved you and Sansa more than he could ever love me. In the end, he betrayed me. And he killed me in a manner of vile craven, with his arms around me and his lips on mine. I was such a fool in that moment, for weeks before he refused to touch me as a man touches woman, disgusted with our blood relation and still I suspected nothing when he kissed me with such passion. A ruse, a trick to place a dagger in my heart.” 

Arya was about to give a vehement reply to this, to defend her brother by heart and cousin by blood, but she sensed hurt in Daenerys’ voice.  
She never knew how exactly death of Dragon Queen took place in the ruins of throne room but hearing this there was no reason not to believe it. 

_My father gave it to my mother…_ she recalled little Lyanna’s words…_gods, it was that dagger. _

“You are wrong. He never betrayed you. Even after you’ve burned down King’s Landing, he still tried to find reasons to justify what you did. Even after your war speech to your armies… I know, I was there…”  
Daenerys frowned: “You were at King’s Landing that day? You were supposed to stay in Winterfell.”  
“I had to go south, I wanted to kill Cersei. But you were faster, bringing down the Red Keep on her. I almost died that day, running away from you and your dragon and the firestorm you have created…”  
Arya saw discomfort on Daenerys’ face “…then I got to listen your plans of freeing the world of tyranny from far edge of the west to the far edge of the east.  
I saw the Mad Queen on the steps of Red Keep. And I am not going to apologise for saying this.” she said defiantly.

“No apologies needed. I respect honesty. I know what I did that day. I unleashed hell on the people I wanted to save…” Daenerys spoke in solemn tone “… when I came back to life, only then I was able to understand what I did, slaughter of entire city.”  
Her gaze was down, her both hands placed on the table.

Arya remained silent and some time passed, then she leaned forward and said: “King’s Landing was a shithole of Westeros, those people cheered when my father was beheaded, they cheered for Joffrey and for Cersei, then throw their own shit at her when she was paraded naked through streets; they cheered for Euron Greyjoy… people of that city would skin each other alive if that’d make them few coppers from selling hide.. but they did not deserve what you have done. No one deserves that.”  
“If I could undo what I’ve done, I would. I am not a monster like you judge me to be.”

Arya sighed: “I am the last person to judge others. On my ship I have men who fought at King’s Landing that day. One Ironborn bastard who was in Euron’s fleet, barely escaping with his life when dragon flame tore his ship apart, I have Northerners who when drunk talk how they took part in killing and rape, even one who was under Lannister lion. I judge none of them.”  
She took another breath: “I know you’re not a monster. Jon would never fall in love with a monster. A monster would not bring such beautiful children in this world.” 

Daenerys gave her a hint of smile: “Kinvara told me that in such a short time since you’ve met Rhae and Lya, they have grown so fond of you. As you were older sister to them.”  
“Older sister, cousin, aunt... it matters not. They’re my blood. I want you to know that I love your daughters, I know them briefly but they already have a place in my heart. And woe to those who would do any harm to them.”  
“When I saw your ship, the direwolf on the sails and prow, I expected the worst. I expected that Westeros has finally found me and they’re invading…” Daenerys smiled saying this.  
“I can imagine your surprise with the invading force…” Arya laughed “…my crew is good at sea but on land only thing they can invade is closest inn. Or brothel.”  
“Good for them, then. I still have hundreds of Unsullied here with me and a small khalasar camped on the outskirts of the city.” 

Arya was surprised hearing this: “I guess you’re quite safe from a small-scale invasion. And large one is impossible in the harbor like this one.”  
“To know that you were spending time with my daughters made me uneasy on one hand but on the other… they have Stark blood. That I have never denied. Nor will I.  
And as it came to pass for them to meet a Stark, I am glad they’ve met you, Arya. You’re the one which resembles most my brother’s love, the first Lyanna, their grandmother. And you are a woman of honor. I respect that. Whether you believe it or not.”  
“I’m also glad that I’ve met the girls. As I said, they have my love and my protection from any harm. But, the fruit of love between your brother and my aunt is out there. Rhae and Lya have a father.”  
“No. He has killed them when he killed me.” Daenerys leaned back in her chair, her tone was cold and serious.  
“He did not know you were with child. He would never kill a pregnant stranger…to think he’d kill a woman carrying his babes… did you ever truly get to know him?”  
“I did. Duty always came first with him. I died because of that.”

“He did what had to be done. If it was not him, someone else would have kill you sooner or later, everyone in King’s Landing had a reason to kill you.”  
"Someone, everyone… I didn’t conceive my daughters with someone or everyone. I did it with Jon Snow. And he stabbed me in the heart. For greater good. I do not want that man anywhere near me or my children as long as all three of us draw breath.” 

_Dragon is awake_, Arya almost rolled her eyes, _mayhaps she is burdened with guilt for what she did in King’s Landing but she hates Jon with all her being. _

“If only you could see what Jon has become after your death… a broken man. He’s beyond the Wall now, with Free Folk…”  
Violet eyes were cold and distant now: “I know how he lives. I’ve seen it in the flames.”  
“In the flames? I’ve seen him in the flesh five years ago. He is haunted with your death, every single night he dreams of you and calls you in his sleep. Every night in past ten years. Would a man without guilt be broken by it, would a man who never loved you had dreams of you for so long?”  
“It is right for him to suffer. He brought it on himself by listening wrong advice... advice of all who never wanted me to succeed.”

Arya hissed angrily: “It’s right for him to live out his days believing that you’re dead?! Not knowing that his family lives and prospers…”  
Daenerys rose from the chair; her stance and voice were firm:  
“Girls and I are not his family. We could’ve been before he stabbed me. He killed that family and he has no right to this one.”  
Arya was now standing as well: “This is cruelty, nothing else. Not only to Jon, but to the girls also. You could be a family, all of you. You’re the last of the Targaryens!”  
“He was never a true Targaryen. The blood of the dragon was too heavy for him.”  
“You can’t truly mean that… hate has blinded you. And I have supped on hate for many years.”

“Arya Stark, you’re welcome under my roof as long as you wish. You saved my daughter from being hurt or even killed. But we’ll never discuss this again. Or you will not be welcome anymore.”  
Daenerys walked out of the chamber leaving Arya frustrated.

_Oh, fuck it, I can teach people to wield a sword, but reasoning with dragons is beyond my grasp. _  
She walked around the manse for a while, admiring its styled towers and balconies, until she found herself on the terrace overlooking the inner courtyard. There she saw Rhaella and Lyanna in the water pool, bare as on their nameday, splashing water at each other and yelling.  
Silver-haired girl was first to spot her: “Arya, come and play with us!”  
“Yes, come, we will have a swim race!” called Lya.  
Arya waved to girls and had to think for a heartbeat. _Oh, why the hells not. it’s only us girls here. _ Soon her jacket, shirt, skirt and underclothes were folded on the stone bench and she was naked in the water pool with her cousins. _Or are they my nieces…_ she mulled over but that came to an abrupt end when raven-haired cousin-niece jumped on her back and both went under water.  
“Lya! You wolf child!” she shouted when they re-emerged with Lyanna laughing.  
Rhaella swam closer and Arya hugged her and placed kiss on girl’s forehead.  
“Does it hurt?” girl asked “What, ñuha dōna?”  
_My sweet_, Arya never hoped to call anyone that, let alone in High Valyrian.  
But Rhaella with her Stark quietness captured Arya’s heart.  
“Those marks on your belly?”  
“My scars… no, Rhaella, they don’t hurt. They are from long ago.” 

She enjoyed her time in the water pool, leaving the girls to splash and shout, while she floated on the surface with her face towards the sun.  
_I’ve never felt such peacefulness in my life_, she thought basking her nakedness in the warmth of sun and water, _let it last as long as it can. _  
“Lady Arya…” voice came from the poolside.  
_Seven hells, it didn’t last long. _

She turned her head and saw Kinvara standing next to edge of the pool.  
“A word, if I may.” Arya made a few strokes to reach the edge and came out.  
Priestess looked at her naked, wet body and she noticed that:  
“Feast your eyes if you will, but don’t get any notions. I’m into cocks only.”  
Kinvara shook her head: “I don’t partake in pleasures of flesh. This time I was just admiring your beauty, unspoiled even by those scars.”  
“What do you want?” said Arya now wrapped in towel.  
“Your brother now lives near the mouth of Antler River. Flames have shown it clearly. He hunts and fishes. Life is good there now, since snow and ice have withdrawn, but it won’t last.”  
“And that is helping me how? She doesn’t want to hear about Jon. She hates him deeply. I believe she’d kill him on sight if they ever meet again.”  
“That we shall know when it happens for them to meet.” said the priestess.  
“You propose that we should arrange such meeting?” Arya replied, half mockingly. “That is exactly what I propose.”  
“Ha, good luck, he is on the other side of the world right now.”  
“And that is where your role begins…” Kinvara grinned. 

“So, this is your grand scheme? Even if I were to go get him, it will take four or five moons for Nymeria to sail across most of the Summer Sea, then into the Narrow Sea, along the entire coast of Westeros and then go past Skagos and Hardhome to reach the Antler’s mouth. Then journey back… another five moons. Who knows where she and the girls will be almost a year from now? Here, Meereen or in Great Grass Sea?”  
Kinvara chuckled.  
“Oh, do I amuse you?” Arya was annoyed.  
“Yes, actually… with your belief that you will bring Jon Snow by sea.”  
“Well I can’t bloody ride to Antler River from here, can I?”  
“No, Arya Stark, but you can fly.” 

Then Kinvara pointed to bare children playing in the pool:  
“You will fly with them.”


	5. TYRION

_King’s Landing, Westeros, year 315 After Conquest_

**TYRION**

He walked down the halls of the now partially restored Red Keep. The city had taken a decade to be rebuilt, yet it was not nearly over. Rest of the Realm cared little when capital will be as it was before the wars after death of Robert Baratheon began.  
The Hand of the King nodded to the assembled petitioners, all wishing to speak with the King. He was not inside the Red Keep.  
Bran was in the royal gardens, where he could have his solitude, hours passed with him using his powers to see what once was and what is happening now. 

Westeros south of the border of now independent North had few weirwood trees.  
Andal invasion that took place few thousand years ago slowly but surely supplanted the faith in the Old gods with the Faith of the Seven, the new gods.  
Godswoods were cut down and only few remained, near those holdfasts whose lords weren’t so eager to embrace the seven new gods.  
Red Keep had its own Godswood before it perished in dragon flames as did most of the castle.

A new weirwood tree for the Red Keep was found in the Riverlands and Bran ordered for it to be planted in the royal gardens. Placed under guard, that was place where king would use his powers.

Tyrion stood behind king’s wheelchair for a moment, running his hand through his graying beard. His king was now seven and twenty years old, not old but not a boy either.  
Any monarch of that age would have children by now, grown enough to begin learning about the art of ruling. As Bran had no wife, he had no children.  
Ten years ago Tyrion had suggested that the Six Kingdoms should elect its ruler through council of great lords and ladies, but he also knew the threats of that procedure.  
Who will come after Bran the Broken... someone to carry on his legacy or someone who will resemble more the kings of the old.

Relations were tense with Iron Islands and Dorne, it brewed for past ten years.  
Pyke had long tradition of rebellions, Sunspear of self-governing. Yet, so far the only kingdom that declared independence was the North. Leaving the fold the very next moment when Brandon Stark was named king of Westeros.

Tyrion never wholly accepted that, that was a mistake, North was almost larger than all other kingdoms combined. Their independence had made Dorne and Iron Islands restless, Tyrion also feared that Vale, ruled by weak cousin of Northern queen could choose union with the North and leave the Realm. That would make Six Kingdms to become Five. And then nothing could prevent secession of Sunspear and Pyke. 

Realm made only of Westerlands, Riverlands, Stormlands and the Reach would not last for a sennight and times before the Aegon’s Conquest will return with Realm dissolved, melted just as Iron Throne was melted ten years ago. 

“You have a troubled mind, lord Hand?” Bran said.  
Tyrion looked to his king, realising that he had come out of his warging state. “As ever, Your Grace.”  
Bran’s face was a emotionless as ever. He could not read minds and Tyrion was glad for it.  
“What have you seen, Your Grace, while...” Tyrion asked.  
“What was and what is. And unclear images of what will be.” Bran replied, same as ever. Whenever he would get such an answer, Tyrion felt that his king thinks of him as unable to grasp the meaning of powers his king wielded.  
"Have you perchance seen..." Tyrion asked this question hundreds of times in past ten years.  
“He is in Essos, but mostly on places beyond my sight. He nests in Old Valyria, that is what I believe, and Doom has its spells even in our time” Bran replied. “He has grown but he is alone. Every time when I can see him, he is alone.” Tyrion sighed in relief. “That is good news, then. For past ten years dragon’s been keeping away from men. He should be true wild animal now.”  
“Simple animal would not have melted down the Iron Throne, lord Tyrion.” “Dragon without someone to serve is far lesser danger, don’t you agree, Your Grace?” 

There were rumors coming from the east, rumors of silver-haired woman appearing here and there, many of those claimed that it was Daenerys Targaryen, one time she was seen at Yunkai, one time in Qarth and the other in Asshai.  
Bran with his powers saw nothing of the sort and all such rumors were dismissed.

Bran did not reply and instead signaled to one of Kingsguard to wheel him inside of the Red Keep, the part which was rebuilt.  
Tyrion sighed deeply. Oft times his talk with Bran would end like this. Abruptly. It did not bother him before as now.  
First eight years of reign of King Bran the Broken were best years that Westeros has seen, equally prosperous as those years when Aerys Targaryen, Second of his name, was still man of full sanity and lord Tywin Lannister served as Hand of the King.  
Those times were over fifty years ago. 

But as Bran’s rule entered in the ninth year, Tyrion began to see changes in king’s behaviour, slight as they were, he could see them nonetheless.  
Bran the Broken lived in present of this world and existed in its past, he could also look into its blurred future.  
The king was both a young man in his prime and a tired old man. King was becoming reclusive, leaving the matters of ruling to his Hand and Small Council. 

Ser Bronn of the Blackwater has proven himself to be an utter failure as Master of Coin, as well as Lord Paramount of the Reach.  
In ten years he did not saw fit to take a highborn wife from some of the main noble houses that were sworn to Highgarden.  
He was good on spending coins, on pricey courtesans and village whores alike. And on feasts that lacked taste and measure.

With recluse king and such a man in charge of royal finance, both great lords and small displayed more and more disobedience when payment of taxes were of the matter. Tyrion was now sure his beard and hair would be white before he knew it.  
He was nearing his fiftieth nameday and desire of retirement was coming to him more and more as time went by… to go to the edge of the world for one more piss.  
Though, a man he knew was not there, guarding the realms of men, he disappeared in the vast lands beyond the Wall. 

“Was it right what I did? It doesn’t feel right.” Tyrion remembered that man’s question. And answer he gave him: “Ask me again in ten years.”

Ten years have gone by and Tyrion’s answer still was “Yes, it was the right thing.”  
Though, last two years have made that answer to ring with less certainty than before. 

He walked down the hallway towards the Hand’s chamber, a room able to accommodate both private audiences and Small Council meetings, since Tower of the Hand was still in construction.  
Curious detail was that original tower was not destroyed by Daenerys’ dragon; it was done by Cersei using wildfire.  
Knowing that her father was murdered in the Tower of the Hand she could not bear to look at it. 

Till the last day of her reign, that tower remained ruin and on that last day, most of the Red Keep joined that tower as ruin. 

Tyrion walked in his chamber and saw there was an unannounced visitor.  
A tall man, thin and hard as a bone, was seated at the table, same one at which Small Council used to assemble.  
Brown hair and trimmed bear of same color. King’s Master of Coin. Ser Bronn of the Blackwater. 

“You took your time. I’ve been sitting here for I don’t know how long.” Bronn objected.  
"Some of us are actually performing duties that were bestowed upon us.” came the reply.  
Tyrion sat on the other side of the table, laying down the documents he brought under his arm.  
Bronn gestured to make sure his boredom was obvious. Tyrion coughed to make sure that gesture was not appreciated. 

“Yara Greyjoy was reported visiting Sunspear two times in last three moons.” Tyrion stated. “Her host was Arianne Martell.”  
“And?”  
“That doesn’t strike you as odd?”  
Bronn smirked: “Odd… a known cunt-licker is tasting some highborn Dornish minj. And, there is no minj like Dornish minj.”  
“I doubt that cunt-licking is primary concern of their get-togethers.”  
“Muff diving?”  
“What…?” asked Tyrion.  
“I heard some young fuckers from Oldtown using word – muff diver – for womenfolk with same taste like Yara.”  
“Cunt-licking and muff diving are one and the same. Though I see that your time spent with younger people enriches your profanity thesaurus.” 

“Too much fancy words in one sentence.” Bronn dismissed “So what do you think that Yara is doing there?”  
“Plotting, most likely.” the Hand replied.  
“Ha, world is very simple to you. If someone is not fucking, then that one must be plotting. Which makes you the greatest plotter of Six Kingdoms. Since you haven’t had a decent fuck for… fifteen years, was it now?” 

Tryion frowned: “I wasn’t aware you’ve been keeping track…but, yes, my whoring days are long gone.”  
“It was your decision to end those days… or was it to show loyalty to both rulers you served as a Hand? One without cock and one with broken cock. They had no cock to use so you’ve put yours out of work.  
Some would admire such loyalty; I say it has clogged you… your mind worked better when you’re whoring.”  
“Perhaps it was. But now my clogged mind has to figure out why is Kraken visiting the snakes of Dorne.”  
Bronn grinned: “And what have you figured out?” 

“It is simple actually, both Dorne and the Iron Islands have tradition of disobedience towards rulers of the Realm. It is not unlikely that they’re bonding together for the future.  
The North leaving the Seven Kingdoms and reducing it to Six, fared badly with both Ironborn and the Dornish. It is surprising that they’ve remained silent for such a long time.”  
“And mayhaps is all about cunt-licking.” Bronn concluded. 

“I wish it were.” said Tyrion “just as I wish that your abilities as Master of Coin were more developed.”   
“And they are not?” frowned the former sellsword. “Sadly, no. They haven’t improved much in past ten years and Realm’s finances are, to put it mildly, far from satisfactory. You just were not up to the task. And rebuilding brothels and funding new whorehouses were not your first and foremost duty.”   
“I disagree with that. A good brothel will do for people’s well being more than five septs or shrines.”  
Tyrion shrugged: “Be that as it may, our king disagrees with you. And there is that case of Meereenese contribution to King’s Landing charity, for victims of Daenerys’ attack.” “What case would that be?” asked Bronn, irritated.  
“The case when two moons ago, Meereen’s four crates of golden coins arrived and those they were intended for – did not see a single one.” 

Master of Coin was now angry: “Are you accusing me of theft?”  
Tyrion shook his head: “Theft is not appropriate term here. To embezzle, to misappropriate, to peculate… I am also rich in thesaurus.” 

“Still, you have accused me. Wrongly.”  
“I did not. Our king did. And he has certain gift that enables him to see the past. And he saw those four crates travelling in a wagon headed for Highgarden. I have here accurate description of horses that pulled that wagon, of men who escorted it.  
And exact words you traded with leader of those men merely moments before they rode off to the Reach.”  
Bronn remained silent for a moment.  
“Ah… fuck it. Yes, I took the damn Meereenese blood money. Upholding a castle like Highgarden is costly and I was never good with numbers.”  
“Indeed, you weren’t. But you were excellent with balls and whores. That now ends.”  
“Am I being removed as Master of Coin?” Bronn asked, angrily. 

“The Crown cannot keep a thief on that position, which was ill suited for you to begin with. But there are other options for you; where you can give best service to the Realm.”  
“What other options?”  
Tyrion leaned back in his chair: “You will get closer to the Ironborn cunt-licker and the Dornish minj. As a dismissed member of the Small Council you’re perfect for bonding with potential breakaways from the Realm.”  
Bronn spat: “A spy? You want me to be a spy? Why the fuck King Bran the Broken needs spies anyway… with that gift of his?!” 

“Our king is able to see things that have happened, but future events are yet to happen. He cannot see the future clearly. And all of us partake in causing of future events. You and I and King and last beggar in Flea Bottom.  
For that reason, you have been offered a mission to redeem yourself.” Tyrion said with all seriousness.  
“Do you accept that mission, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater?”  
Once a sellsword, brown-haired man kept quiet for a while and then replied:  
“I know when I’ve been fucked in the arse. I accept.” 

Hand of the King nodded contently: “Good. Return to Highgarden today and in a fortnight, you ride for Sunspear. It’s been… what… thirteen years since you’ve seen the Water Gardens? With Jamie, right?”  
“Mhm… it seems that bricks have killed the wrong Lannister man-cunt.”  
“Charmingly said.” 

“Sure as fuck it was not intended to be charming.” said Lord Paramount of the Reach on his way out.


	6. KINVARA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter "dances" on the edge of canon, regarding dragon flight, I am aware of it.  
Many will disapprove and dismiss two kids being riders with Arya Stark being "passenger".  
As for glass candles, I've seen theories of them being ASOIAF equivalent of LOTR palantir and so on.  
Certainly it's not Old Valyrian Skype, but very unhealthy thing for users that have achieved low level skills in sorcery, let that stand for this story and its plot.

_Meereen, Essos, year 315 After Conquest_

**KINVARA**

_No Lysene and no Ghiscari,  
No Volantene and no Qartheen  
No maid of Essos can charm me  
For I left my heart at Moat Cailin  
With a girl that is my darlin’ _

_She's of hair like raven's feather  
Eyes of spring lake water  
I swear it to gods, old and new  
I love that Northern daughter _

Port of Meereen echoed with joyful tune of Westerosi sailors gathered at the stern of _Nymeria_ who were celebrating the arrival to northernmost city in the Bay of Dragons. Men from other ships as well as those ashore frowned and shook their head, some who could understand even few words of the tongue of Sunset Kingdoms found the song insulting.  
“Only one who should be insulted with that song is the Northern daughter.” laughed the leader of the sailors who were getting drunker with every new song.  
“It’s an old song, A song about whoring in every part of Westeros Northerners have visited.”  
“Oh, and your men have replaced Westerosi places with those of Essos.”  
“Aye, they’ve been whoring in all mentioned places, aboard this ship or earlier in their lives.” Arya confirmed “But, don’t for a moment believe there is a girl they left in Moat Cailin… half of them are not Northerners to begin with…” “  
Your crew is one strange lot.” priestess commented.  
“Not stranger than me.” “That is not mine to say.”  
“Better to say it than to let it linger in your head.” 

Kinvara grinned.  
Her gaze caught the Great Pyramid, it stood dominant over the city dwarfing all other, lesser pyramids, nearly two dozen of them.  
None of those could reach even half of the eight hundred feet height of the Great Pyramid.  
From its apex one could see entire city: the narrow twisty alleys and wide brick streets, the temples and granaries, palaces, brothels and baths, gardens and fountains and the circles of the fighting pits.  
Meereen was as large as Astapor and Yunkai put together.  
And like those two cities also was built of brick, but where Astapor had been red and Yunkai yellow, Meereen was made with bricks of many colors. 

_Nymeria_ reached its port after fortnight of voyage along the Ghiscari coast, her cargo holds now empty and awaiting the goods from inland, from Lhazar, Dothraki Sea, part of cargo is announced to be coming from Samyriana in the east and New Ibish on the far north of Essos.  
Then ship will sail to the Free Cities to make proper repairs for her to meet the seas of north and west.  
And then _Nymeria_ will venture south, towards Summer Isles. 

“No one has ever sailed around Sothoryos”, Arya told Kinvara about the vast continent which was south of Essos as they stood on the ship’s bow  
“That would be some exploit. Though which ever source I have on this unknown land, it was all about danger.  
Diseases, insects, snakes, even some claims of apes large as giants…”  
“That would be something to see, indeed.” she confirmed “but you shall not. Southern continent is not your destiny.”  
“What is my destiny, again? To ride the dragon from here to the Antler River?”  
“You will not ride the dragon, Lyanna and Rhaella will ride it.”  
“So, I am merely a passenger?” Arya asked.  
"Yes. A cargo, if you prefer. Girls are important for dragon riding, you for everything else, from their safety to bringing their father with you.  
There is no living person whom he trusts more than you.” 

Arya shrugged and then nodded: “I guess you’re right about that. What is your gain in Jon being here?”  
“I neither ask nor hope for any gain, I do the bidding of Lord of Light.”  
“Don’t hide behind your god, you know very well what I meant. I want Jon to be free from being haunted by ghost of a woman who lives and for him to be with his children.  
Why do you want him here in Essos?”  
Kinvara answered: “Jon Snow is the champion of Lord of Light. His place is here, with true believers in R’hllor, not rotting alone in forest.”  
Arya shook her head: “It is impossible to get a straight honest answer from you red priests. One way or the other, I will learn the truth.”  
“For now, you should get acquainted with your travel, lady Stark.” she replied using title that will annoy the Westerosi woman even more.  
“All right, let’s repeat the whole damn thing all over again.” 

She could see how Arya sighed, still not at ease with this plan.  
Kinvara decided to repeat the main points of their secret undertaking.  
“Daenerys will come to Meereen on Drogon next week, daughters will be with her, for annual feast with which city celebrates the end of slavery. Some pretend to be celebrating, mind you. Then, she will leave on dragon’s back for Vaes Dothrak leaving Rhaella and Lyanna with me.  
When Drogon flies back here to feed and that he will, then all three of you must act and use him as fastest mean of travel to the lands beyond the Wall.”  
“And most dangerous. In so many ways than one.”  
“Girls can bond with dragon just like their mother can. He will do you no harm.”  
“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Arya said unconvinced. 

She confirmed that with slight nod and continued:  
“You’ll take a first flight during night from Meereen to bay of Lorath where you’ll remain for that whole day to rest as much as you can.  
Then with first traces of sunset, fly above the Shivering Sea, pass the Skagos island and Hardhome and you’ll be over mouth of Antler before dawn.” “Can dragon cover that much of a distance without resting?”  
Kinvara confirmed with a smirk: “He was seven years younger and smaller when he took Daenerys from Meereen to Naath with no rest.  
And that travel was just slightly shorter than yours will be.”  
“I hope you’re right, for all our sake.”

A week later, Kinvara found herself in the Great Pyramid, now seat of Council of Citizens, the ruling body of Meereen.  
Twenty-one were chosen, men and women alike, from the ranks of former slave masters but still Meereenese nobility and from the ranks of former slaves who now were merchants, artisans, masons, innkeepers, scribes, roofers, teachers and soldiers.  
Two sides of this great city were joined together to make it greater still and just twelve years ago they slaughtered each other from the dark alleys to stands of the fighting pits.

Council greeted their former Queen cordially, though some other present from merchant guild were somewhat less enthusiastic knowing of her ties with the Dothraki who drove all trade routes into submission of tribute payment. Nothing they knew that it was this woman in yellow silk tokar who was the real tribute collector.  
The audience chamber was for this purpose furnished with long dining tables and stools made of same carved and gilded wood, enough to accommodate almost five scores of guests.  
Daenerys sat with the Council’s elders at the head of the table.  
Her twins were seated at the side of the table, their places being after the last of the twenty-one and next to them was their aunt Arya, proudly displaying white sleeveless tunic with embroidered direwolf’s head which she wore over her grey silk Volantene dress, causing Daenerys to frown. 

There was Daario Naharis present as well, sitting right opposite to Arya and exchanging glances that were anything but friendly.  
Kinvara knew the exact reason for that. 

Before the official ceremony, Lyanna and Rhaella wanted Arya to see the garden terrace of the Great Pyramid, just below the apex where the huge bronze harpy once stood.  
Three sat in the shade of persimmon tree and watched the city beneath the pyramid and that is how Daario had found them. 

Tall brown-haired former sellsword with clean shaven face wearing the colours of Second Sons commander slowly walked pass them,  
greeted the girls formally and then called Arya aside. “I do not know you and since you’re keeping company with my Queen’s daughters, we need to remedy that.”  
“You give me your name and I’ll give you mine.”  
Daario smirked: “Ah, a Westerosi. That gruff accent gave you right away.”  
Then he gave a long look to Arya and to Lyanna concluding in near whisper: “Uncanny likeness… you ought to have the same blood like the one who fathered these little bastards.” 

Arya stepped closer to him: “Use that word one more time to describe my nieces and you’ll be wearing that filthy tongue as a scarf through your slit throat.” Daario laughed “For such a small woman you have a big mouth.”  
“I’ve killed few men twice your size and dozens of your size, men better and worse than you.”  
“Did you now? And who are you again, such deeds would be known here just as in whatever hole in Westeros you’re coming from.”  
“I am Arya Stark of Winterfell. And I am done talking to you.”  
He has heard of that name.  
From the Unsullied who have returned from the war in Westeros. And from the seafarers coming to Meereen. She-wolf of the sea. He hastily left the terrace. 

Meal served at celebration offered dozen different sorts of meat and fish: camel, crocodile, singing squid, lacquered ducks and spiny grubs, with goat and ham and horse for those whose tastes were less exotic. Dogmeat was served too. No Ghiscari feast was complete without a course of dog.  
Meereenese cooks knew how to prepare dogmeat four different ways. None of which appealed to Kinvara and when she saw reaction of Stark woman it made her smile. Westerosi use dogs to help putting venison on their plates, they don’t place dogs on the plate. 

Two days after the feast, Daenerys went to the Vaes Dothrak on the back of her last dragon.  
Drogon never came over the city but waited for his rider ten leagues up the Skahazadhan river.  
Rhaella and Lyanna rode out with their mother and Unsullied escort to bid her safe travel and returned to city that same day. 

Arya kept herself to the decks of _Nymeria_ arranging the ferry of Shazza Galare, daughter of that Meereenese noble house to Tolos.  
Girl was to be wed there for a local nobleman and she’s supposed to sail with her entire dowry.  
As twelve years ago Tolos was supporting the Sons of the Harpy and Yunkai against Daenerys and suffered defeat same as they did, while house Galare was nominally loyal to the Dragon Queen, this wedding was to mend the relationship between two cities. 

But as neither side wanted for bride to be coming on the vessel of another, a ship from Westeros was perfect choice of neutrality, one that both families were keen to pay generously. Kinvara helped in negotiating of this deal and came aboard the ship with final details of the voyage.  
She waited in Arya’s cabin and was able to hear the voices coming from the wardroom right next to it, wooden bulkhead could not prevent her from hearing their vivid dispute.

“Are we whoremongers now?” Dalton Pyke fretted during council Arya held with ship’s officers “Ever since Yi Ti we’re serving as transport ship. Spices, ivory, saffron… now Ghiscari pussy… where does it end?”  
“Missing the old days with Euron? Raiding and reiving… serving good queen Cersei?” Arya brushed him off. Warrick Manderly bursts in laughter:  
“Ha ha, ya walk’d straight int’ that one, Ironborn!” 

Artos Costayne, first mate, was cautious as usual: “Aside his coarse tongue, Pyke just might be onto something here, Arya. We’ve been in this part of Essos for too long.  
Crew expects to go to Free Cities, just to be a bit closer to home, to get at least a far taste of Westeros."  
“I know that very well, Artos, but every third in ten of our crewmen is not Westerosi at all.  
And you, Dalton, last night you had your face buried in Ghiscari pussy so it shouldn’t be a too heavy burden to ferry one to Tolos.  
We need more money to prepare _Nymeria_ for the Shivering Sea in either Myr or Tyrosh.” Arya replied.  
“Shivering Sea?! Are we sailing there next?” Pyke wondered.  
“We do. We’ll be paying a visit to Port of Ibben and to Nefer.” Arya nodded with grin.  
“Nefer?” Artos’s eyes widened “Land of the N’ghai? The bay of Thousand islands? That is on the other side of Essos, just as east on the coast of Shivering Sea as Yinqi is on the coast of Jade Sea… From lands of Yi Ti to lands of N’ghai… that means we’ll be…” 

“Circumnavigating the continent of Essos. Aye, that is what we’re going to do.” Arya said with determined voice.  
“Lass, that’s an ‘ellish place ya propose to sail to, haunt of necromancers an’ torturers… ya know the first Westerosi who saw city of Nefer an’ one of the last of our people who eve’ saw it…” her helmsman said with wary tone.  
“Lord Corlys of House Velaryon, husband of Princess Rhaenys Targaryen. Who lived to ripe old age of nine and seventy…” Arya pointed and continued:  
“Is anyone of you about to tell me that I, blood of First Men, cannot do what he of Valyrian blood has done, more than two hundred years ago?  
That you, Dalton, an Ironborn would fail where Velaryon has not?”  
Her officers replied all in same time, with raised voices:  
“Seven hells, we’ll sail further than lord Corlys… till we don’t run out of northern Essos…”  
“And kill same bloody whales while at it, I’tell ya!”  
“Fuck that Velaryon cunt… if need be, we’ll march from Nefer inland to plant the direwolf banner in the middle of Cannibal Sands and fuck womenfolk of those manflesh eaters in the arse!” spouted Dalton Pyke.  
Arya was satisfied. Her words struck right where she wanted.  
“Well said, my lords and my officers, well said. But to get to Nefer you have to sail to Tolos first. You leave in two days. Artos, I trust you with command.” “You won’t be coming with us? he asked.  
“No, I’ve been invited to Yunkai by one of their highborn, though I don’t think that is how they call themselves here.  
If I arrange enough cargo for Nymeria to take to Tyrosh, we’ll overhaul our girl to be as strong as war galley and fast as swan-ship.”  
“Ah, fook the war galleys and ‘em swan-ships, lass, Nymeria is a carrack, best damn vessel for h’gh seas ever made by man.” Manderly blurted.  
“Aye, that she is.” Arya agreed.

Later, when Kinvara was alone with Arya she had a smirk of content which hadn’t escaped the Stark woman: “You saw something funny in flames today?”  
“No, I’ve heard something funny recently, coming from your men.” she replied  
“I’ve taken you for many things, Arya Stark, but you to be such a manipulator… you have played those poor fools like a fiddle.”  
“I’ve been with them for ten years; I’ve learned well what makes them go.” “Indeed, you have.”  
“So, is Drogon back from Vaes Dothrak?”  
“I expect him tomorrow. He’ll land on the same spot from where he took Daenerys to the Dothraki capital. There he’ll feed on sheep.”  
Arya had an inquisitive look: “How many sheep does he eat nowadays? At Winterfell we could manage to give him and Rhaegal no more than thirty sheep and goats combined.” Kinvara chuckled: “Ha, now thanks to arrangement Daenerys has with the Lhazareen, he devours two hundred sheep at once. And Lamb Men don’t ask too many questions,  
they believe those sheep end up on the tables of Meereen, Yunkai and Astapor.”  
“Two hundred for one feeding, the beast really must have grown.” Arya said.  
“You’ll see him tomorrow. It will be quite a reunion.” Kinvara japed.  
“Can’t be as bad as the last time I saw that dragon; I was running away from him across half of King’s Landing.”  
“Meet me at dawn in the courtyard of my temple. I’ll be waiting for you with Lya and Rhae.”  
“What do they say about our plan?” Arya asked.  
“They don’t know much of it yet. We’ll tell them along the way.”  
“What if they refuse? We can’t do this without them. Hells, I am not sure if we can do this with them.  
I was only a child when I read of it, but I remember very well that dragons bonded with only one rider. And that was bond for lifetime.”  
“Lord of Light will show his power to you.”  
“How does the saying goes, Targaryens as their dragons answer not to gods nor men.”  
Kinvara grinned: “And yet, my god brought two Targaryens back to life.”

Arya’s eyes narrowed: “Fair warning, should that dragon let even a puff of smoke towards the girls, I will try my new Rhoynar blade on your neck. I don’t like this. We’re not being honest with them. It disgusts me.”  
“Girls have the wish to meet their father since they got the understanding what father means. And they’ll be coming to him with you, beloved aunt.” “What did I say about mocking me?”  
“I don’t mock you, Arya Stark of Winterfell, you’ve done good with Rhae and Lya. Lord of Light will return the favor one day.”  
“There is only one favor I want of that god of yours, Jon here with his family, happy and sane. After that I can go to Nefer. Or Sothoryos.”

_You’ll never see Sothoryos, Arya Stark. You’re blood of the kings, sister of kings, cousin of princesses. Slayer of monsters. Wolf that has saved the world. And your greatest role has yet to come_; Kinvara perpended walking away from the anchored ship with direwolf head on her prow. 

Next morning four riders came out from the inland gates of Meereen, those same gates before which decade and a half ago mother of two of the riders came with her army and before long city had fallen. There was a fifth horse with wooden crate hanging from each side of the saddle.  
Kinvara, Arya, Lyanna and Rhaella were headed eastward, riding upstream of Skahazadhan.  
She saw Arya watching the lazy flow of the river, visibly disgusted by its brown water. “Back home we call such rivers – sewers.” she commented. 

Earlier, priestess did notice how pleased the Stark woman was to see both of her nieces having Dothraki bows hanging on their saddles.  
“Those outrange our Westerosi longbows; it’s quite a work to make such a bow, one has to use horn, wood, and sinew and join it together.  
If done properly, you have the perfect weapon of a horse archer.” Arya explained.  
“And my nieces are no fools. Look what they have for their arrows, a bag, not a quiver. A Westerosi thing, that is.”  
Kinvara saw that both girls had a bag across their backs, a simple drawstring cloth sack with leather spacer at the upper end of bag to keep the arrows divided. The drawstring could be closed, completely covering the arrows so as to protect them from rain or dirt.  
_Bow from the east, quiver from the west_ came to her mind _best of both worlds just as these girls themselves are. _

“Go and speak to them.” she said to Arya as they dismounted for their first stop. Twins ate dried lamb sausage and boiled duck eggs while sitting on the rock near the road.  
Arya passed them the waterskin containing watered lime juice.  
“Lya, Rhae… I must ask something of you… but before I do, I want you to know that I would never bring you in any harm. Do you trust me?”  
Girls looked at her bit confused: “Of course I trust you, Arya, you saved me.” said Lya.  
“I trust you too. You’re my aunt.” Rhae added.  
“Yes, that I am and you’re the only nieces that I have. But what does that mean… me being your aunt?”  
“You and our father are brother and sister.” said Rhaella with seriousness “Why don’t you ever talk about him?” Lyanna asked.  
Arya sighed… “It is not mine to speak of him to you. That right only your mother has. But I can do better than talking about him. We can go see him. All three of us.”  
“Mama said he is far away in the land of ice and snow. How can we go see him there?” Lyanna said with disbelief.  
“We can. We can go there. But I can do that only with your help, Lya… and yours Rhae. You do understand what I mean?”  
Both girls nodded: “Drogon… you want us to take him to the place father is…” 

_Father_… hearing this word coming from the girls almost made Arya’s eyes to water. Even from where she was standing, Kinvara noticed that.  
“Yes, and if either of you don’t want to go, we shall never speak of this again. Ever. We can only go as all three of us or we’re not going.”  
Arya told girls softly but with firm voice. “I want to go.” Rhae replied. “Me too. I want to meet my father.” Lya added.  
“Will he like us?” silver-haired girl asked.  
This made Arya to kneel and hug them both: “Silly girls, he will love you just as I love you and tenfold more.”  
Her gaze met Kinvara’s. Priestess nodded approvingly. 

“What did I tell you that day in Qarth when we first met?” she asked the dark-haired Northern woman as they continued their ride east.  
“You said many things that day.”  
“I believe you very well know what I meant.”  
“You said that after that day I will know what kind of a woman I truly am.”  
“Do you know now… what kind of a woman you truly are?”  
“A woman about to face a huge beast in hope to carry her to the other side of the world to find a broken man.” “Exactly, Arya Stark, that is who you truly are.” 

And just as the words came out of her mouth, a mighty screeching sound was heard from above and the area around them became darker.  
Arya’s eyes widened as they came to rest on an enormous landing dragon, his black and red scales left her in awestruck.  
The beast landed ploughing the dry plain before them with such force that the earth shook beneath the four riders.

Arya came to realise that Drogon was now at least two times larger than when she last saw him, above the destroyed Red Keep. “You weren’t lying, look at the size of him, truly he’s large as Winterfell castle!” Arya said loudly which made her nieces to laugh.

Both girls and Kinvara dismounted from their horses and walked towards Drogon. When they were near him twins lifted their arms as they wanted to hug the dragon. The animal stepped closer, stretching his neck until his nozzle finally brushed against girls’ touch.  
They were saying something to Drogon in High Valyrian but Kinvara could not hear what since dragon made a loud sound for which she could swear it was dragon purring.  
Then she locked eyes with dragon who gave her a long stare. 

Girls’ aunt was motionless as she watched this bonding of two small girls and this large winged reptilian beast. Dragon lift his gaze at the woman on horseback, not making any movement just breathed out a bit of smoke, but it didn’t concern Rhaella and Lyanna at all, twins were still petting him.  
Drogon lowered his head, large as the skulls of first Targaryen dragons which were still kept in underground vaults of the Red Keep, at least in those parts of the vaults which have survived the wrath of this same dragon ten years ago.  
“Good, it is good.” priestess said to Arya as she returned to horses “he will accept them as his riders.”  
“There was a puff of smoke.” Arya told her, her hand on Rhoynish scimitar.  
Kinvara took down first crate from the cargo horse ignoring her.

“Here you have food prepared for the journey and clothes for the land beyond the wall. It’s not Westerosi, but it will do.” she said to Arya.  
Stark woman opened the crate and took out one piece of clothing, it was a type of coat made from seal skin with a hood, lined with fur.  
“It’s from Ibben. Coat of their hunters and fishermen; it will keep you and girls warm during flight and when you reach mouth of Antler.”  
“What’s in the other crate?” “Riding harness. For Drogon.” “What?”  
“You’ll make night flight twice. Surely you don’t want the girls or you fall off when over Shivering Sea?” “Of course not.”  
“That means you’ll have to buckle yourself to the dragon. He is used to it; Daenerys uses this harness when she has cargo to fly somewhere.”  
“Mayhaps I should get myself acquainted with my transportation…” Arya said.  
“Do that before he is insulted with you ignoring him.”  
“Your mocking is as boring as your preaching.” Northerner replied and walked towards her nieces and huge dark dragon. 

“I wish you calm skies, lady Stark.” Kinvara said unsure if Arya has heard her or not. 

She mounted her horse and rode back towards Meereen, without giving a single look at the dragon who soon after disappeared in the clouds with three riders. 

That same night Kinvara stood in the Meereenese temple of Lord of Light, alone in the altar hall. She uttered the word of prayer in High Valyrian:  
“Hen sȳndrorro, ōños, hen ñuqīr, perzys!” (_From darkness light, from ashes fire!_)

Next moment she was surrounded with fiery circle, flames were burning bright and reaching as high as her waist.  
In the middle of that ring of fire there was an ornate bronze post with an obsidian candle, one foot and a half tall.  
Glass candle. Such candles were known by that name though dragonglass candle would be proper way to call it.  
Another remnant of civilisation of Old Valyria. This one in front of Kinvara was black and twisted with edges sharp as blades.  
For over a century these candles were not reported burning. Then, eight and ten years ago, they started to burn again for those who knew how to make them burn.  
Candles restored their fire when dragons came back to this world.

“Hen sȳndrorro, ōños, hen ñuqīr, perzys!” she repeated three times – and then candle was lit. 

Hall was now illuminated with bright light shining so strong even Kinvara could not keep her gaze on the candle for too long.  
Red banners hanging on the walls seemed like caught with fire, altar stone was as white as pristine snow and shadows were pitch black. It was known that light from the glass candles does strange things to colours. But that was not their main power.  
It was said that when obsidian candle burn, those with knowledge of magic and sorcery could see across the world, over the mountains and deserts and seas, give men dreams or visions and converse with one another half a world apart.  
In many decades that candles were without their fire, that knowledge by most was forgotten, cast aside as merely folk tales, mocked even.  
Some kept it. Kinvara knew everything to be known of glass candles.

And so did another servant of Lord of Light, who at that very moment was at Whitecourt, the seat of House Warder, sworn bannermen to House Nymeros Martell of Sunspear, usually called by shortened name, Martells. Whitecourt was five and thirty leagues away from Sunspear. 

Ezzelyno, once serving as a priest of R'hllor in Braavos was now in Dorne, standing in the middle of the chamber that lord Flement Warder provided for him during his stay.  
During his days in Braavos, Ezzelyno drunk a lot and was known for his cheerfulness.  
Then he was summoned back to Volantis and given new mission, one that will not include soaking in wine or ale.  
He saw Kinvara standing in temple in Meereen, just as he was truly there.  
Such was the power of burning glass candle. Power that sometimes drained the minds of those using it so they would end in insanity.

“Valar morghulis” she said to tall, thinnish man whose head was shaven unlike his messy grey beard. “Valar dohaeris.” he replied and asked  
“Gēlītsos zīrto perzo iksis zālagon.” (_Glass candle is burning?_)  
“Kessa. zālagon hae se zemytubis vēzos.” (_Yes, burns like midday sun._)  
To her it seemed as she was in Dorne, in his chambers.  
Yet, when he spoke, it was as he was in her head. It was said these candles do not melt, but weaker minds who dared using them did.

Kinvara asked next:  
“Mirre is sȳrī lēda īlva Dornio raqirossa?”  
(_All is well with our Dornish friends?_)  
“Tolī bona sȳrī. Dāriassy issi ruarza hen se laes hen Āeksio hen Sȳndror.”  
(_More than well. Queens are hidden from the eyes of the Lord of Darkness_) priest confirmed, not hiding satisfaction.  
Kinvara nodded in confirmation of these good news.  
Then she gave warning to the bald-headed priest:  
“Iēdrosa, va sagon bē, konīr māzigon mēre isse se brōzi hen Āeksio hen Sȳndror. Krubo ēza jittan zirȳla. Lioragon egros. Ossēnagon. Nāpāstre.”  
(_Still, keep close watch. One comes in the name of the Lord of Darkness. Dwarf has sent him. Sellsword. Killer. Treacherous. _) 

Ezzelyno was now worried: “Kostagon ziry ōdres īlva kȳvana?” (_Can he do damage to our plans? _)__  
“Kessa se daor. Issa lioragon egros. Kostas sagon sindita. Syt iā sȳz odre.” she replied dryly  
(_Yes and no. He is sellsword. He can be bought. For a good price._)”  
“Se aōha mirre isse se ñāqa?” priest on the other side of the world asked  
(_And your work in the east? _)  
“Sȳrkta bona kȳvanon. Zaldrīzes lentor kessa sagon hae mēre aderī” “  
(_Better than planned. Dragon house will be reunited soon._)  
“Se pār?” the question came (_And then?_)  
“Kessi dohaeragon īlva Āeksio.” she replied (_They will serve our Lord._)  
“Hae zȳhon sȳrje azantys.” priest added. (_As his best champions. _) 

Kinvara nodded before saying: “Āeksio ōños bē ao lēkia, syt bantis iksis zōbrie se lēda hen ossȳngnoti.”  
(_Lord’s light upon you, brother, for night is dark and full of terrors._)  
Next moment Dornish chamber disappeared before her eyes. 

_ _Not much later Kinvara walked out from R'hllor’s temple in Meereen._ _


	7. SANSA

_Winterfell, Westeros, year 315 After Conquest_

**SANSA**

Queen in the North, was seated in Queen’s Chamber, her meeting room that she established having the chamber of the Hand of the King from the Red Keep in mind.   
The Red Keep from her younger days, when she was first betrothed to and later hostage of king Joffrey Baratheon.   
Though he never truly was a Baratheon, only vicious bastard born of incest. 

Kingdom of the North had no Small Council nor Hand, their governing model was different.   
Sansa, as first ruler of independent North in peacetime unlike her predecessors Robb and Jon, could fully address matters of finding most befitting way of decision-making for this young realm of First Men. That way was the Queen’s Council.   
Every two moons all the lords or ladies of noble Northern houses would assemble at Winterfell’s Great Hall, which now served as throne room to discuss matters of importance for their kingdom.   
Many of old houses were not there anymore. On the walls of Great Hall shields hung of all Northern noble families.   
Whenever her eyes fell upon a shield with rampant bear, Sansa felt sadness for House Mormont which now lived only in memory.   
_Last of them died defending Winterfell ten years ago. Old Jorah and girl Lyanna alike, always came to her mind, Jorah died defending the Dragon Queen, whom he loved but who never loved him back. He was an honourable man, unlike her..._   
She knew the story of exiled son of Jeor Mormont from Tyrion. 

Bear Island was now ruled by House Glover, though by her decree only temporary.   
All these years she secretly hoped that some baseborn son or daughter of some Mormont will appear and that she will legitimise that heir and renew this noble house.  
_But, alas, it seems Mormonts sired no bastards…_ she said to herself in disappointment.

Umbers were gone as well, Night King saw to that, but she didn’t care about them.   
Traitors who have given her younger brother Rickon to bastard Ramsay Bolton to be tortured and in the end killed.   
Arrow straight in the heart, that day when cursed Bolton name were also gone from this world, when Ramsay lost Battle of the Bastards.   
Lands of former House Umber were now directly under crown, Land of the Queen just like Winterfell was. 

All the land Boltons once possessed was by her decree given to House Hornwood, for their loyalty and answering the call of House Stark against Ramsay.   
It wasn’t received well by the Karstarks who eyed the land between Lonely Hills and Weeping Water with Dreadfort castle as main prize.   
It would double the holds of her distant cousins in Karhold.   
_Mayhaps we share the same blood, Starks and Karstarks, but to me they are same turncoats as Umbers were. They fought for Ramsay.   
Pity that they were not removed from this life like Umbers and Boltons. Gods are indeed cruel sometimes. Noble house like Mormonts disappear while filth like Karstarks remain;_ Sansa always dwelled upon whenever reminded of rulers of Karhold; _Jon is to blame, he and his forgiving nature. I told him to strip them of their lands and titles but he wouldn’t listen. Now, Karstarks challenge me whenever they can. _

“Your Grace…?” Beren Tallhart waited for her response, impatient as young men of barely one and twenty usually are.  
Sansa replied, pulled from her thoughts: "Tell me again the size of that land"   
"Fifty leagues from Wall to the end of Gift."   
"Fifty leagues. That should belong with the North?"   
Beren replied meekly: "No, Your Grace. The North holds up to the New Gift. Beyond that is the land of Night's Watch."   
“What would Night's Watch do with that much land? What were they shielding us from these last ten years?" “Your Grace is right. The Wall is torn down at Eastwatch and the knowledge that built it is long lost, even if one would like to make the Wall whole again which serves no point now. Just as Night’s Watch serves no point, save to be place where Six Kingdoms sends its criminals. It should’ve been disbanded long ago.”   
“You eagerly display your thoughts, Beren” northern queen noted.   
“I meant no disrespect, Your Grace…”   
“Far from it. I respect what you’ve just said because I think the same. North must go to the Wall and beyond it. If we don’t expand, we will die.   
Go to that map, Beren, and tell me what you see.” 

Young Tallhart made few paces and stood by the map of the Kingdom of the North, a large piece of painted canvas hanging on the western wall of Queen’s Chamber.   
“The North, Your Grace.”   
Sansa laughed: “I am sure you don’t see the Dornish Marches. How many ports do you see, for instance?”   
“White Harbor, Your Grace.” “Any other of significance?”   
“None.” “None? Either south of White Harbor or north?”   
“No, Your Grace.”   
“What you make of it, Beren?”   
“The North ceases if we go south of the White Harbor and the coast of Vale begins, coast of Six Kingdoms.   
And if we go north… our forefathers must have deemed unfit to found a port there.”   
“Yes, it was unfit in their time. Because places fit for founding a northern port along which White Harbor would serve as south port, were part of the land gifted to Night’s Watch… mayhaps time has come to remedy that.”   
“Aye, Your Grace.” Tallhart nodded.   
“And what you make of our western coast? Why no ports there? At the east end of Saltspear, what do you think of that?”   
“Fittest place for a port on western shore, Your Grace.”   
“And why no one has built it there?” 

Beren remained silent for few moments: “Ironborn? In the past every ship coming from the North southwards, to Westerlands or the Reach would be attacked by them.” 

“You’ve made the right conclusion… for us to be truly independent we must have more trading ports and we must have a fleet. On both of our shores. If we fail to do this, anyone can cut us off from the rest of the world. North from us there are wildlings. South of us, Six Kingdoms. We’re friends with both now, but what will tomorrow bring…” 

“Your brother Bran rules the Six Kingdoms, that alliance will last…” Beren started but she cut him off “…until Bran lives, until I live. After that… well, Beren, I don’t want for your grandchildren to fight for free North as we had to.”   
Sansa rose from her chair:   
“Go to Maester Wolkan, then you both go to ravenry and send calls to Northern houses. Their Queen is summoning them for a Council in six-day time.” “Aye, Your Grace.” young Tallhart bowed and left the chamber leaving Sansa with content smile. 

On the morning of the Queen’s Council the red-haired queen stood at the ramparts and watched her castle bursting with people.   
Sansa turned her head outside Winterfell, over the top of Winter Town’s rooftops.   
Winterfell and town spreading next to castle walls had both grown in the last ten years.   
North thrived during that time; many scars of previous wars were healed. People celebrated her reign.   
Some scars remained, though.   
This was no longer the same North of her father or her father’s father and still many of her bannermen had hard time accepting that unwed childless woman is their ruler. Whispers of marriage as matter of utmost importance were ever present in the corridors of Winterfell.   
Some of the lords closer to her tried on few occasions to make her marital status theme for discussion and every time they have failed. Sansa was reluctant to settle in the role of wife and mother for herself. She was still satisfied with being _just _ Queen in the North. 

After noon of that day, she was sitting on the Northern throne, made of wood ornate with direwolf motifs. Behind her was the main hearth of Great Hall.   
Before her assembled representatives from all noble houses of her kingdom, great and small, numbering over four score of people. 

She addressed to them with flat tone of voice: “My Lords, my ladies. I have gathered you here to discuss a serious matter. Discussion which is long overdue. Winter is gone, it has been so for more than ten years now, but it left its damage over our people, livestock, grains and properties; and those wounds have taken years to heal.”   
All present in the hall nodded with occasional “aye” coming form the back. 

She continued: “For centuries, lands of the Gift were out of our reach. Given to Night’s Watch for their service to the realms of men. For eight thousand years the land beyond the Wall was out of anyone's reach. It was dangerous, cold and infertile, full of wildlings and frozen forests. Not anymore. All these years, snow and ice were slowly but surely withdrawing from those lands, following the death of the Night King. It is time for us to take back those lands. Gift and beyond the Wall.  
We can clean up the forests, make the land cultivable and useful. We Northerners can be richer than any other kingdoms. We will never have worries for food or wealth or properties."  
Sansa looks at her audience for appreciation. There is a murmur started.   
Old Lord Wyman Manderly, counting three and seventy namedays, stood up:   
“If I beg your pardon, my Queen, those lands, as I know belong to the Night's Watch. Brandon’s Gift and the New Gift all belong to the Night's Watch.   
Bran the Builder and dragon kings gave them those lands.   
The Night's Watch was impoverished and dwindling, and to help and support them in protecting Westeros the Targaryen kings gave lands of the New Gift to them.”

_Targaryens…. dragons… _ old man might just as well curse her late mother; it would ring the same to her ears. _Should I be obliged with a gift an extinct house gave to now useless order centuries ago? _

“Night's Watch is an order that is no longer needed, my lord. The army of the dead are defeated. What will they protect us from? Six Kingdoms should find a better way to dispose of their murderers, rapers and thieves. Perhaps we should send a message to their Master of Coin to invest more in gaols than in brothels… word is last few years only such establishments are spawning in the south.” 

Hall was now echoing with loud laughter. South was always welcomed theme for ridicule among the Northerners and she used that whenever she could.

Hugo of House Wull waited for laughter to stop and stepped out.   
He was the clan chief of his house and in command of most of northern mountain clans:   
“My Queen, the entire land beyond the Wall belongs to the Night’s Watch and to the wildlings, it’s hard to tell them apart now since Jon Snow has united them some dozen years ago. Not just the Gift and the New Gift, all the land beyond the Wall is theirs. And we have to honor the old pact, that we must not cut down the trees and leave them for the children of the forest…”  
These words have annoyed Sansa:   
“My Lord, we do not need to concern ourselves about whatever pact there was thousands of years ago. The children of the forest are gone, they are no longer there. Keeping pact with the long dead… there is no reason for it. Do old gods want for North to be how it is now? Undeveloped and almost landlocked. If so, they do not mean us well.”

People in the hall started murmuring, louder with every passing moment, some were in support of her words, some disapproved.  
_It’s her Tully blood, they never honoured old gods… _one voice commented from the back end of the hall followed by another that stated _Old gods didn’t save Ned or Robb… _it wasn’t murmuring anymore, it was quarrel between all present. 

“My lords! My lords!” one man was the loudest “Shut up, all of you!!!” he shouted in the end causing Great Hall to became silent in matter of moments.

Elric of House Karstark stepped out, wearing his black leather jerkin with embroidered white sunburst, one hand on the hilt of his sword, other grasping his belt.   
He made couple of paces, gazing left and right, then he bowed to Sansa in such manner she could not tell is he mocking her or displaying utmost respect.

“Your Grace… my lords and ladies… fellow Northerners. What do we discuss here I ask you? This gift, that gift, that pact of the old, this pact of the old…”   
he said with firm tone “Half of us here were mere children when Ned Stark was killed by that Lannister cunt Joffrey.   
Other half were children when North took arms and ended the rule of dragons. Just few of us here are old enough to remember days before the Mad King.   
Yes, once upon a time, the Night’s Watch was shield that protected the realm of men, order of knights, of noble warriors.   
And kings gifted that order with land, our land, for them to be able to sustain themselves. All that is in the past. The Wall is broken.   
The White Walkers are no more. Night’s Watch has no purpose. That gifted land has no purpose.”   
He remained silent for a heartbeat, taking another look around the hall.   
“I stand with our Queen; I say we take that land back!”   
Half of the hall started cheering “We take it back!” Other half remained unconvinced still. Gawen Glover was the loudest in cheering. 

Karstark’s speech left Sansa surprised, she expected of Karhold representative to be opposing her or stay neutral at least, this publicly declared support left her in wonder.  
When their eyes met, she nodded to him and he returned the gesture with something that looked like a smile. 

Then he turned to those which were not cheering: “I see doubt on your faces. I understand it, truly I do. Wildlings fought for the North, twice, against Boltons and against the dead. But, so did the Dothraki, so did the eunuch soldiers… even few of the Ironborn. All of them dying here, at Winterfell… would anyone of you be glad to have a Dothraki, Unsullied or Ironborn for a neighbor? Truly now…”   
He paused for a while and waited for an answer from the assembly that never came.   
“Just as I thought. None of you would like that kind of a neighbor. Luckily for all of us, Dothraki and the Unsullied are again across the sea, Ironborn also but it is different sea. Who remains? Wildlings….”   
Sansa saw how most of the lords and ladies present nod their heads in approval. Karstark was wining them, wining for her cause. Yet, she did not feel happy because of that.

_He is up to something. Young, ambitious, cunning. Future of the North._

“I ask you all what will happen when they have respawned enough?” Elric continued “Have they ever learned to work on the land, to plough and sow? To be farmers or to tend cattle? Of course they have not. Nor they ever will. But what they know is how to raid and steal from the men better than them.   
Or is anyone here that dumb to think a Thenn will live off the land and Nightrunners will become sheepherders?” 

Now, entire hall was loud in approval. Sansa could see the satisfied glow on Elric’s face as he continued his speech:   
“I say we make sure that no more wildling raids happen. I say we take all the lands that was taken from us and given to Night’s Watch and the lands beyond the Wall. In the name of the Kingdom of the North!” he shouted his last sentence and then he drew out his sword. 

All present in the Great Hall followed and soon more than eighty voices shouted as one: “The Kingdom of the North! The Kingdom of the North!”

Sansa rose from the throne and made a slight bow to her assembled nobles. Elric Karstark was her champion of the day. She decided to learn more on the subject.   
When cheering stopped, she proclaimed this session of Queens’ Council adjourned and then she retired to her chamber, but not before she gave instruction to Beren Tallhart to bring young Karstark to her. 

She didn’t wait for long; he was soon standing before her.   
Sansa gestured him to sit at her table and poured a cup of Arbor red wine. After taking first couple of sips, she said:   
“Lord Elric, I must say I didn’t know that I had such an ally in the young lord of Karhold.”   
“You could not have known, Your Grace, we have not spoken much all these past years. Though, I was merely a boy for most of your reign so far.”   
“A boy has become a man, that much was obvious today. With proper understanding of what our kingdom needs.” 

He gave her a barely visible smile:   
“Anyone with even small wit can understand what North now needs. But, most of our lords have not enough wit and more than enough thickness in their mind.   
They respect only strong leaders and orders given in firm voices.”   
“You find my voice not firm enough?” Sansa asked with frown.   
“Your Grace, you are a Queen. It is beneath you to place in order old billy goats like Wyman Manderly or Hugo Wull. Others can do that for you.”   
“And you have in mind someone who should be doing that for me?” she smirked, though his words were pleasant to her. 

“Yes, I do, Your Grace.” Elric replied “I have myself in mind.”   
“Oh… and in what capacity would you be placing lords of the North in order with firm voice?” she asked, trying to hide the mocking tone.   
“At first I could serve you as commander of Northern host. I will retake all the land stolen from us in your name.” “At first, you say… And later?”   
“Your Grace, it would bring me great pleasure for Starks and Karstarks to be joined once again, as is it proper for a kinfolk to be.” he replied with utter seriousness.

Sansa’s eyes widened “Lord Elric Karstark, are you talking about prospect of marriage?”   
“Yes, Your Grace, that is exactly what I am talking about."


	8. ARYA

_Lorath, Essos, year 315 After Conquest_

**ARYA**

She was leaned on a pine tree watching through brass and leather telescope she brought from _Nymeria._   
Far away lied Lorath, northernmost of the Free Cities and the poorest, most isolated and backwards of the nine colonies of Old Valyria which later became the Nine Free Cities.   
City of Lorath was founded on an island of the same name, the largest one in the bay.   
Second largest island was Lorassyon, known in the rest of the world by its great labyrinth which covered three quarters of the island's surface and also having four subterranean levels.   
Most of it was ruin now, but still enough for a man to lose his way in that vast maze and in the end to lose his life. 

Arya was on one of the two dozen smaller isles, it had no traces of people living there and it was still covered with enough forest to provide cover for one woman, two girls and one large dragon which was resting in the glade quarter a mile away from where she was standing. Drogon has landed on this isle few hours before dawn and they have remained on his back until daybreak.   
She was sure they weren’t seen by the Lorathi whose fishing boats occasionally passed near the island.   
Fishing fleet was large on Lorath which couldn’t be said for their naval force, only few warships they had which made easy for fishermen from Braavos and whalers from Ib to venture into the Lorathi bay with impunity. 

Arya folded the ship’s telescope and walked back towards the place they’ve made camp. In her mind she was reliving the ride on a dragon from last night.   
Her hands trembled as she firmly gripped the reins while Drogon flew high above the western Dothraki sea, over the Forest of Qohor and the Norvos hills before landing on this small island in bay of Lorath.   
_“Sōvegon,” _Arya heard when both Lya and Rhae said softly, almost whispered, the High Valyrian word for _‘fly’_, a word they had heard their mother say many times.

Dragon rippled his massive shoulders, leaning forward as he began to run. Arya clung as tightly as she could, seeing the hills on the northern side of the Skahazadhan road getting closer… and closer… and closer… until there were no more hills, just clouds all around her as dragon went up in the air.   
Drogon climbed high among the clouds and then rolled in the air twice.   
This made Lya and Rhae first to giggle, both tossing their heads back with laughter, shrieks of joy filling the air. _He’s playing with them_, Arya realised. And dragon himself was purring softly as he was enjoying girls’ laughter.   
Then he straightened and continued flying towards north and west. 

_Is this the same dragon who scorched entire city_ came to her mind _the same beast from whose fiery breath I was running through streets of King’s Landing while hundreds of people burned. I am on his back now crossing hundreds of leagues…_

Drogon has found an air current high above the southern edge of Qohor forest and used it to soar all the way to Darkwater River valley and hills of Norvos.  
The riding harness was an elaborate set of long and broad leather belts and straps. Dragon allowed twins to put it on him although it was not easy for two ten-year-old girls to place the harness on huge neck of the black dragon; four feet away from his wings. When harness was firmly set on Drogon, three canvas bags with inside coated in wool were attached to the leather straps, bags large enough for each of three riders to crawl in and lie down while in the air. 

_True craftsmanship_, Arya thought as woollen coat of the bag kept her warm. She was pleased to see that Rhae and Lya are in good mood, relishing first dragon ride without their mother, despite the cold that surrounded them, this high above Essos. Night caught with them while they were in the sky over western Dothraki sea, some forty leagues south of Essaria, once a Valyrian colony, but now better known by its Dothraki name, Vaes Khadokh, the City of Corpses.   
It was the night of young moon so Arya turned to Lyanna:   
“Tell him to fly lower, we can do that now.”   
_“Sōvegon mība”_ dark-haired girl said with her hand placed on Drogon’s scales. Dragon dipped his head and slowly begun to descend till Lya signaled him that he has gone low enough. Darkness covered entire land beneath them but many leagues away, southwards, Arya could see the distant lights of a city... Qohor.   
Couple of hours later Drogon flew even closer to city of Norvos and then turned north towards Bay of Lorath. Despite darkness, Arya knew they are approaching the sea. Shivering Sea. 

_But, not even two hundred leagues west of here is Braavos. And Narrow Sea and Gulltown and Vale of Arryn on the other side of Narrow Sea. I’ve never been so close to Westeros in five years. _

Black dragon landed on one of the outer smaller islands and all three riders and their winged mount fell asleep until daybreak.   
Arya was first to come down from the Drogon and went to look around, armed with Catspaw, Needle and Rhoynar sword which she carried across her back. It did not take her long to learn that this island is not the place where people live, even for a short while. She found no traces of houses; log cabins or tents and she was pleased with that.   
When she returned to the glade where they’ve landed, girls were already awake, with their bows and arrow bags hanging on their shoulders. Rhaella had the same dagger Lyanna did back in Qarth and that did not escape Arya.   
After they wished each other good morning, it was time to break the fast. There were still some dried lamb sausages and rye bread left and one more waterskin of lime juice.   
“So, we are now on one of the Lorathi islands. No one lives here which is good, we can be at peace for the rest of the day, still we will keep close look at the sea, last thing we need is some fishermen or Ibbenese whalers to jump us here.” she said to the twins “Now, I’ve seen some rabbits in the woods and we need a proper lunch…”   
Both girls got up right after hearing this and went in opposite directions to catch their next meal.   
Dragon was sleeping, much to Arya’s amusement. _Just don’t snore or you’ll burn this whole island_… she said walking away towards nearby hill on which she saw a large rock with flattened top; perfect place on the high ground to make camp for the remainder of this day. She prepared wood for the fire, keeping it small to avoid smoke being seen by passing boats, even found an oak log which will serve as makeshift bench. And then she waited for twins to return from the hunt.   
Rhaella was first to come back to the glade and Arya had to wave to her from the rock. Silver-haired niece was proud of herself carrying one rabbit and one snowcock, a bird of pale grey feathers and of decent weight.   
“It’s basically a hen of the forest…” Arya said “We’ll roast it on a spit just like that rabbit.” 

Some time passed and Lyanna also came back, her with two caught rabbits. “Well done, my archers, we have both lunch and supper. I guess this island’s poultry joined with rabbit for lunch and later pure rabbit for supper.”   
Twins laughed, helped her to skin the rabbits and pluck the bird and then went to practice with their bows while she was roasting meat for the lunch. It reminded Arya of her own childhood, marked by the War of the Five Kings.   
Gendry, Hot Pie and her running from Harrenhal, trying to survive in the woods of Riverlands, ruined by all warring sides. 

_Oh, well, at least I know how to roast a rabbit or any kind of wild hen..._

All three were seated on the oak log passing each other bird and rabbit meat to judge what tasted better. Girls were used to Dothraki cuisine and Arya thought today’s lunch is improvement over blood pies and sweetgrass stew. 

Between bites, Rhae asked her: “Arya, isn’t dragon riding the greatest thing in the whole world?” “It is, sweet girl, it surely is. And two of you have done it splendidly, riding Drogon for the first time on your own.”   
“Were you afraid?” Lyanna asked. “Why? Were you?” Girl smiled and confirmed.   
Arya placed her hand on Lya’s shoulder: “Good. So was I, only a fool or a madman would not feel fear to be on dragon’s back, high above land, in the clouds. Nothing on this world can be compared with that.”   
“I was afraid that Drogon would not listen to us, that he only listens to mama.” said Rhae.   
“I don’t know much about dragon riding, but it is believed that dragon bonds with only one rider.” she replied to her niece “Could be it was different with Drogon this time…”   
“Mama says it only takes a word to fly a dragon, nothing else is needed.” Lya added. 

Arya tried to recall what she read as a little girl about the Old Valyria and their dragons. Valyrian dragonlords before the Doom had controlled their winged mounts with binding spells and sorcerous horns.   
“When it comes to dragons, a word is far better choice than a whip…” she said to the twins, as her memories brought back the lines from old books “When you whip a horse on his right flank, he will go left… a horse’s first instinct is to flee from danger. But when you lay the whip across dragon’s right side he shall veer right. For a dragon’s first instinct is always to attack. It is wiser to speak with those magnificent beasts. You two have that skill. It will only get stronger in time.”   
Twins were now smiling, their faces content. 

“Whip is for slaves.” Lyanna said “Zaldrīzes buzdari iksis daor. Zaldrīzes raqiros iksis.”   
Arya frowned upon hearing this and repeated in Common Tongue: “Dragon is not a slave. Dragon is a friend. It could be you’re right, wolf child, slave is never as loyal as friend is.”   
Raven-haired girl loved when her aunt called her _wolf child_, yet Arya learned that Lya has dragon temper beneath Stark looks.   
“Have you ever seen the Dragonpit, Arya?” asked her other niece, one with features of Old Valyria, who always brought tenderness in Arya.   
“I did, Rhae, I saw it only once, it is a ruin now.” “Mother says our ancestors built it to lock their dragons there and when they jailed them in that pit, dragons died.”   
“That is true, Rhaella. Targaryens of the old raised a large castle with a dome for their dragons. That castle was guarded by seventy-seven men at arms, called the Dragonkeepers.” 

Arya was telling her, remembering historical accounts “And yet, dragons who were hatched and lived in the pit never reached the size of those before them. When my father served as Hand to King Robert, I saw the skulls of Targaryen dragons beneath the Red Keep. Skull of Balerion was so large, I swear he could swallow an elephant whole. And skull of the last dragon hatched in the Dragonpit was smaller than of a cat.”   
As girls listened, she could tell they are picturing what she’s told them in their minds. “They grew small because they were not free anymore.” said Lyanna. “Not free to fly, to go where they want when they want.”   
Arya nodded “There are living things that can thrive in captivity and there are those that wither away under lock and key. Dragons are of latter kind. That is why your dragon grows still. He is free.”   
“Sometimes I feel sad for Drogon.”   
“Why, Rhae?” “He is alone, he has no other dragon to be with.”   
“He wasn’t always alone. He had two brothers… I’ve heard it from the Dothraki and from the Unsullied.” words came from Lyanna. 

“Viserion and Rhaegal…” Arya said softly. “You know of them?” both girls were now surprised.   
“Aye, I do. I never saw Viserion when he was still living, only what the Night King made of him after he killed that dragon… a wight, undead mindless creature bound to will of the Night King. I saw men and beasts, long ago dead, turned into wights.   
And so was Viserion. All the wights fell when Night King fell…”   
“We know it was you who killed him, Arya.” Rhae said.   
“Mother told us.” Lyanna added “That you were Hero of Winterfell.”  
“I could not have done it without your mother. She was a great hero too. ” 

“But she never speaks of Drogon’s brothers. She never talks of war in Sunset Kingdoms.”   
“Dothraki who were with her across the sea told me that Rhaegal was killed by men from the place called islands of iron.” Rhae told them while looking at Arya as if girl wanted her to confirm these words.  
“Ironbon those men are called, of the Iron Islands.” Arya nodded “Dothraki told you as it truly was.”   
“And they also told me that Rhaegal had his own rider, a man who called himself King in the North… but his true name was Snow…” silver-haired girl continued making her twin sister to react:   
“That is a lie right there… have you forgotten what Arya taught us – the North knows no king but the King in the North whose name is Stark.”   
Lyanna almost exclaimed last sentence and then continued lecturing her sister: “Dothraki sometimes twist their stories to fool the others. They’ve fooled you well, a Snow cannot be King in the North and only a Targaryen can ride a dragon, Rhae.” 

Arya looked at her and sighed deeply… _My sweet wolf child, I would like to tell you the truth so much, but it is not mine to tell you. You have to take that matter to those two fools which are your parents._

“Arya, do you know anything about who rode Rhaegal?” question came from her other niece.   
“Girls, whatever story from the war you want to hear, you should ask your mother to tell you. Most of all about the fate of Drogon’s brothers.” she told them and got up from the log.   
She was stretching when Lyanna said:   
“Mama never talks about that war; we’ll never hear anything from her.”   
Arya looked at her raven-haired niece: “Lya, have I ever told you about my time in Braavos, when I was just a bit older than you are now?”   
“You haven’t, no.”   
“And, my sweet niece, I never will.” she smiled at the girl approvingly   
“Now, you two, enough babbling about the past, it is time for some swordplay.” 

_Lands beyond the Wall, Westeros, year 315 After Conquest_

Dawn sent shimmering rays over the sea, bestowing a golden path from the shore to the horizon. Only an hour ago the blackness was absolute, but now the mist was visible, silvery.   
Against this backdrop the trees were silhouettes, still as statues and darker than the ravens.  
This place was long ago named the haunted forest by the brothers of the Night’s Watch. A vast portion of land, stretching from the Frostfangs in the west to Shivering Sea and the Bay of Seals to the east.   
It was said that axe rarely had swung in that black wood, where even the moonlight could not penetrate the ancient tangle of root and thorn, these woods have stood here since the Dawn Age, long before the Andals brought their seven gods across the Narrow Sea, long before dragons brought Westeros to heel. It was an endless dark wilderness, some believed spirits of the First Men dwelled here hence naming it haunted. 

_I need to find someone haunted by another ghost, not one of First Men, but of living woman, _ Arya reflected while watching the thick treeline of ironwood and oak.   
She paced on the left bank of the Antler River which flew fast towards its embrace with Shivering Sea.

Even here, less than a mile before its mouth, riverbed was marked with rapids, painting the river stream from bank to bank with patches of white. “This is how river is supposed to look like.” Arya said aloud “Not that Meereenese sewer.”   
It was deliberate, for twins to hear her. They were slowly pacing behind her, dressed head to toe in Ibbenese clothes of seal skin, their faces barely visible under hoods.   
They weren’t ready for the cold air of true north, unlike Arya who felt more at home though this was her first time to be beyond the Wall.   
She expected to make way through knee deep snow, to see frozen river banks and treetops breaking under ice. Instead she saw green all around her, tall sentinel trees whose trunks were glistening with sticky sap; dark ivy whose evergreen vines were covering the ground and climbing both trees and cliffs. Jay bird screeched among branches of a nearby oak. A roe deer buck appeared among trees on the other bank of the river only to vanish into forest.   
There still were patches of snow, large and small, in the places where shade protected them from sunlight while on far away mountains and hilltops, frozen white cover still ruled undisputed. 

This land was so different from all the stories Arya heard about what lies beyond the wall. _Mayhaps when Night King was defeated, when winter was defeated, it has freed this land from shackles of ice and snow, _she pondered.   
They kept walking close to the riverbank to avoid making their way through thick forest and bushes which lay alongside both banks merely twenty feet from the water.   
With their clothing, from afar the three looked like wildlings which could work for their benefit or against it. A closer look, one that would see Rhoynar blade and Dothraki bows, could tell right away that they’re not of Free Folk.   
Arya turned back to the girls: “Are you all right? Lya? Rhae?”   
Both girls nodded, their eyes wandering in every direction.   
They have never seen a land of this kind, never such forest and first thing they did upon setting foot on the ground was to run into snow, to roll in it, even to taste it. 

_They’re only children, after all _,Arya said to herself, _my childhood was stolen from me, but their will not be. Not if I can help it. _

“In the books it says this is land of eternal ice…” Lyanna wondered.   
“It was, for a long time.” Arya replied. “What changed it?” “Death of the ice demons.” Arya used those words to explain to twins who the White Walkers were. “It is better this way…” Rhaella said “This land is beautiful.”   
She smiled to her niece: “Ah, that is Stark blood talking. It takes only one kiss of northern cold for wolf in you to wake up…”   
“Arya, was it not the haunted forest where lord Walton Stark died? He went after some traitors but giants attacked him and killed him…” said silver-haired girl.   
“You have been paying attention to my stories, I see. Yes, he pursued Night’s Watch mutineers and got in the battle with giants.”   
Lya added: “His brother Alaric Stark blamed king Jaehaerys Targaryen for Walton’s death. Why dragons and wolves never liked each other?” 

Arya stopped and looked at both of them: “There were times when they misliked each other and there were times they liked each other. And times when some dragon and some wolf loved each other. You two are living proof of that.” 

Twins smiled. Arya was very content how girls have embraced their Stark ancestry. Their mother surely was not thrilled about it but she did not forbid it either.   
_Such attitude from her side had more to do with her brother and my aunt, _she thought, _than with twins’ father. Another living proof of love between the dragon and the wolf… ending in tragedy for the dragons. Mayhaps Stark and Targaryen pairings are always doomed…_

A distant horse neigh came from the forest ahead of them. Very next moment Arya signaled the girls to run from clearing of the riverbank into the woods.   
Soon, all three were lying on the ground, hidden under fallen ironwood trunk, overgrown with thick cover of dark ivy. Few more neighs and then sound of hoofs… horses cantering on the riverbank, then sound of someone running through shallow water.   
More than one.   
“Arya, look…” Lya whispered in excitement, but she gestured to the girl to be silent. A group of four wildlings, one older man, a young woman, girl and a boy of younger age than her nieces were forced into the shallow water by three riders.   
One rode through the water behind the wildlings aiming his spear towards their backs while other two rode parallel along the bank with drawn swords.   
She could tell that people on foot are terrified, woman hold their two children in tight grasp while old man placed himself between them and tip of the spear. Riders were amused with this; Arya could tell and that disgusted her.   
Men on the horses wore half sleeve mail hauberks over black woollen surcoats, their heads were bare, unprotected by chain coifs they also had. There was no sigil displayed on them, but undoubtedly, they were Northerners. 

_Bastards, to torment little children like this, _ anger took over Arya. Spearman laughed as he managed to shove the tip of his weapon in the old wildling’s back just enough to make him fall in the water face down.   
The man quickly got up only to be forced back down by spear tip. Wildling woman turned towards the riverbank and started running out of the water, trying to reach the treeline, firmly grasping her two children, but two riders came in front and behind her and one cut her down with his sword, slicing her from nose to breasts. Woman went out with scream, which was nothing compared to shrieks of horror coming from the wildling boy and girl.   
Men on horses laughed, one even forced his mount to trot on dead body. 

Rhaella sighed in shock, but soon Arya’s hand was on her mouth. Lyanna had the same mad look as Arya herself.   
“Grab your bows…” she whispered to her nieces “…Lya, take down one with the spear, Rhae you aim at one on chestnut horse… leave one with bloodied blade to me.” 

Soon, twins were kneeling with their arrows nocked, aiming at two riders who were entertained with the scene of two children screaming for their dead mother. Older wildling tried to get to the boy and girl but spearman kept knocking him down.   
Man was soaking wet, his face bloodied from hitting the rocks on the river bottom.

“Stay down, old cunt… I’ll run this spear up your ar...” Last what he heard was a swoosh of an arrow that ended up in his open mouth, cutting his tongue in half, pushing the shards of his broken teeth down his throat.   
Arrow came out on the back of his neck almost half in length and he fell off his horse in the shallow water of the Antler. 

Rider on a reddish-brown horse slightly turned his head to see what happened to spearman when another arrow came from the woods and found his right eye. He fell without making a sound.   
Third rider tried running away, tried to turn his horse and force it into gallop when his mount was killed under him with two more arrows hitting the animal straight in the heart.   
Arya’s nieces grew up among the Dothraki, they knew how to unhorse a rider by killing the animal under him. 

She came out of the woods, holding her Rhoynar sword in one hand. Her hood was down, the last rider could see her face as he stood there, holding his longsword. He was still shaken by the death of his companions.   
“A woman!” he yelled “Only a wildling bitch kills from ambush with arrows. Come now, I’ll rip you open from cunt to neck!” 

“Before he kills you…” Arya pointed to the old man who grabbed two children and pulled them away from the dead woman’s body “…I will slash your face, cut off your right ear and bring you to your knees.” 

She did not wait for him to reach her, but spun to her left. She checked his sword with hers and whirled away. Off balance, the man stumbled to the ground. Arya put a boot to his back and he went down, at that moment she sliced through the chain coif.   
It offered no protection from Rhoynar blade made of Valyrian steel. He howled from the pain as his ear was cut in half. “Bitch!” he bellowed standing up again, blood streaming down his neck.   
He charged again, slashing at Arya’s head. She ducked under his blade and thrust her sword upward. He made as screech of frustration as red trickle went down his left cheek.   
“Fucking wildling whore!” he shouted and charged, hacking down with both hands on his sword. She rolled right, evading these butcher moves and planted the tip of her blade into man’s kneecap.   
As he was falling to his knees he shrieked, dropping the longsword. Arya kicked his weapon away.   
“I told you.” she said to the kneeling man, tip of her sword placed on his neck “Since when are Northerners hunting down wildling women and children?”   
“Fuck off…” man replied; voice marked with pain. Arya pressed blade harder on his skin, piercing it. “I won’t ask for second time.” 

Man hissed: “The Queen in the North wills it.” “It is not wise to lie with sword on your neck.”   
“I don’t lie, bitch, this land will be under her crown.” “You don’t know who I am, do you?” she asked him.   
“Wildling whore with fancy sword and skill how to use it.” he spat.   
“I am your queen’s sister, dumb fuck, Arya Stark of Winterfell. And I know you lie about Sansa taking this land.”   
He looked at her: “Arya Stark… ha… she died long ago in the Sunset Sea.”   
“Who is your lord?” she asked.   
“Elric of House Karstark. We are doing his bidding. His and Queen Sansa’s.” 

Arya frowned, not wanting to believe her sister would agree with what she just witnessed. She turned away and walked towards the old wildling.   
Lya and Rhae were standing at the edge of the woods with their bows ready. Karstark man remained on his knees, holding hand on his slashed ear. 

“Ya ‘ave saved me and children, thank gods ya’re here. We’re foreva in ya debt…” old man said “…but how to repay I don’t know, we Free Folk don’t ‘ave much.”   
“You can help me. I am looking for a man who lives near here, he is not one of you. Some call him King Crow, but his name is Jon Snow.” Arya asked.   
Old man’s face glowed: “I know Jon, King Crow, I fought the Boltons with ‘im, when I’s younger and more of a man. Ya go by the Antler inland till you see a stream that flows into river, go up that stream for a mile or two and ya’ll find his cabin.”   
“Is he there now? Will I find him?”   
“Aye, ya will. He joins our ‘unting parties now and then, but keeps to ‘imself for most days. Good man he is.”   
Arya nodded, then asked: “This woman he killed, who was she?” “My son’s wife; the boy and the girl are ‘is.”   
“I leave to you to do the justice.” 

She went after two horses whose riders were cut down by the arrows, Lya and Rhae helped her and soon they were going inland on horseback, twins riding together.   
Arya turned back once, only to see old man slitting throat of a kneeling Karstark man with an antler dagger.  
Twins rode side by side with her and she noticed their silence.   
“What’s wrong?” she asked.  
“We never shot an arrow to kill someone.” Lya replied. “And today you shot and killed two men.” Both girls nodded with pensive faces.   
“You’re troubled with that…”   
Rhae looked at her: “Don’t be ashamed of us, they were evil men, we shouldn’t be troubled for killing them…”   
“_Ñuha dōna, _ I would be ashamed of you if you weren’t troubled. One who feels nothing after taking life for the first time, he is dead inside.”

After reaching the stream, one of many smaller tributaries of the Antler River, they went up its flow, riding north and west.   
It was still good ground for men on horseback, hills were low and woods weren’t too thick to stop horse from passing through. They rode up the hill, by the narrow path between oak and beech trees and then Arya saw it from a hill top.   
It was a log cabin, built on a small clearing above the stream, just enough for the one who lives there not to wander far for the source of sweet water; near the cabin there were four wooden frames for tanning animal hides.   
Unsaddled horse was tied to a sentinel tree. _He is inside..._ Arya thought… _if this truly were his home._   
She gestured to the girls to dismount and leave the horses on the hilltop, tied to an oak tree.   
All three were coming downhill in a slow pace, twins with their bows in hands. 

Then, from their left came a menacing growl. Something was coming at them from the trees. Growl was becoming more and more loud and then they could see him.   
A huge wolf, size of a smaller horse, was approaching them, his mouth open, baring his fangs with menacing red eyes.   
“Ghost!” Arya said aloud “It’s me… it’s Arya. We’re not enemies, boy.”   
Lyanna dropped her bow: “It is you… the wolf from my dreams.” 

She went straight to the animal with open arms. Arya reached out to stop her but she was too fast.   
Ghost growled loudly at the girl that was walking to him, but when she came only few feet away, direwolf sat down and looked at the girl, red eyes were now in wonder. 

When she made two more steps, wolf bent his head down and sniffed the small hand that girl cautiously extended towards him.   
And then huge beast licked Lyanna’s hand. Next thing that happened was her scratching the direwolf behind his one remaining ear.   
_“Gods, she truly is blood of the wolf.”_ Arya watched all this in disbelief. 

She approached Ghost with Rhaella and received the same welcome. “You’ve remembered me, old runt.” she said to him after she placed her hand on wolf’s head. “I’ve come to see Jon. And these girls, these are his daughters.”   
Arya spoke to the huge white furred beast as he could understand her.   
_Mayhaps he can, mayhaps one can talk with direwolf as another can with dragon._

Their dragon was three leagues away, resting on the high cliffs above the very mouth of Antler into the Shivering Sea.   
The night before Drogon brought them from Bay of Lorath, flying in straight line above the sea, passing over Grey Cliffs north of Karhold and then above the Bay of Seals. One hour before dawn they were over ruins of the Wall at Eastwatch.   
Dragon knew these lands, he was north of the Wall once before, when Daenerys came with her three dragons to save Jon and the band of men who went to capture a wight just to show it to Cersei.   
Her brother, the Imp, foolishly hoped that seeing the walking dead first hand will convince Lannister queen to help in the war with the Night King.   
Here, beyond the Wall, south of Antler was the place where Viserion was killed with an ice spear. Her nieces know nothing about it. But, after today, they might learn the truth.

Lya and Rhae walked next to Ghost, each from one side, running their hands through wolf’s white fur. Lyanna took off her hood, unlike her twin.   
Arya was two steps ahead of them. When they were all standing in front of the cabin, keeping silence for a heartbeat, she said loudly: “Come out and meet us!” 

There was a noise from inside, as someone is stumbling and tripping over things. _Gods, I hope he’s in better shape since last time I saw him_… flashed in Arya’s mind.  
“Arya… Arya… is that you?!”   
A man in his mid-thirties appeared on the door of the cabin.   
His face was pale, framed with long, unruly dark hair which fell to his shoulders and half hidden by the long messy beard. He wore grey shirt outside his breeches, shirt that should’ve been washed long ago.   
He was thinner than she remembered him and by his blurry eyes she could tell that his nights still are not peaceful.   
“Is that really you? But… how…how did you… I’ve heard you died at sea.”   
His voice was trembling as he looked at her in disbelief.   
“It’s me Jon, it’s Arya. It’s me, brother…” she wanted to run into his embrace, her eyes were already watered, but then he asked:   
“Who is this… is she.. is she your daughter?!”   
He pointed at dark-haired girl which stood next to Ghost and was looking at him with wide eyes.   
Arya swallowed: “No, Jon… she is not mine.”   
“My name is Lyanna Targaryen.” girl said politely. 

Her twin sister stepped forward, took her hood off and also presented herself: “My name is Rhaella Targaryen.”   
He froze on the spot upon seeing girl’s face and hair… “Dany…” came from his mouth as a whisper and then his gaze caught the dagger hanging from Rhaella’s belt… “No…no…” Tears flooded his eyes. 

Then he slumped on the ground and started laughing, it was a madman’s laughter and Arya felt as if something were squeezing her heart.   
He raised his head up and shouted: “When will this end?! When?! Am I now cursed with the ghost of my dead sister… with ghosts of children that never were…? Why don’t you just strike me down?! Why?!”   
Lya and Rhae exchanged looks: “Iksis ziry ribazmoqitta?”   
“He is not mad. He’s in pain. For no bloody reason.” Arya said with anger and marched straight to the man who were sitting on the ground and sobbing. 

She grabbed the collar of his shirt with one hand and slapped him with other so hard his lip started to bleed: “Now, listen to me, you fool. I am no ghost. Girls are no ghosts.   
I flew across half of the world on a fucking dragon to come here, to bring them to you. They are your daughters. Yours and Dany’s. She is alive.”   
He looked at Arya absently but she could tell he’s listening to her:“Do you understand? Daenerys is alive. You have a family, you idiot. Pull yourself together. Your daughters don’t need to see you in such a poor shape.”   
She slapped him again and then shown him the Needle. “Next time I will stick you with the pointy end, then you’ll believe I am not a fucking ghost.” 

He looked at her trying to get up, his gaze was brighter now, and then he looked at two girls once more. “Dany…” he mumbled “she was…she was with child…when I…Arya, I killed my children…”   
And then his eyes rolled back and he fell on the ground, as he was dead. 

A raven flew away from the tall oak tree on the other side of the stream.   
Eyes of dark feathered birds were white. 

Same as were the eyes of a young man sitting in a chair with wheels, far away in the south, in the gardens of the castle made of pale red stone on Aegon's Hill in King's Landing.


	9. ARIANNE

_Water Gardens, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest_

**ARIANNE**

Pale pink marble paved the gardens and courtyard.  
Numerous pools and fountains overlooked by the terraces, shaded by blood orange trees, could be reached by walking across a fluted pillar gallery that lead to a triple archway.  
Water Gardens. 

It was fourth day of the first moon of new year, eleventh year of summer.  
This place was pleasant in time of summer: hot days, cool nights, the salt breeze blowing in from the sea, and fountains and pools for all to admire and play in.  
Children from all over Dorne were sent to the Water Gardens to foster, where they played together at the beach, pools and fountains, and in the water.  
Older ones would lay face down upon the smooth pink marble, browning in the sun while others paddled in the sea beyond.  
Two dozen or more had gathered in the big pool, to watch the battles as smaller children rode through the waist-deep shallows on the shoulders of the larger and tried to shove each other into the water.  
Every time a pair went down, the splash was followed by a roar of laughter.  
For a long while the only sounds were the children splashing in the pools and fountains, and once a soft plop as another orange dropped onto the terrace to burst.

She chuckled as orange missed her head for a few inches, but it was risk worth taking as she enjoyed the shade which orange trees provided.  
Princess Arianne Nymeros Martell, the eldest daughter of late Dornish prince Doran, was ruling Dorne for the last four years.  
Her father was dead, her brothers were dead. 

Doran and his son Trystane were killed by order of Ellaria Sand, her uncle Oberyn’s paramour, when she and the Sand Snakes took rule over Dorne which proved to be short lived.  
Euron Greyjoy saw to that when he ambushed the fleet of his niece Yara, killed all the Sand Snakes but one and captured Ellaria.  
Later, Cersei Lannister arranged long painful death of Tyene, last of Sand Snakes.  
Girl and her mother Ellaria were chained in the dungeons of the Red Keep, Tyene dying slowly of poison given to her by Cersei’s kiss with Ellaria forced to watch not only death but also the rotting corpse of her daughter.  
Her father's cousin, Qoren, came to power two years after the assassination of their father. He declared Dorne for the Dragon Queen when she waged war on Cersei Lannister and later he sat down at the council in the Dragonpit when Bran the Broken was made king.  
_Sat down and did nothing_, she remembered, _sat down with his mouth shut when Ned Stark’s daughter break away from Seven Kingdoms reducing them into Six. He witnessed that and said nothing. If House Stark which for three centuries served the Iron Throne doing dragon’s and stag’s bidding could proclaim their independent kingdom – what of Dorne? Dragons never conquered us. Never. Never by force. We came into fold by marriage. _

She once again looked around her.  
Prince Maron Martell built for his new bride, Daenerys of House Targaryen, the Water Gardens, a place of beauty made of colored marble with pools and trees, to free her from the heat and dust of Sunspear.  
She was the second Targaryen princess to be named Daenerys, living more than hundred years before her namesake which burned King’s Landing to ash.  
That Daenerys on one occasion, when the sun was hot, took pity on the children of the servants and guards and allowed them to play in the pools with the highborn children, starting a tradition that is still kept in Dorne to this day.  
Every Dornish child can come to Water Gardens to enjoy the pools. 

_Qoren did nothing. He left us as part of Six Kingdoms, ruled by a boy in a wheelchair and a Small Council of his sycophants. With Tywin’s dwarf son as Hand, _Arianne could not think of that without disgust.  
She had little love for her kinsman after that day. By Dornish law she should have been at the Dragonpit that day, she was last surviving child of Prince of Dorne, but as Ellaria nearly wiped out the Doran's line of House Martell, Qoren and his supporters decided to forgo the law and the tradition when they installed him as new Prince of Dorne. 

_He did not last though, six years Dorne has tolerated him. And then no more;_ she dwelled on past events; _did he fell off sand steed by his own or was he assisted no one could tell.  
Chronicles will note that Qoren Martell, Prince of Dorne, died of a broken neck after riding accident and was succeeded by his cousin Princess Arianne. _

She plucked one fruit from the tree, orange was ripe, she peeled it and enjoyed this juicy fruit.  
_Qoren had an ally there, at Dragonpit, only he did not saw the chance. Now that ally is here, with me. _

Next to her, basking on a long cushion, was Yara Greyjoy.  
_If for someone from the Iron Islands could be said he or she were basking, _Arianne thought, watching the Salt Queen of the Iron Islands half asleep.  
A lean long-legged woman, of dark eyes and brown hair cut short. Her features of thin face and sharp nose, pale wind-chafed skin betrayed Yara from far away as stranger in Dornish land. 

_Stranger… unlikely ally… what was the term learned men use… strange bedfellow;_ she smirked thinking of this; _Greyjoy woman would gladly be her bedfellow…_

Arianne Martell was all that Yara Greyjoy was not. Buxom and beautiful olive-skinned woman of dark eyes and long thick black hair falling to the middle of her back in ringlets. A true Dornish beauty.  
She was never shy from using her womanhood to get what she wanted, nor from seducing men to get them to do her bidding, Men. Only men. Unlike her guest from Pyke. 

_My uncle Oberyn was impartial when it comes to cunts and cocks, so was his Ellaria… but I do not follow that suit, _she told Yara when Ironborn woman gave her first lusting look.  
_Lust is a powerful weapon; _Arianne knew that well so when with Yara she would often put on the most revealing garments she could find, wisps of silk that covered everything and hid nothing. Many times she could feel how Yara is devouring her with her gaze, wandering from Arianne’s full lips down to round ripe breasts with dark nipples, barely hidden under silk.  
Still, daughter of Balon Greyjoy had to satisfy her desire with those girl servants in Water Gardens who shared her preferences of laying down with women. 

A serving man brought them a bowl of purple olives, with flatbread, cheese, and chickpea paste, walking slowly and silently, not to disturb the two women resting on cushions under orange trees.  
Arianne loved Water Gardens, far more than Sunspear. Only three leagues were between one place and the other, but they might just as well have been two different worlds. 

At Water Gardens children frolicked naked in the sun, music played in tiled courtyards, and the air here was sharp with the smell of lemons and blood oranges.  
Sunspear had towers, hundred and eighty feet tall crowned Spear Tower, then golden dome of Tower of the Sun and last the Sandship, dun colored and looking like a huge dromond ship washed ashore and turned to stone.  
Air there smelled of dust, sweat and smoke.  
Water Gardens had pink marble, Sunspear had mud and straw, colored brown and dun. 

_Sunspear is the seat of Dornish power, _Tremond Gargalen, lord of Salt Shore, told her once when giving counsel that she is not spending enough time in the stronghold of her forefathers.  
_Dornish power resides in your Princess, _she replied. 

Arianne carefully studied the prospects of alliance with the Iron Islands.  
She knew that the Ironborn, many of whom felt no love for the Starks after Balon’s Rebellion, now had bow to one Stark while they have watched another walk away with the independence they have desired for centuries. 

Leader of the Ironborn was a woman who has proven herself as a worthy leader of the Iron Islands, one who swore to help Daenerys Targaryen claim the Iron Throne in exchange for self governing.  
_New Ironborn rebellion was only a matter of time, _Arianne concluded long time ago, while her fool of a cousin was still ruling Dorne, _we will raise spears against King’s Landing as well if we’re not given what North was… why not unite… vipers and krakens against the raven king. _

“Shall we pay a visit to my newest guest?” she told Yara.  
“Aye, we should.” Ironborn agreed and noted: “though you’re hardly dressed for a ride to Whitecourt.”  
Arianne laughed: “There’s no better way to ride a sand steed than only in your own skin, but I am not going to display myself half naked in front of him. Yet.” 

Not long after arriving to Dorne, Yara had to adjust her attire to local weather. Her leather jerkin, brown quilted tunic and woollen breeches had to give room to a knee-length linen tunic and trousers of mottled sandsilk.  
Her throwing axe and dirk dagger were at her leather belt still. 

Whitecourt, holdfast of House Warder, were inland, equally far from Water Gardens as Sunspear.  
Flement Warder, lord of Whitecourt, greeted them in the courtyard as they have dismounted from their horses. 

Sand steed, a Dornish breed was considered by many in Westeros as most beautiful and the best kind of horse.  
Sand steed was smaller than warhorses bred in the Reach or Westerlands and could not bear the full weight of armored knight like destrier or courser, but had stamina that no other horse breed could match.  
Dornishmen claimed their mounts are able to run for a day and night and another day, and never tire.  
Yara admired the mount she was given, his long neck and narrow head, horse swift and slim in reddish coat.  
She was used to garrons, horses of the North, bred for harsh ground, cold and snow. Sand steed was different animal entirely.

“Princess, my lady…” Flement bowed his head “…we weren’t expecting you till tomorrow. I will see that rooms are prepared for you and baths drawn.”  
“No need, Lord Flement, we shall not be staying overnight.” Arianne replied “You have done your duty by hosting this unexpected visitor. How is he doing?” “Priest is keeping him in the dark, allow me to say so.”  
“Good, very good. Take us to him.” 

Flement has taken them in the castle tower, they climbed up the narrow and steep stairway, Warder in lead with Arianne and Yara following.  
Both women were now dressed alike, in dun tunics and sandsilk trousers.  
“Here we are…” Flement pointed at the door on the right, three floors beneath the tower’s roof. He knocked three times.  
A tall man in his mid-twenties opened. His brown hair and fair skin told that he was from west of Dorne, where Andal blood and even that of First Men are more present than blood of Rhoynar. 

Gareth Sand was Flement’s personal guard. A bastard sired from one of the Yronwoods, as a young man he was a brawler and wanted nothing but to hunt and lay down with whores but time at Warder castle made him matured and disciplined.  
“My lord…” then he quickly corrected himself “I beg your pardon Princess; I have not seen you at first.”  
“It is all right.” Arianne said eyeing this tall young man dressed in white linen tunic and dark gold breeches, colors of House Warder, armed with curved blade, Dornish scimitar.  
Yara also gave him a look and Gareth could’ve sworn she winked at him and licked her lips.  
As they entered the chamber, Gareth stepped out and shut the door.  
Room was dark, with dim light from the two torches placed on the opposing walls. Arianne saw an elderly man coming, he was tall and slim, with head shaven clean and grey beard.  
He wore red robe, usual garment of R’hllor priests. She has known him from before, when he first arrived to Sunspear, some six moons after she took the throne of Dorne. Ezzelyno of Braavos. 

“Princess, lady Greyjoy.” he bowed.  
Both women returned greeting, then Arianne said: “Is that him?”  
Her eyes went to a man whose arms were stretched behind his back, tied to a stone pillar on the left side of the chamber, his body was bare except smallclothes and a thick sack pulled over his head. Arianne and Yara wanted to have a close look, when priest spoke in low voice: “Before talking to him, Princess, I have to make certain you are safe from the Lord of Darkness.”  
Yara frowned and then grinned, letting Ezzelyno to know what she thinks on the matter, but Arianne said: “Make it so.”

Priest walked to the table at far-left side of the room, took a sealed bottle and poured oil from it around the pillar, making a circle.  
Then he took a torch off the wall and said: “Please, step within the ring.”  
Two women were now standing in the part of chamber marked with oil, close to the bound, half naked man. 

“Before lighting the flames, blood of kings is required.” Ezzelyno almost whispered to Arriane and Yara, making sure that only they can hear him.  
Princess of Dorne nodded and pulled out the dirk dagger from Yara’s belt.  
She cut her palm and gestured Yara to do the same, then both placed their hands over the oil on the chamber floor letting their blood to mix with it.  
Priest lowered the torch on the spot where red drops fell into oil. Flames surged high along entire circle in the same time, making Yara to step back, surprised. Now it was priest who grinned at her. He bowed and left the chamber with lord Warder.

Arianne walked to the bound man and pulled off the sack from his head to reveal a rough face under brown hair framed with beard of same coloring. 

His eyes spoke of non-distilled rage when his mouth gagged with filthy cloth could not.  
“Well, well… what do we have here…” she said in mocking voice.  
“An honest piece of handsome man…” Yara added and then grabbed man between the legs making him grunt through gag “…indeed, I feel his prick throbbing already…”  
She turned to Arianne with her hand stroking captive’s manhood:  
“Have I told you how my little brother lost his cock? Bolton’s bastard brought two naked women to play with him and when his member was rampant, bastard cut it off. Mayhaps we should have this stallion gelded as well.”  
Man cursed her, but gag made it all incomprehensive. 

Arianne replied with devilish grin: “We do not need to be so excessive, my dear friend, in Dorne guests as well as captives are not stripped of their manhood. Usually. Our guest here will behave properly. Don’t you agree, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater?” Man said something loudly, but gag turned that into animal sounds. 

“Ser Bronn of the Blackwater…” Yara feint surprise “…Lord of Highgarden, Lord Paramount of the Reach and Master of Coin in King Bran’s Small Council. I’ve never before stroked a cock attached to a man with so many fancy titles.”  
Arianne shook her head: “No, he was recently stripped of that last title, he is no longer Master of Coin. It appears his fingers were a bit too sticky for the taste of Bran the Broken.  
So, Imp sent him to Dorne to do Lannister bidding once more, like he was an errand boy.”  
She stepped closer and grabbed Bronn’s chin: “Is that what you are, my lord, an errand boy?”  
Yara said: “Shame, really, such a tall man with fine piece of cock to be so small in the end.” 

More growls and muffled curses came from him. “Would you like to say something?” Arianne asked “He wants to speak, it seems. Let him…”  
Yara pulled the gag from Bronn’s mouth so roughly it caused him to spit followed by few curses “…what the fuck do you two think you’re doing...?! I am envoy of your king!” 

Arianne laughed: “Lies will not get you anywhere, my lord. You’ve been sent here by King’s Hand, Tyrion Lannister. To spy for him. To spy on Princess of Dorne and on Queen of the Iron Islands. Before that he threw you out from the Small Council.  
And yet, you’ve come to Dorne as his loyal lapdog. Are you?”  
Bronn gazed her with murderous look: “Am I what?”  
“A dog in Imp’s lap, my lord?” she asked again.  
“I am nobody’s dog.” he spat “Imp’s, yours and certainly not yours…” his eyes went on Yara  
“What, I didn’t stroke your sausage good enough?” she replied.  
Arianne spoke to him again: “Still, Ser Bronn, you remain the Lord of Highgarden and Warden of the South. But, for how long?” Man tied to the stone pillar said nothing to what she just told him, killing her with his gaze. 

She continued: “You were given lordship over the Reach as payment for your loyal services to whom again? House Lannister, king Joffrey, king Tommen and queen Cersei…  
So, you got Highgarden for serving two bastards born out of sibling fuckery and their mad bitch of a mother. How long will that last?” 

Arianne paced around him while flames of fiery ring burned with same strength as when first lit.  
“All of noble houses, every highborn in the Reach would rather see you dead this night than tomorrow morning.  
And when they see that you have fallen out of grace with King Bran, snow has better odds of lasting in Red Mountains than you as lord of Highgarden.”  
Bronn replied: “And that concerns you how?”  
“Your wellbeing does not concern me at all. But fate of Dorne does. And mine is to make that fate as certain as possible… just as lady Greyjoy will do all to secure the same for Iron Islands.”  
Yara nodded, now standing aside: “Do not be a fool, my lord, think of the future, future for House Blackwater.” 

Bronn smirked: “Hard to think of a future when tied naked to a pillar…”  
Arianne laughed: “Or that makes it far easier… Your future seems very clear, my lord, you will either end up dead if you keep serving those who you’re serving now… or you will become more than you are now if your loyalties shift. It is that simple.”  
Bronn grinned: “What more can I be than I am now… I am lord of Highgarden.”  
“Yes, you are.” she agreed “But you could be ruling the Kingdom of the Reach.” 

“King Bronn of House Blackwater, first of his name, King of the Reach, protector of the South…” Yara uttered with dignified tone.  
“It slides off the tongue quite smoothly…” Arianne added in cheer voice.

Bronn mulled for a while, shifting gaze from one woman to another, and then said: “First you get me off this bloody pillar, give me my clothes back and mayhaps we will talk further about this Kingdom of the Reach.”  
Arianne traded look with Yara and then clapped her hands, calling the priest of R’hllor back in the chamber.  
“Ser Bronn, if you truly join us, the line of kings will start with you, but if you try to betray Yara and me, I will feed you with your own cock and balls. Nod if you agree.” 

Bronn nodded and Arianne could tell he was eyeing her breasts while at it. _Lustful bastard, _she thought, _even bound and half naked this upstart sellsword thinks of riding me._


	10. BROKEN KING

_King’s Landing, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest_

**BROKEN KING**

_Lokh bar thol kifos rukh?_  
It was an old language, spoken before the Age of Heroes, before the First Men cast aside ancient beliefs and embraced the gods they learned of from the children of the forest, now known as the old gods.   
That language was written in runes, in rocks and caves, some writings survived thousands of years to this day.   
That language was now spoken only among few Free Folk and, while they still roamed the earth, among giants, but as impoverished dialect of what it once was. 

Voice that spoke to Bran did so in true Old Tongue. _What are you looking at?_   
Always the same question. It was not so when he became the Three Eyed Raven.   
That voice was not with him then. It was not when Meera Reed and he returned to Winterfell from beyond the Wall, saved by his uncle, ranger of the Night’s Watch, Benjen Stark.   
It was not with him when Theon Greyjoy died defending him from the White Walkers in Godswood of Winterfell.   
It was not when council of great houses of Westeros elected him as their new king. 

This voice came later, some three years ago, when seventh year of his reign was passing.  
At first, he believed it to be thoughts coming from what was left of Bran Stark, second son of Ned and Catelyn Stark, who entered the cave far north of the Wall when only three and ten years old never to came out as same again.   
Thoughts sometimes were random, sometimes agreeing with whatever he was thinking or doing and sometimes not.   
As time went by, he was now in eight year of his reign, though boundaries of time were blur to him, what he believed to be thoughts of a boy long gone became steady voice, soft whisper, but always present.   
Always giving him words of council, of warning, of mistrust towards others.

His Small Council was surely not the shiniest one in the history of the Realm.   
Tyrion Lannister as Hand, Samwell Tarly as grand maester, Davos Seaworth as Master of Ships, Bronn of the Blackwater as Master of Coin. Later, on recommendation of Davos, Andrew Estermont was appointed as Master of Laws.   
Brienne of Tarth sat at the council as Lady Commander of the Kingsguard. 

Seat for Master of Whisperers still remained vacant while position of Master of War was in the very first year of Bran’s reign removed from the Small Council as a gesture showing new king’s devotion to peace.   
That title was invention of Cersei Lannister after all. 

Till the end of the seventh year of his reign, he did not meddle in their work.   
Tyrion did a decent job as his Hand, so did Davos Seaworth rebuilding the royal fleet and overall seafaring capacities of Six Kingdoms as much as state of treasury allowed it, Brianne was honourable knight like Kingsguards of the old, and lord Estermont of Greenstone, six feet tall man noticeable by his long, pointy beard and thick eyebrows did his duty without any clamour.   
Bronn oft proved himself to be a failure in matters of finance, still Tyrion was patient with his Master of Coin, keeping his ineptness in check. 

Yet, as eight year of rule of Bran the Broken was in its fifth moon, voice was telling him that his Small Council has its shortcomings.   
Samwell always had his head buried in the books, Estermont was over hesitant, Davos reaching his three and sixtieth nameday and thinking of a long-deserved rest, away from halls of kings, Bronn knew how to spend crown money for excessive tourneys and feasts and then to compensate expenses proposing ludicrous taxing policies… voice told him to step in and rule. 

He was Three Eyed Raven; he did not want to rule in a same manner as those before him. Voice disagreed. 

_Was that the voice of those who were Three Eyed Raven before me;_ he sometimes asked; _those who could wield this power better than me, my learning and training never was completed.   
It was cut short, when the Night King found me and marked me. Mayhaps the voice was my learning continued in other way, in way to make sure that first Three Eyed Raven who ruled as king will not falter. _

He decided to listen to the voice, since many things that voice warned him of came to pass.   
Voice warned him of evil that still loomed in this world, evil coming from the east, that had its own might and spells and he, as voice grew stronger in him, faced that might and spells.   
When at work, those spells blurred his sight, he could not see what was happening now. 

And when that what was happening now became what happened before – he still could not see it, not clearly, no matter how he tried. Only shifting shadows without voices.   
This took place when he was looking towards east, but sometimes also here, in Westeros.

The greensight is magic that takes its toll, he learned that when he tried to warg the last living dragon, when he found him at last, in the ruins of Old Valyria.   
He failed and never tried again, knowing how that attempt took away some moon or even year of life of this body that once were Bran Stark.   
He could only hope for a long life, lasting scores of years, if he would go under the weirwood tree and dwell in his roots like the Three Eyed Raven before him.   
Brynden Rivers he was called when still human, when world knew him as Lord Bloodraven, the bastard son of king Aegon Targaryen, fourth of his name.   
He lived more than six score years.   
_Bran the Broken surely will not live to count two scores, not here, not in the Red Keep, _ he told himself.   
Voice disagreed. 

He was again at the royal gardens.   
It was late evening of tenth day of first moon of eleventh year of summer. Summer that lasted just as long as his reign.   
His face was one of dead seriousness as he watched his Hand coming to him. 

“Your Grace…” Hand greeted.   
Bran took no notice of that, just replied with even tone of voice:   
“What news of the Realm?”   
“Ravens coming from the Wall, Your Grace, it appears that Queen Sansa in the course of one moon annexed all the land of the New Gift and Brandon’s Gift to her kingdom.   
And that now direwolf banner waves over the ruined part of the Wall, at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.   
Eleventh year of her reign started with North reasonably enlarged. Night’s Watch, counting barely two hundred, seek protection, fearing Castle Black is next to be taken.” 

“It is uncommon move from Sansa Stark, but not unexpected. She wants for North to be strong, stronger than in centuries before.   
There is a direwolf banner on Queenscrown in New Gift as well. They plan to rebuild that holdfast in honor of Sansa. The name is already appropriate.” he replied with his emotionless voice. 

“What should we respond to the Night’s Watch?” Tyrion asked, with slight concern. Kagohk. _Nothing._ Voice told him. 

And he replied the same to Tyrion.   
“Kingdom of the North is independent, lord Hand, and Six Kingdoms are not guardians of the Night’s Watch. We shall not interfere.”   
“Some in the Realm could interpret this as decision based on family ties, Your Grace.” Lannister said with cautious advice.   
“I am not Bran Stark. I haven’t been for a long time.”   
His Hand nodded.   
“As Your Grace knows, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater is no longer Master of Coin I have made a shortlist of possible successors.”   
He nodded to Tyrion: “No need for haste. You were Master of Coin in the Small Council of king Joffrey. You can do both, being Hand and Realm's chief treasurer.”   
“As Your Grace commands.” Tyrion was not pleased, that was obvious in the tone of his reply.   
“You have sent Bronn to Dorne. To spy.”   
“To assess the situation, yes. He has arrived there last sennight.”   
“He goes amidst servants of eastern demon.”   
Tyrion frowned: “I am not sure that I understand, Your Grace.”   
“There are shadows around him, even he fades into shadows now and then. I will be watching him.”   
“I am awaiting his first report any day now.”   
He looked at Tyrion: “Is there anything else?” “No, Your Grace.” 

Rukh yedh. Nuk thol. _Tell him. Order it. _   
Voice came again; this time Old Tongue was like a thunder in his head.

“I have seen Arya Stark.” he said with cold voice   
“Where, Your Grace? Reports on her whereabouts in last four or five years are contradictory, to say the least. Some claim she has drowned years ago, some that they saw her in Asshai.” 

He knew that tale of her drowning was not true, though for years he did not search for Arya. She was nothing to him. Sister to Bran, yes, but nothing to him. 

“I saw her north of the Wall.” tone of his words was as frost “Day before that she was at Lorath. And day before at Meereen.”   
“But that is impossible, perhaps your visions mistook…” Tyrion contemplated “She can’t be jumping from one side of the world to another in two days.”   
“She does not jump. She flies.”   
“Flies?!” Tyrion blurted, not believing.   
“She has found Drogon. I have seen him clearly north of the Wall. Only then. In the east, eastern demon is hiding him from my sight. He is twice as large than before. Soon he will be of same size like Balerion the Black Dread.”   
“Your Grace, if this were truth, how could Arya control a dragon?”   
“She does not. She was not alone. Two more were with her. I haven’t seen them clearly, they are marked by the eastern demon, only two shadows at her side. They control Drogon.”   
He told this to Tyrion in emotionless tone, as he did not care. 

“Why would Arya go beyond the Wall on a dragon? It makes no sense.”   
“Her half-brother is there. Her cousin, in truth.”   
“Jon Snow? He vanished from the face of the earth ten years ago.” Tyrion said.   
“He did. Even from my sight. He wanted to die, a haunted man in the haunted forest. He never recovered from what he did… Queenslayer, kinslayer, oathbreaker.” his voice was cold 

“What Arya did could change everything.”   
“What did she do?” Tyrion asked, impatiently.   
“She revealed him something, something hidden for a long time.”   
“What?”   
“She told him that Daenerys Targaryen lives. She told him that she gave birth to two daughters. Daughters of Jon Snow.” 

He saw Tyrion losing color in his face, as he is about to faint or retch. Hand of the King grabbed the side of his wheelchair to remain standing. 

He continued: “It was all hidden from me by the magic of eastern demon for many years. But haunted forest is domain of the Three Eyed Raven. Arya could not hide from me.”   
“She… she lives… how is that possible?”   
“She has been brought back like Jon was. I cannot see her. Demon magic runs strong in her. And her children. Now Jon will meet her again. Arya took him to Essos.”   
Tyrion was stunned: “Daenerys lives, has two daughters, one huge dragon… Your Grace, we are all in danger. She could invade Westeros again… what is Arya doing in her service?” 

“Arya does not serve the Dragon Queen. Arya wanted Jon to know that Daenerys lives and has his children with her.”   
“If only Jon would repeat his service to the people of Westeros.” Tyrion said.   
“That we cannot hope for. Not with him knowing of his children. Targaryens will not kill each other again.” 

Nuk thol. _Order it. _Voice thundered in mind of the one who once was Bran Stark.   
_This is not right, _he replied. 

Voice inside him screamed: Nuk thol! 

“Lord Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King, I charge you with solving the Dragon Queen problem. I want them ripped out root and stem.” his tone was ice cold.   
“All of them, Your Grace? Children too?” Tyrion asked, appalled.   
“Children grow, lord Tyrion. Daenerys was almost child herself when she hatched three dragons.”   
“It is a vile thing to consider, Your Grace, your father resigned as Hand when King Robert asked…” 

Doysen skog! _Cursed fool! _It rang in his mind, causing his head to hurt. 

“Bran Stark’s father lost his head for too much honor. The Realm cannot risk the return of dragons with magic of eastern demon. We act as I have ordered.”   
“What about Jon and Arya?” “He is blood of dragon too. And she, if still with them in the hour of reckoning, she will share their fate. She committed treason, lord Tyrion.”

Lannister was silent, collecting his thoughts, pondering, weighing.   
“Your Grace, we are talking about assassination. Best course of action would be to employ the Faceless Men. Crown can afford it.”   
“You propose me to hire servants of one demon to fight against another. Crown will not smear itself with followers of god of death. And, have you forgotten that Arya was one of them? We only need to get rid of one woman and two girls. And a man half mad.”

Tyrion remained silent and this time it lasted a while. His king could say that Hand is bewildered.   
Lannister was used to a Bran who rarely got involved in matters of everyday governing and now he witnessed a cold, heartless death sentence for an entire family. 

_He is looking for justification, _king concluded, _he will do what asked but seeks something to make him feel easier about it. I will help him in that search._

“How many dead were in King’s Landing ten years ago, lord Tyrion?”   
“We never got a true count, city was full with people from all sides of Westeros running from the war, but surely tens of thousands reduced to ash and bone.”   
“Do we want to see that happen again? With dragon so large he could burn hundreds of thousands now?”   
“No, Your Grace, we don’t.”   
“Dragon is dangerous when he has a rider. We will liberate this world of dragon riders.”   
“We must find someone to do it, someone who is not too expensive and can’t be associated with us.” Tyrion said, his mind still split apart between fear of dragons returning and disgust with thought of murdering children. “You have such a person. A sellsword.” king replied; his voice cold as ever.   
“Bronn is in Dorne, if you want him recalled…”   
“Not Bronn. Someone else. Who would very much like to rule on his own but cannot with Dragon Queen alive. You know him. Daario Naharis.”   
“I know him. I don’t think he will ever betray her. He was infatuated with her.”   
“She denied him of coming with her to Westeros. He didn’t forget that. If he does what we need, Six Kingdoms will recognise him as sole ruler of Slaver’s Bay. And pay him accordingly.” 

Tyrion was silent again, then he spoke:   
“I couldn’t imagine that you can show such ruthlessness in matters of ruling, Your Grace.”   
“It scares you, I can see that, but I can see the past, I can see life of every king that ever lived in Westeros. Gentle kings have never lasted long.”   
“Indeed, sometimes I tend to forget that my king is the Three Eyed Raven.”   
“It matters more that you don’t forget what your king orders.”

Thel! Mag! _Good! Excellent!_   
Voice inside the broken king rejoiced silencing the disapproval and disgust that fading power of the Three Eyed Raven and remnants of Bran Stark felt that evening as they watched Tyrion Lannister walking out of the garden with death warrant for the last Targaryens.__


	11. JON

Chapter 11

_Meereen, Essos, year 316 After Conquest_

**JON**

Was he dead… or alive. Or asleep. He didn’t quite know.  
For him had there ever been any difference between the three for last ten years?  
It came down to the same, in the end.  
Pain was swift and sharp. He had never felt something like this before. He was no stranger to pain. He felt it before, many times, many ways.  
This one had been new and foreign and it brought him down like never before.  
He remembered Arya’s angry voice and slap and another slap.  
She told him, no, she yelled him something that seemed impossible, a dream that came after ten years of nightmares… then he came to understand what he did that day. 

_Queenslayer, kinslayer, killer of unborn babes._

Then he fell. As he was dead, but he was not. Or mayhaps he was.  
He could tell that someone has placed his limp body on a horse, across the saddle. And he could tell when he was taken off. Then world became blur. 

Something large, dark and living shadowed the ground he was laid upon.  
He was dragged through the grass and pulled up, onto something tall, dark and living. He felt restraints placed on him and warmth of that what was under restraints.  
Then something large, dark and living turned into something large, dark and moving. Moving not over ground or water but through the air.  
Were his eyes open or not, he could not tell.  
He gazed into darkness above him and he felt his consciousness is fading.  
Something large and moving disappeared beneath him, restraints disappeared, warmth disappeared. 

He was dead once before, but it was not like this. That time he was aware of everything, daggers stabbing him…four, five, six times.  
Pain washed over him.  
And then all went dark. Into nothingness. 

This time it was the same and it was not, this time as here and now were fading away from him, he did not fell into dark void.  
He lingered on the edge.  
Time lost every meaning. Place lost every meaning. Darkness was creeping around him and he wished for it to swallow him. 

Light. First, he saw the light. A weak flickering light. Then a sound.  
Mumbled words. Same words. Over and over again.  
Light was steady now, but darkness endured. Words were clearer now and spoken by more voices than one.  
He could not tell what they mean. Spoken over and over again. His mind was not there, not wholly.  
Words coming from many mouths, repeatedly, were as strange, hallowed melody to him. 

Yet, as light grew stronger, words in his mind became something else.  
Names.  
Theon, Karlon, Tohrren, Cregan, Alaric, Harlon, Rodrik, Jon. 

Light bathed him now, almost whole. And more names filled his head.  
Aenar, Daeron, Aemon, Baelor, Daemon, Maekar, Jaehaerys, Aegon. 

Light was strong now. As he were staring straight into midday sun.  
Words were clear to him now, they were chanted with perseverance and he knew what they meant. He could understand it.  
Somehow he could understand it.  
_Hen sȳndrorro, ōños, hen ñuqīr, perzys!  
From darkness light, from ashes fire!_

He knew he was not alone. Those who spoke the words were with him, around him, light was blinding him but he could tell they were there.  
Something else was there too.  
Large and living and he felt it very close, now it felt closer to him than anything else in the world.  
That closeness made him feel warmth that overtook him whole.  
Chanted words were again gone from his mind, replaced by a murmur that slowly was becoming clearer.  
It was own mind that chanted now.  
In tongue that should have been foreign to him. 

Ossēnagon se nādrēsy. Ivestragī zaldrīzoti glaesagon.  
Ossēnagon se nādrēsy. Ivestragī zaldrīzoti glaesagon.  
Ossēnagon se nādrēsy. Ivestragī zaldrīzoti glaesagon.

Then he felt heat that engulfed him whole.  
Heat so soothing and comforting as it were cleansing him both on outside and from within.  
All around him became clearer and he could tell he is surrounded, covered with flames, he never saw anything like it. Swirling long narrow tongues of scarlet and orange and gold danced everywhere his eyes went, each more writhing and more gleaming than the last.  
Vipers of fire crawled and whirled all over him, growing longer and burning with blood red glow…  
and then flames surged high above him and descended into his body, disappearing instantly.  
Light was gone. Pain was gone. All was gone.

His eyes opened slowly, at first, he could see nothing, but after a while blurry shape of a bed appeared around him. Window shutters were closed, but he could see the shape of carved bedposts.  
He lied on a featherbed, covered with linen sheets. When he moved, Jon realised he was naked. A cough came from him as he tried to get up.  
“Se āeksio iksis sīmonagon…” he heard an excited voice.  
A girl, not more than three and ten namedays, came over him and then rushed out of the room.  
Lord is up… he repeated her words in his mind. 

A woman in red robe entered the chamber, smiling.  
Even in this dimly lighted room, he could tell of her light green eyes.  
His eyes caught that what she wore around her neck, same adornment as the red priestess he met many years ago in Castle Black when she served Stannis Baratheon.  
Woman addressed him with courtesy:  
“Brōzi iksis Kinvara. Eglio Vokto hen Rijībliot Volantīhot, Drīvo Perzo, Sylvio Ōño, Dohaeriro Ēlio Āeksio Oño syt.”  
(_Name is Kinvara. High Priestess of the Red Temple of Volantis, the Flame of Truth, the Light of Wisdom, the First Servant of the Lord of Light._) 

He remained silent for a heartbeat, then he said, in language that he was not supposed to know: “Skore issi ao? Drīvo iā sylvio?”  
(_ Which are you? Truth or wisdom? _)  
“Ah, ao ȳdragon Valyrīha…” she noted and continued in Common Tongue: “You speak Valyrian. As you should.”  
He frowned: “I don’t speak Valyrian… I shouldn’t be speaking it…”  
“Yet, you asked for your own death. In fluent High Valyrian.” 

He gazed at her with eyes widened.  
“I’ve heard you. I am certain that maester Luwin who taught you High Valyrian while you were only a little boy would mislike that prayer.”  
“I don’t…”  
“Ned Stark’s trueborn children had no talent for that tongue, but you did. You’ve learned it. As a child of seven. No wonder. That was in your blood. And then you buried it deep. Till five days ago.  
Ossēnagon se nādrēsy. Ivestragī zaldrīzoti glaesagon.  
You’ve repeated this few dozen times.  
Kill the bastard. Let the dragons live.  
And you were granted this wish. By fire made flesh.”  
“I don’t like riddles…”  
“What I find as a riddle is why have you asked for death. You. One that Lord of Light brought back.” 

He shook his head, eyes full of disillusion: “Only death can pay for life.”  
“Whose death for whose life, my lord?”  
“My life for lives of my daughters.”  
Kinvara smiled: “If we’re to follow that saying, their lives were already paid for. As was life of their mother. Your death bears no weight for them. Your life does. That is why your prayer was not heard.  
Or mayhaps it was. But not as you wished.”  
“Where am I?”  
“In Meereen. We’re at once Pyramid of Uhlez. Now a temple of Lord of Light in this city. And, what you should ask yourself is who am I?”  
“I know who I am.” Jon answered.  
“Do you? Truly?” 

He sat up in the bed, not taking eyes from Kinvara and said in stern voice:  
“Iksan Jon, tresy hen Rhāegār se Līāna, hen Targārien Lentor.” 

She made a slight bow: “Welcome to Meereen, Jon of House Targaryen.  
I will call Arya to come to you. Before that I will provide you with clothes.”  
She went to the door and then turned to him:  
“Bastard did die, it seems. And now dragons shall live.” 

Half an hour later, young servant returned and laid the garments on the bed.  
Grey trousers, dark-red shirt and black linen tunic. She placed leather ankle boots with laces next to the bed, bowed and left the chamber. 

“Jon! Jon!” Arya’s shouts echoed across chamber as threw herself into his embrace.  
She chuckled through her tears: “You damn fool. I thought you were gone for good.”  
He held her firmly and then asked: “Arya… what… why am I in Meereen?” 

They went outside, on the terrace, under the shade of sail shaped canvas. It was late morning and sun was high, baking the city of pyramids.  
She frowned looking at him, still taken aback with what she’s witnessed few days ago.  
“What?” he asked.  
“They groomed you nicely.” “What do you mean?”  
“They’ve shaved you clean and your hair is now short and almost straight… and these clothes. You think Kinvara picked those colors by chance?”  
He placed his hand on one cheek, then another and passed fingers through his hair. "You are right…” he said “…that’s odd.”  
“That is odd to you?! You should have seen what happened when we came back from Westeros with you…” she blurted. 

Then Arya spoke of how he came to Meereen.  
At first, she thought he died on the spot, seeing his daughters and learning that Daenerys was pregnant when he stabbed her, that his heart could not bear it. But she soon realised that he still lives, that he fell in some sort of deep sleep.  
They placed him on his horse, rode back to the mouth of Antler River and then put him on Drogon fastened with leather belts of dragon’s riding harness. Arya then took all three horses and left it with wildlings she previously saved. 

“And… Ghost?” Jon asked.  
Arya told him that old wildling will take the direwolf to the people of Tormund Giantsbane.  
“It’s the best for him, I guess…” Jon said “…a direwolf would venture here in Essos as shark would on the mountain top.”  
When Arya said that Lyanna wanted to put Ghost on Drogon and take him with them, he smiled. He forgot how that felt like.  
_Lyanna… she named our daughter after my mother._

Arya wondered how he could not remember anything of their voyage back to Meereen. It was a flight across nearly three thousand leagues of land and sea.  
This time they’ve landed in the forest of Qohor to rest and avoid flying during daytime.  
Drogon took off into the sunset sky to fly hard towards the valley near the Skahazadhan road.  
For all that time, Jon remained the same, limp body for which only warmth and barely hearable heartbeats gave proof that life was still in it.  
“Rhaella, sweetling as she is, wanted to take her coat off, she thought if you were warmed enough that you’ll wake up.” Arya told, it was enough for tears to come down his face. 

Dragon landed two hours past midnight. Kinvara was there with group of priests and followers of R’hllor. Twins were taken back to Meereen right away, Jon’s state has shaken them both, their hopes of meeting their father shattered.  
Arya asked of Kinvara to help Jon, to bring him back from the state of neither life nor death and she and her priests began the ritual, though Kinvara was uncertain will it help as Jon was not dead yet. 

“They were saying their chants for nearly an hour but you were still lying there, lifeless. Then, all seven hells broke loose…” Arya told him.  
Drogon who remained right on the spot where he landed, suddenly was prancing with wings spread, he let out a roar of anger and then he breathed fire few feet away from Jon’s body which lay beneath him. 

“I was horrified, Jon, afraid that with next breath dragon might burn you to a crisp … and yet it seems all of us there knew nothing.” said Arya happily “I screamed my lungs out when I saw fire coming all over you…”  
“You said that Drogon did not hit me with flames.”  
“He did not. Flames were circling around you and then… it was as fire disappeared into you, Jon.”  
“That cannot be.” he said.  
She shrugged: “You and I both have seen things that weren't supposed to be. And yet they happened. You weren’t burning, it was not as that. It was as fire is washing over you… I know it sounds stupid, but that is what I saw. I wanted to come to you, to pull you out from the flames, but three of those R’hllor fuckers were holding me down. You were conscious soon after, only to fall asleep. You slept four whole days.”  
“Four days?!” 

He was silent for a while, staring at stone floor of the terrace. He could tell that Arya is watching him.  
Finally, she asked: “Jon, what… what do you plan to do?” “About what?”  
“Lyanna, Rhaella… Daenerys.”  
He sighed: “I want to meet my children. More than anything. And yet…”  
“What?”  
“I’ve heard them, Arya. All of them. While I was as dead, I’ve heard them.”  
His sister’s eyes widened: “Heard whom?”  
“My forefathers. All the Targaryen kings of old. All the Stark kings of old. All ashamed of me. No one in both lines that I have in me has done what I did. Killed his own unborn children. Not even Maegor the Cruel…”  
“Jon, you did not know she was pregnant…”  
“Only Targaryen children in the world. Only children of Stark blood in the world… and I killed them. No wonder ancestors have visited me.” 

Arya took a deep breath: “If you believe that, then you have a chance to appease your ancestors. And mine, if you will. Your twins are alive and you can be a good father to them. You will be a good father to them.”  
“I guess they think I am some sort of a madman, after what they saw at my cabin.”  
“They do not. They are here, at this pyramid. Whenever they stay in Meereen, temple provides them with residence. Every one of that four days you were sleeping they came to see you. Girls want to know you, Jon.” “Hope you are right.” “I am.”  
She got up which make him ask: “Where are you going?”  
“I have a ship, Jon, remember. She’s returned from Tolos yesterday and crew will be asking where am I…” she smiled before leaving.

Jon found Kinvara in the altar room, preparing for the services of the day.  
“We should talk.” he said.  
“We shall. Later. Now I have to lead a prayer to Lord of Light. You may join us.”  
“I followed the old gods once. Times of believing into something greater are behind me.”  
“So, what does Jon of House Targaryen want now when he ceased to believe?”  
“I want to be left at peace. And to see my daughters grow into good women.”  
“Reasonable wishes. But your daughters are alive because of the one you don’t believe in.”  
“I don’t believe in causes greater than ourselves, in destinies and prophecies. Mayhaps I did once, but not anymore. I’ve lost all I held dear because I trusted in greater good. I did vilest of crimes for greater good.”  
“You lost your own life for greater good, Jon Targaryen. You’re not a criminal. But even noblest of men can falter. You did. And now, you can redeem yourself.”  
“How? I have killed the woman I love and my unborn children. How one redeems for that?”  
“By making certain that no harm will ever come upon them. You were leader of men at arms once. You will be again. This city needs a man like you.”  
“For what?” “You’ll know soon enough.”  
“You ask me to trust again…”  
“Everyone is what they are and where they are for a reason. That is the only thing you should trust, lord Jon.” 

He replied bitterly: “So for ten years I’ve lived as a broken man for a reason? It must be a very good reason…”  
“You will understand what I’ve just told you when the time comes… now I will take you to your daughters. You can break fast with them.”  
“That doesn’t seem wise to me. It is too soon after I broke before them.”  
“Jon Snow broke before them. But I assure you they will be glad to meet Jon Targaryen, their father.” 

Kinvara led him to the eastern side of the temple, one looking at the Skahazadhan river, which flew its last mile before reaching the sea. On the hill on which temple stood two smaller pyramids and entire city quarter were built.  
As temple itself was built in style of flat-topped pyramid, albeit miniscule in comparison with tallest pyramids of this city, it had four platforms, the third one having residence for temple guests.  
This platform had a long terrace on which grew persimmon trees, rich flower bushes of wild mint, lady's lace, and harpy's gold grew.  
Jon even saw a dusky rose growing nearly six feet over a wooden frame, its blue flowers reminded him of winter roses, ones his father crowned his mother with at tourney at Harrenhal.  
_Where everything started_, he thought, _and now, I am looking at their grandchildren. _His heart beat faster when he saw them.

Two girls, one with silver, other with dark hair, fashioned in two braids that fell over their shoulders were sitting at the stone table, also under shade of canvas.  
He noticed their simple linen dresses which left one bare shoulder.

On the table was meal with warm soft flatbread, pink fish roe, honey sausage and pomegranate juice to wash it down.  
“Rhae, Lya, your father will be breaking fast with you.” Kinvara said and twins upon seeing him lowered gaze, girls’ faces now blushed; they could not look at him anymore. Jon sat at the table, opposite to the girls.  
Kinvara asked him if he’d prefer a bittersweet black ale instead of fruit juice, but he declined. 

They ate in silence, girls occasionally giving him a look of courtesy with matching smile. Both were uneasy, he could tell, eating absently and not daring to look at him.  
It is for what they saw before that cabin near Antler River. A madman who was their father.  
He tried as much as he could to keep his calm, it was hard, but he studied how they act.  
Dark-haired girl reminded him so much of Arya and of stories about his mother he never met, Lyanna after which this girl was named.  
A Stark through and through on the outside but traces of dragon temper were there.  
Girl with silver braids reminded him of Daenerys, she had her face and eyes and she smiled like her, he had to turn his head away few times, for girls not to see hurt in his eyes, when memories came, of cave on Dragonstone when she had same curious look like little Rhaella has now. He could tell Rhae had something of him as well. She was a quiet child, but she knew how to respond to her livelier sister. 

He noticed a thick book in leather bound, laying on the table, before the girls.  
Lyanna saw his interest and lifted the book so he could see the cover and said:  
“Perzys se Ānogar, Issare iā Vestriarzirhen Targārien Dāryssy hen Vesteros.”  
(_ Fire and Blood, Being a History of the Targaryen Kings of Westeros. _)  
“Issa iā rōva tembyr. Gaomagon ao hae ziry?” he asked her. (_ It’s a large book. Do you like it? _)  


She smiled contently hearing him speak in High Valyrian.  
“Kessa. Konīr issi sīr naenie mirre hen sīr naenie vala isse ziry.” girl replied. (_ Yes. There are so many deeds of so many people in it. _)  


“Qilōni gaomagon ao hae se olvie?” Jon asked “Who do you like the most?”  
“I like the Young Dragon.” Rhaella said in Common Tongue.  
“Why?” he asked. “He was young and brave and defeated the Dornish without dragons.”  
“Yes, Daeron the First was all that. He used goat paths to avoid their ambushes, came at them from two sides by land and one by the sea. He was the one to add Dorne to the Seven Kingdoms.  
That same Dorne which costed life of Rhaenys Targaryen and her dragon Meraxes. He did defeat the Dornish, but he did not break them entirely. After a while they’ve rebelled again and he lost his life when they tricked him into parlay under flag of peace.  
He was young and brave and dead when only eight and ten.Was he wise?”  


Rhae looked at him, caught by his words: “No, if he let himself to be tricked.”  
“Which Targaryen king was wise?” he asked them both.  
“Jaehaerys the First, he was called the Wise.” said Lyanna  
“Was that name earned?” he asked her. “  
"Yes.” his dark-haired daughter replied. “How did he earn it?”  
“He bound the land together, and made of seven kingdoms, one.” said Rhaella.  
“That’s an inscription from his statue in the Citadel in Oldtown. Can you tell me in your own words, why he was wise?” 

Girls looked at each other. This dark-haired man had new question for each of their answers. It made them bit angry, but they engaged in discussion with him even more.  
“He ruled for five and fifty years, he brought peace and justice to the people…” Lyanna said. “He built the Kingsroad…” added Rhaella.  
“And, truly now, when you read about him and about Daeron the First or about Prince Daemon Targaryen who conquered Stepstone Isles, proclaimed himself king and then get bored with that kingship, who was more appealing to you?” 

Girls were quiet for a moment: “The young kings and princes because they fought wars and had many adventures.”  
“It is usually like that with young age, like you are now, I was the same. When I was five and ten, I admired Daeron who conquered Dorne in one summer, I cared little for Old King who built roads and made the laws of the kingdom, under him people thrived. No, young minds find such things boring.”  
“And wise king had his queen…” said Rhaella.  
“Aye, he did. Good Queen Alysanne.” Jon confirmed “What does book say about her?”  
“She gave birth to three and ten children, and she was liked in all of Westeros, she charmed even Lord Alaric of House Stark, our kinsman of old.”  
Jon smiled hearing this: “Your kinsman?”  
“We have Stark blood.” Rhaella said.  
He nodded to her and asked:  
“What was Alysanne to her king?”  
Lyanna recited: “She was his most trusted counselor and his right hand.” "And why is that?”  
Rhaella frowned and then answered with uncertain tone: “They loved each other….”  
"Yes. They did. She said once that she could be sent to the ends of the earth and wed to the King of Mossovy or the Lord of the Grey Waste and still she will find her way back to Jaehaerys.”  
“I’ve read that in the book. Alysanne was both gentle and fierce.” said Lyanna. Jon nodded: “When they died, their ashes were placed together, to be with one another even after death. And the Realm never saw their like again.”  


Twins were pensive, thinking about what they’ve heard.  
“It is a good book to read from, I’ve read from it too when I was a boy, you’ll learn all the good and all the bad deeds of Targaryen kings in Westeros. All their successes and all their failures.  
You should know the history of our family. Same as you, I am Targaryen. And a Stark.” 

Both girls rose from the table and walked over to the side where Jon was sitting. They bowed their heads low and spoke in one voice:  
“Father, we are honored to be in your presence.”  
Jon was surprised with them being this ceremonial, _this must be an Essosi... a Ghiscari thing_, flashed in his mind. He could tell that it wasn’t pleasant for the girls either.  
He said: “In Westeros, we are not this formal. In Westeros, fathers and daughters embrace.” 

Girls lifted their heads to see his open arms, they stood still for a heartbeat. “Papa!” shouted silver-haired girl and slammed into Jon, her sister followed by a half-step “Papa!”.  
His arms held them tight, his eyes were full of tears and his daughters were crying too with their heads resting on his shoulders.  
My daughters, blood of my blood.  
_Bastard of Winterfell, Lord Commander, King in the North, Heir to the Iron Throne. _  
He wore all those titles. And all were hollow as his life was hollow till this moment. Now he was a father. To some that title meant nothing.  
To him it was everything.


	12. SANSA

_Queenscrown, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest_

**SANSA**

It was a stone holdfast tower upon a rocky island in a lake whose shore grew thick with oak trees, five and thirty leagues from the Wall.  
A stone causeway lies beneath the water of the lake. It was only three feet wide and only before the very island did the causeway climbed out above the lake surface ending with short flight of stone steps that lead to the holdfast’s door.  
One who built the causeway many centuries ago was no fool in matters of warfare or skirmishing.  
The path of the causeway was not straight but it wandered left and right in treacherous turns, going nearly one third of its length around the island before reaching the door.  
It caused for possible attackers to be exposed to arrow fire, spears and stones from the tower for a prolonged time.  
After making entrance into the tower through the stout oak door one would find a small storeroom with a murder hole above it, hole from which tar or burning oil would be poured onto enemy once the tower was breached.  
From the storeroom steps built into the tower’s inner wall curved upward to the left, leading to upper stories and downward to the right, leading into an under vault, both directions usually locked behind iron grates.  
The second floor of the tower was a maze of small cells.  
The third floor of the tower had arrow slits, while the fourth had windows.  
The last, fifth floor was a large round chamber with arched doors on three sides opening onto small stone balconies, and along the fourth side is a privy chamber perched above a sewer chute that drops straight down into the lake, while the north-facing balcony looks out toward the village. From fifth floor there is access to the roof, and the tower's merlons were once painted gold, but they have since faded to yellow. 

During a visit to the north, Queen Alysanne of House Targaryen flew to the Wall on her dragon, Silverwing.  
She stayed at this holdfast on her way, so the villagers painted the merlons atop the tower gold to honor their queen. 

Henceforth, tower was called Queenscrown. 

That village was long gone and its remnants could still be seen next to the lake shore opposite the entrance of the tower, collapsed houses surrounded by apple and oak trees. 

_All the pity,_ Sansa thought, _another Queen has arrived to the tower and no one is there to honor her with painting the tower’s top in gold.  
_Though, I wonder what would the good people of this village say if they could see their queen standing naked on the balcony.__

She was on the fifth floor, on the balcony facing north. It was sunny afternoon and land around her was quiet, only sound being the flutter of banner of House Stark on the pole that was placed on the roof.  
Sansa looked back, inside the tower, where on animal furs that were spread on the floor one atop the other slept, naked as she were, Elric Karstark.  
They were lovers now, almost two moons have passed since he held that resolute speech in the Queen’s Council and pledged himself to her cause of expanding the Kingdom of the North.  
That same day he made his intentions clear, he wanted her hand in marriage, to be king consort. 

It was a silly notion to her, at first, he was ten years younger than she, Sansa barely remembered him as a boy.  
Still, boy grew up into a man, a man likes of whom North did not possess in abundance. Elric was nearly singular in that matter. 

He delivered on his words. He called his bannermen and rode north, with smaller portion of troops of House Glover and they took over entire New Gift from both sides of the Kingsroad, including this island holdfast.  
Karstarks then marched further north, all the way to the ruins of the Wall at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea planting the direwolf and sunburst banners where once easternmost castle of the Night’s Watch stood.  
Land known as Brandon’s Gift, the part of it east of Kingsroad, was now whole under control of Winterfell. 

Brandon’s Gift was portion of five and twenty leagues of land south of the Wall which legendary Stark of the old, Bran the Builder gave to the Night's Watch for their sustenance and support.  
It was farmed for thousands of years, but as the Night's Watch decreased in numbers nature reclaimed many buildings and orchards.  
Sansa Stark thought it was enough of that land being wasted away and Elric Karstark agreed.  
He invited his queen to visit the Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, in truth an encampment of Northern forces there, a town of tents, some two hundred of them providing shelter for about thousand men of House Karstark, House Glover and Queen’s own men.  
She accepted. 

Sansa came with an escort of forty men, not because it was necessary but to demonstrate the power of her queenship.  
Elric was there, dressed as common foot soldier, wearing his brown leather tunic, with white sunburst engraved on it, over black chainmail shirt and black breeches.  
He appeared like a beggar next to Queen in the North who came in her ankle-cut black dress and leather armor of same coating with Stark pin on the left side of her chest. 

“Your Grace…” he bowed “Eastwatch-by-the-Sea is yours.”  
She thanked him formally and they went walking to the Wall, to the breach in it.  
“The wight dragon, Your Grace, its flames broke the Wall near the very shore of the sea, that entire portion of the Wall with most of the Night’s Watch castle is beneath the waves now.  
You can see those huge chunks remaining, but path to the land north of the Wall is wide.”  
“Wide enough for an army to pass?” she asked.  
“My Queen, far lager army, one of the dead, passed through here two and ten years ago. I have already sent men ranging north. We need to assess the situation before moving to our next aim.” Sansa smirked: “Have I declared what our next aim is, Lord Elric?” 

He paused, realising that she wanted for him to be sure who makes decisions for Northern kingdom, then replied: “Hardhome, Your Grace. At Storrold’s Point. Our future northernmost port or even town, mayhaps.”  
“Ambitious aim, my lord. I admire your resolve in this matter.” she said, pleased “And what have you assessed based on ranging north?”  
“It is still hard to say what kind of hostility we can expect.”  
“From the wildlings?”  
“Yes, Your Grace, when we march to Hardhome, we’ll be entering what they believe is their land.  
Now, their numbers are small and ability to meet us on the open field is slim to none, but if they choose tactic of harassing our supply lines, ambushes and skirmishes, it could go on for a long time. More so if they find a leader among them.” Sansa shrugged: “Only wildling that appeared as their leader was Tormund Giantsbane. He is not that young anymore.”  
“I’ve heard of him, but I did not have him in mind.”  
“Who then?” she asked.  
Elric paused for a moment: “Jon Snow, Your Grace, they respect him, he’s been living among them for a long time now and knows our ways of war. He commanded our host once…” 

Queen in the North shook head: “Jon would never choose wildlings over North and his family.”  
“Your Grace, I can’t claim to know your bast… half-brother but what I have heard, he is man inclined to always do what is right. Story goes that he was bedding the Dragon Queen and yet he killed her when she became a threat.  
I am not sure that with such a man family comes before honor… what such a man believes to be honor, that is.” 

Sansa felt slight irritation when reminded what her half-brother, in truth cousin, had with Targaryen queen.  
What Elric said was not utter nonsense, Jon had it in him to fight for the downtrodden and Dragon Queen too was his family and lover, it did not stop him then, it could happen that he would go against her and the North defending the wildlings.  
“Lord Elric, we shall deal with Jon Snow when and if the need arises. Besides, there was no word of him for many years. Who knows if he lives or not.”  
_I want him to be alive, even in that wasteland beyond the Wall, but he could’ve returned home. Him and his stupid wows and guilt for killing that madwoman._

She and Elric toured the Northern encampment for some time, she wanted to greet her men at arms and spirits were high all around.  
_Was it like this when Robb led twenty thousand Northmen to attack lions in their own lair?_

She retired to the royal tent that was in the meantime set up for her.  
Supper was served and she was in her night gown ready for night’s rest.  
A soft knock on the tent’s pole was heard and someone entered.  
“Your Grace…” the voice said. It was Elric Karstark, now only wearing his grey woolen shirt and breeches.  
“My lord, are you lost? Your own tent is on the right from here, a short walk.”  
“I am not lost, but I wanted to find something.”  
“What?” she blurted; he was annoying her.  
“A wife and a Queen.”  
Without warning, he pulled Sansa into her arms and kissed her deeply.  
Her eyes widened as he let her go. “I think I could love you, Sansa.”  
“I should call my guards to arrest you and throw you in chains…”  
“Why don’t you?” She didn’t reply, instead she measured him head to toe.  
“What do you mean by _I think I could love you_..." she mocked him “don’t you love your Queen? It is treason not to.” He remained silent, looking at her.  
“So, why did you sneak into my tent?” she asked him with irritated tone.  
“I wanted to take...” “Take what?” “You.” 

That was first time she lay down with Elric Karstark.  
The first time she actually made love to a man. Strange notion for a woman that had her thirtieth nameday and two marriages. And one failed betrothal.  
She would never lay with Joffrey on her free will and she never had to, thank gods.  
His uncle Tyrion acted honorably, forced into that marriage just as she was and never thought of consummating it. Ramsay…Ramsay hurt her.  
It was her first time with the man and he hurt her. Body and soul. 

After him no man had touch her for three and ten years, she desired no man. Until she met Elric.  
Young, determined, fierce, able.  
An image of Northern lords of her father’s times, his bannermen who died on the battlefields or were slaughtered at the Red Wedding.  
What was left, died fighting the Night King. Whole generation lost. 

Only old men and little boys remained. Elric grew into man during her reign. He was fierce at councils and campsites.  
And gentle in bed, when she lay naked next to him. He loved her body in ways she never knew existed, making her desire burn stronger and stronger.  
Sometimes he would bite her in the heat of passion, sometimes she would scratch him driven mad with lust.  
_We’re blood of wolves, Starks and Karstarks…_ he would say to her after such acts… _it is natural for us to mate wildly._  
Even at meetings and councils she would feel arousal in her nipples and wetness between her thighs. 

_Was this lust or love? _she oft asked herself _Am I bedding my enemy? What would Olenna and Margaery Tyrell do? _  
_Margaery would fuck Elric beyond his wits and all that by following counsel of her grandmother._  
_And Baelish? He was not into cocks, but he’d do his best to keep Elric in my bed. _  


She stepped back into the round chamber and descended on the furs, next to her naked lover, gently licking his ear.  
He opened his eyes and kissed her as she stretched on her back. His hand slide gently from her neck across her breasts and belly, one finger playing with her navel and then reaching her mound covered with reddish curls;  
she felt his fingers parting her lower lips… soft moan escaped her before she stopped his play.  
“Lord Karstak, your hunger is insatiable…” she said.  
“Can you blame me, with such meal lay before me…” he replied and kissed her left nipple.  
“I am glad you brought me here. Just the two of us… this could be our hiding place.”  
He run fingers through her hair: “Could be, but I’ve heard that Queen in the North has plan with this place… to make it center of New North, she wants to lower the water level of the lake… bring people back to that ruin of a village so it could become a town…” “Sounds like an ambitious woman.”  
“She is. She has it all, she is beautiful, she is smart, she is strong, willful… only thing she needs is a husband to match all her qualities.”  
Sansa placed her hand on his chest: “I wonder where she could find such a man, but he must be prepared for a small sacrifice…”  
“What kind of sacrifice?” Elric asked, frowning.  
“To take her name so that heirs are Stark.”  
“Ah, for fuck sake, woman…” he sighed with relief “…for a moment there you sounded as I should shave my cock and balls.”  
“Would you do it?” she asked turning on her side, now both lay sideways looking at each other.  
“Gladly, besides my name is Karstark only because my forefathers were bit lazy…  
We should have stayed Starks of Karhold… when you had Lannisters of Casterly Rock and Lannisters of Lannisport… when you have Flints of three different places… Starks of Karhold to me sounds better than Karstark.”  
“Mmm… Lord Elric Stark. I like it too…” she gave him a long, passionate kiss and rubbed nose against his.  
“Will you like King Elric Stark as well?”  
“Now, now, you haven’t proposed me yet.” 

She got up and walked to the balcony again. He looked at her naked body: “You’re magnificent, Sansa. I wish you could always be as you are now.”  
She laughed. “Imagine Northern lords at council with bare-ass Queen…”  
“Those old fucks and green boys don’t deserve such treat… only me…”  
“You’re right about that…” her gaze went down and she smiled “…look at that, this lustful talk alone got you pointed up like a spear or an arrow.” 

He chuckled: “Curious thing happened few days ago… up on the Antler River, north of the Wall… three of my scouts were killed and two of them had Dothraki arrows in their heads. Where in seven hells would wildlings get bloody Dothraki arrows?”  
“There were both wildlings and the Dothraki at Winterfell when we fought the Night King… they could have traded among themselves.”  
“So, them wildling fuckers are keeping arrows of Essosi savages for all these years… indeed a strange lot.” 

Sansa stepped out on a balcony, there was breeze coming from the north and it caused her body to slightly shiver.  
Elric saw that and got up taking his cloak from the table where he threw it when they were disrobing.  
He wrapped it around her and took her back inside.  
She looked at the cloak and saw the embroidered sunburst. “You know, in the Faith of the Seven, this is part of a wedding ceremony, to place your cloak on the bride.”  
“Is bride also naked in that ceremony?”  
“No… of course not…” her voice full of bewilderment, then she realised “Elric Karstark, are you making fun of your Queen?”  
“A little bit, yes…”  
She slapped the right cheek of his behind “You’re forgetting yourself… my lord.  
“No, I don’t, my Queen. Fuck cloaks… we’ll marry before old gods and I have already found a perfect wedding gift.”  
Sansa placed her arms around her naked lover: “Oh… what will it be?”  
Elric made a sinister grin: “My gift will be the entire Brandon’s Gift.” 


	13. DAENERYS

_Meereen, Essos, year 316 After Conquest_

**DAENERYS**

She stayed in Vaes Dothrak longer than she hoped for.  
Drogon flew her here two days after the celebration feast in Meereen which was three sennights ago.  
But her hosts insisted on her prolonged stay. Since she left the only city of the horselords to settle in Port Yhos, her occasional visits were not as oft as Dothraki would have liked. This time, their young were disappointed for twins not coming with her.  
Lyanna and Rhaella spent half of their years among the Dothraki and their children thought of them as their sisters.

Daenerys has held several councils with Dothraki leaders and all of them brought only good news.  
The khalasars, united around Khaleesi as they were when going across _the poisoned water_, thrived as collectors of tributes on trade and caravan routes that stretched across the vast lands of Essos. In the last ten years their domain was undisputed though some merchants from the Free Cities tried to free themselves from the payment of tributes for safe passage. They tried hiring sellsword companies, those that stood their ground and those that would flee the very moment first Dothraki scream was heard.  
Outcome was the same, no sellsword was able to secure caravan’s entire voyage, from the place of departure to the place of destination.  
Dothraki could attack anywhere and anytime and whenever that would occur, every caravan was doomed.  
With that knowledge learned, merchants of Essos had to yield.

Some dwelled upon uniting all traders from Braavos to Qarth in an endeavor of destroying the Dothraki once and for all, but that plan had a serious flaw. Essos had no military force able to go against the Dothraki head on. Armies of Essos were mostly infantry, established to defend the walled cities against the nomadic horselords, not going against them in their own surroundings, on the plains of Great Grass Sea. Such alliance against Dothraki would have some chance if Golden Company had not been decimated by the dragon fire while serving the Lannister queen. Now, the Golden Company was reduced to barely two thousand men scattered across Essos, men lucky enough to return from the Sunset Kingdoms.

“Kisha tiholat disse ki davra sash, anna Khalessi, kisha zhorre assilat jin filkak mahrazhi.” Onqo, son of Harro, told her.  
(_We know only of good news, my queen, we have crushed the weak and the cowards._)  
His father, Harro, died fighting the army of the dead during battle of Winterfell.  
She spoke of that legendary charge of entire great khalasar with their flaming arakhs to the young generation of the Dothraki who were now in their twenties. To these young warriors, notion of united khalasar, tens of thousands Dothraki screamers, charging on the ice demons and the living dead, seemed larger than world itself.

“Hosh akka vizhadi ajjin ksihi okre jadat allayafi ashefa.” said Thako, son of Zorqo.  
(_Gold and silver are pouring into our tents like river_.)  
“Atthirar ajjin davra.” said Vhono, one of leaders who went with her to Westeros and survived to return home.  
Before his tent, on two poles he had Lannister helmets for decoration.  
(_Life is good._)  
His voice was not one of satisfied but of concerned man.  
Daenerys asked him: “Hash rek tat yer khezhat?” Her knowledge of Dothraki tongue was still fluent (_That worries you?._)  
Middle aged horselord replied: “Hash atthirar ale vezhof, mahrazhi tikh havziven. Akka oiro ”  
(_When life is too good, men become lazy and fat. And cowards._)  
She replied, cutting him off. In Meereen and Westeros her answer would be polite, but here, to speak like that meant weakness:  
“Vo yeri chomak. Akka anni, anha zin ki dothraki ale. Kisha qorasolat fin ajjin kishi.”  
(_Not your people. And mine, I am of Dothraki too. We’re not fat and we’re not lazy cravens. We take what is ours._)

One of them asked: “Fin yer assoe, anna Khaleesi?”  
(_What do you order, my queen? _)  
She said: “Jerak elat qeshah os irge jin Krazaaj Tolorro tat fichat tat Samyriana akka negwin os elat tat Kayakayanaya. Mori vo zala zafra vos.”  
(_Merchants use Sand Road beyond the Bone Mountains to deliver goods to Samyriana and Stone Road to go to Kayakayanaya. They don’t want to pay to us. _)

Samyriana was a fortified city in Essos, located on the Stone Road between the Bone Mountains and the Great Sand Sea.  
With her sister cities, Kayakayanaya and Bayasabhad were once part of the Patrimony of Hyrkoon.  
All three cities were known for their warrior maids who wore iron rings in their nipples and rubies in their cheeks. It was said that these cities are defended by women out of the belief that only those who give birth are permitted to take life at will.  
Still, three cities were ruled by men, called the Great Fathers.  
Women in those cities learn to ride and climb before they learn to walk and are trained in the arts of bow, spear, knife, and sling from the earliest age. Meanwhile, ninety-nine of every hundred boys, the sons of the Great Fathers, are gelded when they reach the age of manhood and live out their lives as eunuchs, serving their cities as scribes, priests, scholars, servants, cooks, farmers, and craftsmen.  
Only the most promising males, the largest, strongest, and comeliest are permitted to mature, breed and become Great Fathers in their turn.

For a long time, Dothraki wanted to test the female warriors of Samyriana and it seems that some merchants which thought they were smarter than others granted that wish. She remembered seeing those women soldiers with ringed nipples in the Eastern Market of Vaes Dothrak many years ago, when she was a young girl married to Khal Drogo.

It was agreed that two khalasars will ride out in half moon from that day, one straight from Vaes Dothrak using the Steel Road across the White Mountains to Kayakayanaya, other riding south and east to the ruins of Yinishar and then up the Stone Road to Samyriana.  
Cities were not to be touched, but caravans coming from Tiqi, city beyond the Great Sand Sea and Ashabad, city east of Qarth, on the coast of Jade Sea will be stopped and demanded tribute for safe passage. If refused, no one will return to where caravan started from.  
All the goods that caravans transported will be sold back to their original owners through third party sellers at reasonable price.  
When this new campaign was agreed upon, Daenerys after spending more than three weeks with her loyal horselords, summoned Drogon and he took her to Meereen.

Her bond with dragon was strong and he would come from near and far when she needed him.  
Daenerys missed her daughters though she wished for girls to get used to their mother being away for a longer time. 

Knowing that Arya Stark is near Lyanna and Rhaella was not something that she liked very much.  
Though, from Arya twins could learn a lot about fighting skills, both sword and spear, and she wanted them to be able to defend themselves.  
What Daenerys feared of is Arya telling the girls about their father, a man they knew nothing about. Still, to Dany’s knowledge, his youngest cousin, or sister as Arya liked to call herself, said nothing about him during whole time Rhae and Lya were with her and she liked that.

_Arya is not Sansa after all, _Daenerys sometimes mused, _ hopefully girls will not take in much of the Stark history and tradition their cousin-aunt was telling them about._

Drogon landed outside Meereen, few miles up the Skahazadhan river. There, representatives of Council of Citizens awaited her with fresh horse to take her back to the city. Twenty mounted Unsullied, her personal guard, were also present. It was late afternoon and heat was still unbearable.  
This decade long summer scorched the lands of central Essos and only winds blowing from Summer Sea could provide some relief to the cities on the shore of Bay of Dragons.

Azzak zo Ghazeen, man in his mid-twenties, once a child cupbearer of Dragon Queen, greeted her:  
“Your Radiance, welcome back to Meereen. I hope your time with the horsemasters was pleasant and fruitful.”  
“Thank you, Azzak, but you don’t have to address me with that title, I am not a queen anymore.”  
“I use it for preserving tradition and to show my utmost respect to you, rōvēgrie dāria.”  
“And again, you call me the great queen… I am not. Though, your Common Tongue has improved greatly since last time we spoke…two years ago, was it?” “Yes, I have spent few days on the ship called Nymeria, one with wolf head, they’ve took Shazza Galare to Tolos to marry there. I got chance to spoke to the crew, but northern Westerosi speak in very peculiar way.”  
Daenerys chuckled: “That they do. Were you treated good by lady Stark?”  
“She did not go with us, she stayed in Meereen, crew said she negotiated transport of goods from Yunkai to Tyrosh.”  
“Arya Stark… she really is something else entirely.”  
“I think her crew has fear of her, Your Radia… I mean, my lady.”  
“Azzak, you’d be afraid of her too if you knew what I know about Arya Stark and I don’t know much.” she said smilingly.

“I don’t see any of the Second Sons with us.” she noticed.  
“Yes, three days ago Daario Naharis informed the Council he has some affairs to settle in city of Myr and he went there with his escort, other Second Sons are in the city… that is an issue Council of Citizens wanted to discuss with you.”  
Daenerys frowned: “What sort of issue? Regarding Second Sons?”  
“Yes… when you left Meereen to fight the war in Sunset Kingdoms you put Daario Naharis and his sellswords to keep peace.  
He did that good, but Meereen feels that Meereen people should guard our city and keep peace. Second Sons are not of Meereen.”  
She listened what Azzak had to say and replied with tone of approval: “I will be very glad to see Meereen taking care of itself, with its own city guard. Like Qarth has its Civic Guard, like… King’s Landing has its City Watch.”  
_I wonder if that were still the truth, under Cersei there was no City Watch left in the end, only Lannister soldiers guarding the capital of Seven Kingdoms… who knows what they have now. _

“For many years we have failed in that. Once masters want the nobles to be the officers in the guard, once slaves will not even hear of it. Our Council governs city, but many matters that should have been solved are not, only put aside.”  
“You should be sitting on the Council yourself, Azzak, you have sharp mind.”  
“I am too young, that is what most Meereenese of influence would say.”  
“What made councilors to again try forming city guard?”  
“They agreed that foreigner could command it. One not coming from former slavers or former slaves. And it could be we have found a man who can help in establishing Meereen city guard. He is from Westeros, shortly arrived and he served as commander of some kind of guard there.  
He was highly recommended by the Temple of R’hllor.  
They say he’s seasoned warrior, saw many battles.”  
“Oh…that is good.” she said “Daario Naharis is good fighter, but City Guard must have a true soldier or a knight as commander.  
That Westerosi man will serve you well.”  
“Yes, councilors hope that too.”  
“Do you know his name?”  
“I don’t, my lady. I only saw him once; he does not look much like those Westerosi on Nymeria.”  
“Westeros is an entire continent, Azzak, with many people with all sorts of looks.”  
“Yes, you’re right, Your Radiance… I meant, my lady.”

After one hour more of riding, she found herself before the inland gates of Meereen.  
Whenever she’d set her eyes on two massive pillars in the shape of a harpy with tall city walls built upon solid rock on each side of the gates, Daenerys thought of the first time she saw this entrance to the city.  
_I am Daenerys Stormborn. Your masters may have told you lies about me, or they may have told you nothing. It does not matter. I have nothing to say to them. I speak only to you. …_ she recalled her own words, when she besieged Meereen, she had not yet counted her twentieth nameday.

And today, those who were a bit older than her daughters when she liberated the city from slavers, are now making decisions for all its citizens.  
Was that an improvement…it surely was for all except slavers. 

Sun was setting when Azzak and she rode into the courtyard of the Temple of R’hllor. Rest of her escort, save half of the Unsullied returned to the Great Pyramid, now seat of the Council of Citizens. Servants brought water for them to refresh and wash their faces and then she went up the outer stairway of the temple leading to the third platform where guest residences were. Her guards followed and took their posts all around that platform. 

Daenerys changed her clothes. When with Dothraki she always wore their garments, painted leather vest and sandsilk trousers with sandals that lace up to the knee. Now, she was in her sleeveless black silk jerkin and black silk trousers with red sash tied around her waist. 

She stepped out on the long terrace only to see temple servants folding the sail shaped canvas shade as sun was now falling beyond the horizon.  
They bowed to her and went away. She concluded that girls are not there, but if elsewhere in the temple they will appear soon enough. 

Daenerys walked to the terrace wall and leaned on it, watching the neighboring city quarter which stretched beneath the hill on which this temple pyramid stood. From here she could not see the entire city, as she could from the highest floor of the Great Pyramid, nor she cared about that.  
Back in the day she saw her share of the entire Meereen from above. She’d rather watch the sunset. 

The orange gold stretched far and wide, the color of fire hearths and tangerines. 

_It is but the reflection of the dawn, the promise of the rising sun that comes after the velvety night has had its say and the land has rested once more.._ ancient Ghiscari poem said about setting sun. 

She remembered days when she envied the setting sun because unlike her sun could see the country in the west, where her family once ruled, every day. _What a fool I was, that country was home of my ancestors, not mine. It never felt as home. I was a foreigner in foreign land.._

She took a deep breath and enjoyed the sunset over Meereen, leaned on a wall, her mind wandering away.  
“Mama!”  
Loud voice came from behind and yanked her out of her daydream. Terrace was darker now, as night set on the city.

She turned around and saw two girls running towards her.  
“Muñe dōnaziry!” she said as their hands were around her waist (_Mama’s sweets!_)  
She placed kisses on their heads. They both looked at her with excitement: “Mama, mama… you’ll never guess what happened!”  
She smiled: “What, my loves, what happened?”

Then she realised someone else was standing at the terrace and looked up. She saw a man who kept his distance, he stood there as a statue.  
She saw his black and red clothes, lean figure and short dark hair. And eyes…  
_Grey eyes! _  
Those thoughts flashed like thunderbolt through Daenerys’ mind.  
_It’s him! It’s him. The man who killed me! He is here!_  
She raised her right hand and clutched her chest, her fingers pressing against the scar that lay there, she could feel it over her silken robes.  
_He is here! Jon Snow is here! He killed me… he killed my girls!_  
That thought gave her strength to yell out: “Dovaogēdy! Ȳgha!” (_Unsullied! Guards! _) __

_ __ _

_ __ _

Her daughters looked at her, then at the man, she could see they are startled. Soon, five of her guards came running on the terrace, with their swords and spears ready.  
She ordered them shouting: “Gūrogon bisa vala! Gūrogon zirȳla!” ( _Seize this man! Seize him!_ )  
“Mama, why are you saying that?!” her two daughters cried and part from her embrace.  
She repeated order, voice echoing with rage: “Bisa vala iksis iā ossēnagon se iā nāpāstre hen aōha dāria. Gūrogon zirȳla!”  
( _This man is a killer and a traitor of your queen. Take him!_ )  
Her guards started circling around the man who still did not move, as he froze on the spot.  
Daenerys felt her blood boiling as memories flooded her mind.  
_He kissed me with whole love before he drove his dagger into my heart. And now he stands here… how can he be… what is this…_

“Papa!” she heard a word that felt as new dagger through her heart.  
And what she saw then as another stab in her chest.  
Her two daughters, her twins run towards him, her Rhaella, her little mirror image and her Lyanna, her raven-haired treasure, both ran to be at the side of a man dressed in black-red. “Papa, draw the Longclaw!” yelled Lyanna as she took a stand before him, gazing darkly at the Unsullied. Rhaella stood behind him, as she was guarding his back. 

Papa… Longclaw… Daenerys felt as her legs were cut under her.  
She watched in horrifying disbelief how her twins stand side by side with a man who killed them in her womb, ready to defend him.  
“Mama! It’s father! It’s Papa! Don’t you know him?!” Lyanna shouted.  
“Muña! He’s come back to us!” Rhaella joined, her hand now clutched at his waist.  
This is not happening… I must have fell asleep on this terrace… this is nightmare. 

Then came another wrecking blow. He finally spoke out.  
In fluent High Valyrian, that once was spoken at the court of her forefathers.  
“Dovaogēdy! Iksan Jon hen Targārien Lentor. Iksan zentys hen voktys Kinvara. Iksan daor aōha qrinuntys. Kesīr, mērī Kinvara kostagon tepagon udrāzma naejot gūrogon nyke. Rijīblion gaomas daor sytilībagon naejot Daenērys Jelmāzmo.”  
(_Unsullied! I am Jon of House Targaryen. I am guest of priestess Kinvara. I am not your enemy. Here, only Kinvara can give order to seize me.  
This temple does not belong to Daenerys Stormborn._) 

Her eyes were wide, with disbelief… _is this truly happening… is this some kind of sorcery… have merchants turned to warlocks to defeat me and free their caravan routes…_ it all flashed in her mind, like swarm of angry hornets. 

Then she heard a child’s voice pleading: “Mama, please, tell them to leave papa alone!”  
It was Rhaella, she looked at Daenerys with eyes full of tears. “Kostilus… Muña!” begged her other daughter, her voice trembling.  
This was not a dagger through her heart, this felt like an axe splitting it in two. Her twins cried for a man who made sure they were never born. She felt as something were choking her. She managed to say to the guards, with tone saying her will was shattered: “It is all right… Leave us… Leave us!”  
Then, she collected herself enough to bellow new order: “Find me Kinvara!” 

“How did Jon Snow come to Meereen? Why is he your guest? And why did you let him near my daughters?!” she yelled at the woman in red robe who stood at her chambers on the third platform of the temple pyramid. Kinvara was calm as ever, having advantage of knowing it all:  
“He’s been here for a fortnight already. He is my guest because this temple is open to any stranger, particularly to the champion of Lord of Light.  
He came on the back of a dragon from far away, form the land north of the Westerosi Wall.”  
“What?? What do you mean on the back of a dragon… there is no other dragon living save my Drogon.”  
“And Drogon brought him here.”  
“That’s impossible.” Daenerys replied “Drogon would never do that by himself. He never bonded with Jon in such way.”  
“Drogon had a rider. Two of them. And one to watch over the riders.” priestess replied calmly. 

Silver-haired woman realised what Kinvara said: “Are you saying that my two daughters flew on Drogon all the way to the land beyond the Wall to bring Jon Snow to Meereen?!”  
“That is exactly what I am saying.”  
Daenerys gazed at the priestess for a beat, taking in what she just said, anger and notion of betrayal overwhelming her:  
“You must be mad!!! They had to fly over entire Essos, over entire sea to go to the land they don’t know anything about. They could have died! Died in hundred ways! You knew about this all along and you said nothing?! How dare you game with the lives of my children!!! If you weren’t who you are, your life would be forfeit! You would burn!”  
“Their aunt was there to protect them.” came reply in ever the same tone.  
She fumed: “Arya Stark was involved in this too?! Woman who paves her life path with dead bodies??”  
“She is not that woman anymore. Only dead bodies she will left behind now are those who would harm your daughters.”  
“And I should find comfort in that? What I should do is order the Unsullied to go to that ship of hers and take her damn Stark head off!”  
“That head is not so easy to chop off. And one kinslayer in this generation of your family is enough.”  
“She is not my kin!”  
“She is to your daughters.” 

“Have you even for a moment thought what would happen if one my girls were wounded or captured or lost…?  
You and Arya have risked Rhae’s and Lya’s life to bring here the man who killed their mother! With what aim? What will anyone get from him being here? I don’t want him near my children.” Daenerys said it all in one breath, furious.  
“It is too late for that; him and girls have already bonded. You’ve seen it for yourself. You should be happy to see how two brave women are growing in your home, blood of dragon and of wolf.”  
“They are dragons!! Like I am. They don’t need wolf of any sort in their life. Their father is a blood of the wolf, he betrayed me. Arya is a blood of the wolf, I gave her my trust, following your counsel, she betrayed me. Wolf blood is blood of falsehood and treachery! And you, you have also betrayed me! It is as it has always been in my life, I can’t trust anyone but myself.” 

Kinvara’s lilted voice replied: “And for that I can tell you the same words you were told once already: no one can survive in this world without help…no one.”  
Daenerys hissed: “Man who told me those words, long ago in Qarth, died defending me, he gave his life for me. And you would me to trust in whom now? The man with my blood on his hands, his sister, trained killer…I can’t trust such people. And sadly, I can’t trust you either.”  
Kinvara took a deep breath:  
“Then you’re lost, Daenerys Stormborn. If you see enemies everywhere, you’re lost. It broke you at the walls of King’s Landing. Don’t allow it to break you again.”  
“And trusting you will prevent that?”  
Priestess walked towards the door, before exit she said to her with fateful voice:  
“It will, yet only to a point. But your trust in that man standing outside… trust in him will make you set eyes on your grandchildren’s children. Or the blood of a dragon will crumble in dust. Choose wisely, Daenērys Jelmāzmo.” 

Daenerys sighed, sitting at the table in her chambers that R’hllor temple had reserved only for her, room that in many details resembled the one in Port Yhos. She placed her elbows on the table, holding head in hands. _He is still there, on the terrace, I will have to face him, sooner or later… damn you Jon Snow, damn you to seven hells… I wish we’ve never met… _ she bit her tongue the moment that thought crossed her mind. _My girls…_

She stepped in the twins’ bedchamber.  
After guards left the terrace, she called the servant girls to take them inside.  
Girls were sitting in their bed, covered with thin sheets, the night was warm and window was wide open, bed was furnished with net canopy to protect them from insects.  
They looked at her, eyes filled with confusion. 

She sat on the bedside and said softly: “What you two have done was utter foolishness.”  
“We wanted to help papa…Unsullied would take him away.” Lya said.  
She wasn’t glad to hear that word. It hurt.  
“That is not what I meant. You took Drogon, on your own and flew half across the world. You could have died. You could fall off him. He could have hurt you. You’re not his riders.”  
“Drogon would never hurt us, mama.” Rhaella countered.  
“Dragon is not a toy. I thought that I have taught you that much.”  
“We’ve seen true north of Westeros, mama. Lands north of the Wall. And father’s home in the woods.” Lyanna told her.  
Father… murderer, not father. 

“Why are you mad at him? Why did you tell guards to take him away?”  
Rhae asked “You said you were happy with him.”  
“I was, but now I am very mad at him. Mad beyond forgiveness.”  
“Don’t be, he came back to us, mama.”  
“He is so good and kind and he teaches us many things…” said her lookalike daughter.  
Daenerys sighed… “What kind of things?”  
“History of House Targaryen, we spoke with him of all the kings and princes of our family. He likes Fire and Blood book as Rhae and I do…”  
“Oh… who could tell…” smile escaped her, for the first time that night.  
“And he speaks both Common Tongue and Valyrian with that funny accent.” Rhaella added.  
”_Aye…_” Lyanna said trying to ape Northern accent ”_…muh sweet._” which made both girls laugh.  
That pained her even more as she realised they truly like him. 

History, High Valyrian… was he exiled north of the Wall or was he in the Citadel with his friend Samwell Tarly for all these years…  
Jon Snow I knew was not man of the books… 

“Then we took him riding, outside the city and we did archery...aunt Arya went with us, she is very good with a bow, but not from a horse...” said Lya. “We wanted to show papa fighting pits but he said that we are Westerosi and that it is not our way to watch people fighting to the death for amusement of others.” Rhae explained.  
Daenerys frowned: “Yes, that is right what he said. What were you thinking, going to fighting pits? Have you lost your senses?  
We’ll talk more in the morning and you will not like that talk. Now, you must sleep or I’ll be even angrier with you.” 

She kissed them both on their foreheads and closed the door of their room.  
_What is with those Starks that they win the hearts of my daughters so easily… first Arya, now him…_she took a deep breath. 

He was still at the terrace, leaned on the wall, his gaze looking absently at some far away or imagined spot. She stood in the dark for a while, studying him.  
_He looks good, time has not changed him much, he even looks better with his hair cut short and clean-shaven face _she thought, _and he’s out of those northern furs.  
Then, it dawned her: _He is wearing Targaryen colors, as I do._ _

__

__

She stepped out and walked towards him. He straightened up, setting his eyes on her.  
She saw how he took a deep breath before making the first move:  
"Dany…"  
“I am not your Dany. You killed her. I am Daenerys Stormborn.” came her stern voice "I have nothing to say to you, save that you should go back to Westeros where you belong."  
"Dan…Daenerys..." he tried to reply.  
"Leave. Now." she repeated.  
She wouldn't let him know how all this was hard for her so she kept her tone even. And then she saw something in his eyes she never saw before, since that first day on Dragonstone when he entered the throne room and talked about the army of the dead which she then believed to be utter nonsense. 

She saw fire.

“And why would I leave? Why?”  
“I don’t want to look at the man who killed me. You’ve done well in collecting titles… Queenslayer, kinslayer, oathbreaker.”  
He gave her a piercing look: “Yes, that is who I am. That is what I’ve been telling myself for last ten years. Ten bloody years… living north of the Wall exiled and alone, with every single night haunted by you, every single night I was asking that ghost in my dreams to forgive me.  
But that was no ghost, was it?”  
Daenerys was stunned. This was not Jon Snow she once knew.  
This was a man who looked like him, but everything else about him was different. Even his voice sounded different. 

“Should I feel remorse for your exile? Mayhaps I should have sent you a raven telling you that I am fine, that Lord of Light brought me back and alongside it a word that you are a father of two healthy babes? You killed me; you killed a woman who was pregnant with your children!”  
“I did not know that…if I did, everything would be different.”  
“So, it was all right to kill me, but you are partial when unborn babes are in question?”  
“You burned a city whole… and then you rallied your armies proclaiming war against the rest of the world… have you forgotten that? I came to talk to you, to reach out for you. But there was nothing left of a woman I fell in love with. Only Dragon Queen, feasting on fear.”  
Daenerys could feel her blood boiling, but she sensed the same in him.  
“So then you decided it is time for a dagger. You took me in your arms, kissed me like a lover and then stabbed me. Vilest of cravens would not sunk so low. It is as they say… bastard children are born from lust and lies; their nature is wanton and treacherous.” she hissed at him. 

He stepped closer to her: “My father was Rhaegar Targaryen, the Last Dragon. My mother was Lyanna Stark, wolf maiden of Winterfell. I am their trueborn son. Do not call me a bastard ever again.”  
Daenerys could now see his eyes from close. They were grey, but with a glow as if they were burning. She knew that rage coming from him very well, she had it in herself and her dead brother Viserys as well. It was dragon’s rage. 

She made two paces forward as well, they were merely inches apart.  
"Was dagger that what I deserved? After everything I did for your North, for you." Her lips trembling angrily.  
"I lost everything to save your home and you didn't care. I gave you my army, my dragons, all I had…"  
Years ago, when she still used to reminisce over her time in Westeros, it would always make her cry.  
Now, standing before him, her gaze was stabbing him with thousand blades. She continued without giving him time to counter her:  
"I loved you, you were the first man I truly and wholly loved. Then you learned of who you truly are, who your real father was… you were disgusted with me. Because we were of same blood…”  
Her words were now whipping him and she had no wish to stop.  
“You shunned me, Jon, as I was a worthless whore. One gesture would be enough for me to know that you still love me.  
You did not make a single one… only your saying you are my queen over and over…as if you were a damn parrot.  
And now, after ten years you come here because you want to play a father… to the girls you sired with your aunt…  
So now you are not disgusted that your daughters and you have the same grandmother?" 

His eyes were locked with hers.  
“Targaryen, alone in the world is a terrible thing… You know who told me this? Maester Aemon of Night’s Watch, our great-great uncle.  
I consider myself lucky that I have known one Targaryen who could rein his impulses, who was always wise. Unlike you.” 

Her eyes narrowed: “Are you insulting me to my face? You dare?!”  
“Aye, I dare. I was never disgusted with you, never. You were first to know of who I am truly, who my parents were, first after myself. And how did you act? How? You were not happy that there is one more Targaryen in this world, your nephew, a man who loves you…no… you only saw me as threat, as contender to that damn ugly chair made of swords… mayhaps you loved Jon Snow, bastard of Winterfell, but you could not bring yourself to love Aegon Targaryen. You wanted me to stay a bastard, a Snow, so that you can have a single claim to Iron Throne. And I was willing to hide who I truly am for you. You wanted me to remain a bastard till the rest of my days. That was love? That was treating me as your family?” 

Daenerys was breathing heavily now:  
“What was I supposed to do, Jon? Step aside after eight years of fighting to reclaim the throne of my fathers in favor of someone who learned that he’s Targaryen only yesterday? Who always wanted only to be a Stark?”  
She paused for a heartbeat just to get some air.  
“And for that you betrayed me to your sister, a conniving plotter who hated me from the very first. Was that what you wanted? To bring Starks to rule the Seven Kingdoms… well, congratulations, Jon Snow, you did it. And then, your own family got rid of you when you were of no more use to them. You were never a true Stark to them… only a bastard and then a dragonspawn. And they sent you to the Wall for killing me, their enemy.  
You truly are a Northern fool.”  
Feelings she bottled up for all these years came tumbling out of her mouth. 

He shook his head: “That is all false. I have defended you before the Starks, all of them, ask Arya if you don’t trust me. Because I wanted you on the Iron Throne, because I really believed that you will be different. And then, then you burned King’s Landing. When city has already fallen.  
Just to spread fear, with no other reason but of spite. No one forced you to do what you did. It was your own doing. And your own undoing.  
Because you choose fear.”  
“You were my undoing, Jon Snow, no one else but you. I took you in my arms that day and you have killed me. Me and my children. I have never told them that you have killed me. But, they’re not so little anymore. Mayhaps it is time for them to learn who Papa truly is.” she said.  
“I did not know you were pregnant. I would never harm you if I did, even if you had burned ten King’s Landings. You know that it is true.  
You hid that you were with children from me? Why?” 

She did not want to tell him how she only learned of being pregnant after she was brought back.  
“It doesn’t matter now, does it?” Daenerys replied dryly “I do not want you coming close to the girls anymore.”  
“They are my children too.” Jon replied; his voice equally stern.  
“Kinslayers have no right to be fathers…” she hissed.  
“You forgot bastards…” 

She gave him a long look and then said: “You truly hate me, Jon Snow. What have I ever done to you to deserve that?”  
“I don’t hate you, Daenerys Stormborn. You are my…”  
“Queen? Go ahead, say those words once again…”  
“You are my only love. Only true love. And you always will be.”  
She shook her head: “Words are wind, Jon Targaryen. Deeds are what makes us all. And your deeds… are treason and murder.”  
“What do you want of me, Daenerys?”  
“To remove yourself from my sight. To free my daughters of notion that they have a kind and wise father. They don’t.”  
“They do. From this day till my last day.” 

“Leave, Jon. Go to Winterfell, go to King’s Landing if they will take you.”  
“I will not. And now I cannot, even if I wanted to.”  
“What?”  
“I have a city guard of Meereen to form.” 

She didn’t say anything, just looked as he slowly walked away.  
Then he halted his pace and said in the tongue of their forefathers:  
“Nyke urnēptre issa drēje skoros vestrasis zaldrīzoti.” (_I guess it is true what they say of dragons._)  
She shrugged, still in wonder of his High Valyrian:  
“Iksan rȳbagon…” (_I am listening…_)  
“Bona issi udrimmi se mirri vali. Drōgon paktot ziry.”(_That they are smarter than some men. Drogon proved it._)  
Daenerys raised her eyebrows:  
“Skoro syt gaomagon vestrā bona?” (_Why do you say that?_)  
“Ziry gīmigon bona Kinvara kessa maghagon ao arlī. Ziry dohaeragon nyke naejot sagon skoros nyke drēje iksin.”  
(_He knew that Kinvara will bring you back. He helped me to become who I truly am._)  
His words sounded like a riddle.  
Then he looked back at her: “And he melted down the Iron Throne. Cursed thing that ruined us both, Daenerys Stormborn.”


	14. TYRION

_Myr, Essos, year 316 After Conquest_

**TYRION**

The streets of Myr were still pitch-dark when he set out in a plainly carved palanquin.

One servant went ahead to light the way, carrying oil lantern with panes of pale blue glass while a dozen strong men hoisted the poles to their shoulders.

It was warm and close inside behind the curtains and he was struggling to stay awake. His nights brought him little rest lately.

_Missed me, old friend? _he heard in his mind again as his eyelids kept closing.

“Go away, eunuch, find someone else to haunt.” 

_I am not a ghost. I am an offspring of your guilty conscience mating with stale wine_ voice of Master of Whisperers replied. 

“Wine was truly so-so, but my conscience is unburdened.” 

_A lie which is worn out from repeating, never becomes truth. _

_Neither does your denial. _

“Why would my conscience be burdened with guilt?” he asked. 

_Why, how about a simple fact that you’re underway of arranging a murder of a mother and her two little girls. _

“It is for the good of the Realm.” 

_Ha, are you quoting me now? You have successfully made a pig’s breakfast from the Realm. _

Tyrion coughed, then took a long swallow from his wineskin. 

_At this hour, one must wonder is it too early or too late to drink_, Varys in his head commented. 

“It’s never too early nor too late, you were saying about pig’s breakfast…” 

_Well, my dear Imp, first you have managed to get a crippled boy elected king because you liked his stories. Soon after, sister of that boy gets his blessing for secession of the largest part of Westeros. __Fruit of your labors in first moons of reign of new king is one less kingdom in Seven, pardon me, Six kingdoms with two or even three more to leave,_Varys of Tyrion’s mind explained. 

“Which ones are that, do tell, I miss your analytic mind.” Tyrion was grinning.

_Dorne naturally, then Iron Islands which were promised by Daenerys Targaryen but never delivered, the independence from the Realm and next candidate is Vale with its close ties with the, how it is called now, Kingdom of the North._

“Dorne is always seceding but never actually does, Ironborn are subscribed to failed rebellions and for the life of me I can’t deduct why would Vale leave the Six Kingdoms to join with the North.” he rebutted. 

_Oh, I’ve almost forgot what your payment of the debt to Bronn of the Blackwater caused in the Reach. Richest part of the Realm, in hands of an ordinary cutthroat._ _Then you have placed that sellsword to be the Master of Coins_.

_Well done, my old friend, well done. You are becoming dumber with every passing day._

“What I helped establish, works. To have kings elected is the best way.” 

_Is it? It is a good notion to have elected ruler. What happens when your broken king passes away? _ _Almost every highborn lord will try to get himself named as king. A_ _nd lords of Westeros aren’t some petty chiefs of city states competing for the crown, they are rulers of whole kingdoms, each with large armies, each with their own strengths and weaknesses. _ _Without a royal army, a king’s host, one loyal to the crown itself, Realm will be torn asunder by civil war… _

_You had War of the Five Kings, now you will have war of five and twenty kings. _

Varys drilled through Tyrion’s thoughts.

“And yet, in the eleventh year of me making a pig’s breakfast of things the Realm is still in one piece, save North.” Tyrion said his rebuttal. 

_I__ndeed, but for how long? _Varys in his head mocked him_ This what you are about to do, negotiate the price of killing of an entire family will unleash seven hells. That family, unfortunately for you and your broken king, goes under name Targaryen. _

_Murdering them will plunge Realm into chaos once more. Rulers of Dorne, of Iron Islands, of Storm’s End are all tied with Daenerys this way or the other. You will make enemies of them, whether she dies or not. _

“They don’t even know she is alive. They will do nothing. It will all be done discreetly.” Tyrion assured. 

_Ha, like children of Elia Martell and Rhaegar Targaryen were murdered discreetly, one with his head bashed into wall, other stabbed dozens of times. _ _At your father’s behest. _ _And now, you’re going to be killer of babes as well. _

_In the end, it appears children are their fathers. Look at you, at Daenerys, at Jon Snow… all have followed the steps of their fathers. _

Voice in Tyrion’s head was relentless. 

“Go away, Varys… I am tired of your preaching.”

_I’ll leave you be for now, my friend, but we’ll talk again. _

Tyrion walked across the courtyard of a manse belonging to one of Myrish merchants who once used the services of the sellsword company whose leader he was about to meet. He passed next to sour cherry trees planted around a marble pool in whose middle stood a statue of nearly lifelike naked young girl made of painted marble. As he climbed up the stairway to the second floor of the manse, he could see the city. Vast number of tiled rooftops spread along the coast of Sea of Myrth. 

He could see the rounded brick towers, a great red temple, a distant manse upon a hill. In the far distance, sunlight of early morning shimmered off the water.

Fishing boats were moving across the bay with sails rippling in the wind, he could also see the masts of larger ships poking up along the shore.

The room he entered was dim, but there were bars of yellow sunlight showing between the slats of the shutters. Tyrion shook his head and waddled over patterned carpets as soft as new spring grass to the window.

He flung the shutters open to let the daylight in.

A loud curse came from the center of the room. There, on the score of pillows which have entirely covered the tiled floor, lay a naked man and two girls, bare as he was. Tyrion coughed.

“Close the damn shutters…” man said. 

"We have an appointment.” he replied. 

“All right, all right.” man replied “You two, go to the pool, I will find you later.”

Girls rose up, giving Tyrion a good look at their naked bodies, one was of Summer Isles, dark of skin and she were hairless from head to toes, other was of fair skin and hair, slender with thatch of light-brown curled hair between her legs.

They smiled at Tyrion as they slide across the tile floor out of the room. Some moments later, one could hear them splashing in the pool. 

“It is too early, dwarf, I’ve been fucking these two all night long. Come back at midday.” man spat as he was putting on his trousers. 

“At midday I plan to be half way across the Narrow Sea, heading home.” Tyrion replied. 

“You were always a pain in the arse, dwarf. I expected that you will taste some of local whores before running back to King’s Landing.” 

“I do not partake anymore…” 

“All the better, more for the rest of us.” man said as he was now sitting on the pillows, with his shirt and trousers on “To what do I owe the pleasure, Lannister?”

“How long has it been, Naharis, since we saw each other last? Ten, eleven years or so?” Tyrion asked.

Daario Naharis scratched his head and yawned… “Closer to thirteen… since you persuaded our queen to leave me behind in Meereen while the rest of you went to conquer Westeros.”

“Oh, I hope you’re not still mad at me because of that. I have just given her counsel, back then she still listened to me, decision was hers alone.”

“If I had been there, she would not end up with some Northern bastard, it would all worked different for her, and for me.” 

“It is possible, but that Northern bastard was in the end her plaything just as you were in Meereen. She was too strong for both of you.” 

“You didn’t ask for this meeting to talk of old times, I hope.” 

Tyrion paced across the room…

“No, not really… you know, now when I think back about it, I should have noticed how strange it was that you and your Second Sons were for all these years doing what she asked of you, guarding the cities in Slaver’s Bay.

With her dying in King’s Landing, ten years ago, one should expect that Second Sons are not obliged to follow her commands anymore, one should expect sellswords to take rule over those cities, for themselves or for someone else.

That did not happen. And I know why.” 

Daario shrugged: “Mayhaps we liked doing what we were doing.” 

“Mayhaps. And mayhaps your queen came back to Meereen, alive and well with her largest dragon and you had to serve her all this time.” said Tyron. 

Brown-haired man tilted his head and grinned: “Have you ever heard of someone coming back from the dead like that?” 

“I did, actually. Not of one man but of two.” 

“Cheap wine has burned your wits away, dwarf.” 

“I know Daenerys is alive, there is no point in denying it. And I know of her children. Whose father is that Northern bastard.” 

Daario nodded “It is as you say. That one must have left some impression.” 

“You say that because she did not take you back to her bed, right?” 

“Fuck you, dwarf, I would be riding that dragon if I had insisted.” 

“That is of no concern to me. Whom or what you ride.” 

“Then, what is of your concern?” “Peace for the Six Kingdoms of Westeros.”

“That is none of my concern.”

Tyrion said: “Indeed, it is not now, but it could become your concern and very… how to say… lucrative one.” 

“Spare me the fancy words.” Darrio cut him off. 

“Six Kingdoms will give abundant reward to that one who solves the Dragon Queen problem. Once and for all.” 

Daario laughed: “You don’t have that much gold in all your vaults and safe cases.” “It is not about the gold; it is about power.” he replied. 

“Explain. I am just a poorly educated former sellsword.” 

“One who removes Daenerys Targaryen from the world of the living can count on support of the Six Kingdoms in taking over the rule in Meereen, Yunkai and Astapor. If need be, even in matters of weapons and men.” 

Daario looked at him with a long assessing stare. “Oh, come on, as if you had not thought about it, of proclaiming yourself king of Meereen or that whole bay? There is an opportunity now, for that to happen.” 

“So, I have to kill the Dragon Queen, is that it?” 

Tyrion nodded: “It is. And not only the queen, her offspring as well.” 

“You want me to kill the children?? Your king is one cruel fuck.” 

“My king does only what is good for the people of Westeros. Not matter what.”

Daario paused for some time, reflecting about what he just heard. 

“Let’s say I accept… I have free hands in getting rid of everyone from her entourage?”

“Absolutely.” Tyrion confirmed. “There is one Westerosi that keeps company with her daughters, a mean bitch, calls them her nieces.” 

“Arya Stark, do not underestimate her. She is a killer. And now her brother, the father of the girls, should be at Meereen as well.” 

“He is there. I have met him, but he is not a Stark.” 

“He is, of a sort…being related to Starks and to Daenerys.” 

“Your king is a Stark, isn’t he?” Daario asked. 

“By birth, but he is something else now.” 

“How do I deal with those two Starks in Meereen?” 

“If they become an obstacle in your task – kill them as well.” 

“More than gladly... Say, that king of yours does not care about his own blood?” 

“My king is above such things of blood and family.” 

“Well, he has you for making deals in brothels at sunrise…”

Tyrion smiled dryly: “Does that mean; we have a deal?”

Daario Naharis rose up with his hand extended: “We do.” 

Tyrion shook hands with him and rose his wineskin for a toast: “To King Daario of Meereen, Yunkai and Astapor, long may he reign!”


	15. YARA

_Westwatch-by-the-Bridge, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest_

**YARA**

“I’ve never sailed this far north, my queen.” said Donnor Saltcliffe, captain of _Red Jester_, longship of the Ironborn.

Once, this vessel was commanded by Red Ralf Stonehouse, but he perished in the Summer Sea, when Yara took her part of the Iron Fleet to Slaver’s Bay.

“I haven’t either.” Greyjoy woman replied, gazing in the distance where first shapes of land were covered in the mist.

Yara only returned to Pyke from Dorne a fortnight ago and after spending few days at her family’s castle she set sail northwards, to the other end of the continent.

This voyage, same as one to Dorne, had a clear purpose. 

No to raid or plunder, she could not recall when she did that last time, surely not in last ten years. _I wasn’t in true battle for ten years. _

That knowledge appalled her.

Yet, ships from Iron Islands raided still, not in Westeros, but from Stepstones to Basilisk Isles. We do not sow.

_We do not sleep either_. Ironborn that does not sail and raid is as good as dead.

Battles would come. She was ready for it.

One moon ago she headed South, where Arianne Martell awaited her in Dorne. First, they have been exchanging messages and then Princess of Dorne invited Yara to visit her in Water Gardens.

She knew that this invitation was beginning of their mutual rebellion against the Red Keep. Before those were rebellions against the Iron Throne.

As Aegon’s thousand blades were melted down, name of royal castle was spoken instead the name of royal throne. It was all the same for her. Foreign rule.

Dragon rule. Stag rule. Raven rule. Or wolf rule.

Wolves. Starks. She hated them. They took their brother from her and made him one of them. When he died, defending that crippled boy king, they burned him, robbing him of feasts with his forefathers in the halls of Drowned God.

They took rule over entire Westeros. Brother in the South, sister in the North. Wolf bastard killed the queen she declared for. And got away with it.

Sand vipers offered alliance. Dornishmen. And women. Queer folk of the South. Of desert and dry mountains. Folk of spear and poison. But folk that misliked all that were not them, same as Ironborn did.

Dorne was disgusted with state of Westeros same as Iron Islands were.

“Should we raise spears and axes, on whom can the raven king count?” Yara asked Dornish ruler.

“Reach will not rush for their knights, whom they have precious few than before the War of the Five Kings begun, to lose lives for king and his Hand who appointed a mere court jester as their Lord Paramount.”

“They were hacked and sacked by the Lannister queen and then when war ended, their new Lord was appointed by Tyrion Lannister. They spat in the face of all Reach lords.” 

“What of that young lord in Storm’s End?” Arianne asked.

“I’ve heard stories that he grew up as an apprentice in the smithy.

Can you believe that? A bloody blacksmith. Gendry of House Baratheon. Legitimised by Daenerys Targaryen.”

“He was not unlegitimised by Bran the Broken. So, his gratitude goes to raven king as well, in a way. We must learn more of him. Stormlands were oft used as starting point when Dorne was invaded by the Realm.” 

Yara agreed with her. 

“We were dormant for ten years, but we were never asleep. Wolves have carved up Westeros among themselves and in their arrogance, they trusted the rest of us will idly sit and watch them playing great monarchs. What audacity.”

“Audacity or stupidity. I’ll let you choose.” said the queen of the Ironborn.

The court jester as they have called him, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, appeared in Dorne, again doing Tyrion Lannister’s bidding, but this former sellsword had ambitions of his own.

Him being cast out as Master of Coins only hasted his decision to join with Arianne and Yara.

None of the two believed him, knowing that one who turns coat once, will do the same far easier for the second time. 

An opportunity presented itself for Bronn to prove his allegiance to their common cause and for them to send him to the place where he can do the least damage if he decides to betray them.

The true North.

Queen Sansa Stark ordered expansion of her kingdom, counting not yet eleven years of existence, onto the lands once gifted to the Night’s Watch and even further, beyond the Wall.

Word of this came both to Pyke and to Sunspear. Queen of Salt and Rock and Princess of Dorne decided to act and act now.

One Ironborn longboat went scouting towards the Bay of Ice, on the western coast of the North and there found settlements of wildlings or Free Folk as they called themselves.

Yara’s men learned how Sansa’s soldiers are coming north of the Wall, where it was torn down by the Night King, and have made forts at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea on the southern side and at Hardhome on the northern side of the land they have conquered or stolen, as wildlings were looking at that matter. Northerners planned to have a road built, road that would continue on the Kingsroad at Mole’s Town, going alongside the Wall eastwards to the Shivering Sea and at newly established fort at Eastwatch road would turn up north ending at Hardhome.

_Ambitious endeavor,_ both Yara and Arianne concluded, _one which for its fruition required removal of all obstacles… and north of the Wall those are trees, rocks and wildlings._

As men living in the true North called all those living on the southern side of the Wall – kneelers – it was clear that Free Folk will not bend to the will of Sansa Stark.

War between Northerners and wildlings seemed inevitable, hate that brewed among them for generations did not go away, not even due to common sacrifices against the White Walkers.

In that war, the North will have armor, steel, horse and numbers. Wildlings had too few of everything. Unless they receive help coming from least expected.

“Get up! Get dressed!” Yara burst into Bronn’s chamber at Water Gardens. 

He lay spread-eagled on soft mattress with nothing on his body save just as naked Dornish handmaiden with long dark hair, big breasts and _arse to die for_ as Yara thought watching the sweaty girl walk away wiggling her behind to her.

“Fuck off, Greyjoy! I was just in for some juicy minj…” 

“Well, you’re soon to be in for some icy minj. You’ve fucked your way through these tanned pussies long enough, time for some freckled wildling cunts.” 

“What are you on about?” Bronn hissed while putting his clothes on. 

“Ever been north of the Wall?’” 

“Was once and sure as fuck I am not going for a second time.” 

“Guess again, _Lord Sellsword_.” she replied “Be at the beach in half an hour, with all your clothes and all your weapons on. There’ll be a boat waiting for you.”

That was two weeks ago.

Today, she is leading a force of six longships through the waters of Bay of Ice, along the coastline. In the distance, still partly hidden by the morning mist, one could see the Gorge and the Bridge of Skulls.

The Gorge was exactly what the name said, a large, deep ravine that separated the Wall from the Bay of Ice.

In the past wildlings used to descend into the Gorge to bypass the Wall and emerge on the southern side of it where they would raid, pillage and rape the smallfolk of the Gift.

They could do it unchecked, closest castle of the Night’s Watch was the Westwatch-by-the-Bridge, long abandoned.

Only possible crossing over the Gorge was the Bridge of Skulls. An overpass of three arches with rocks and water below it.

Around it and below were many rocks, and it stands over at least one pool of water. Bridge was a dangerous route, earning its name after the bones of those least lucky who died in the Gorge below.

It was from that bridge that Yara saw the light of torches being lit and waved as a signal.

“C’mon, men, row to the shore…” she ordered. 

Then she turned to her traveling companion, of sorts:

“What do you think?” 

“A shithole of place… your own isles are nothing to show for, but this, this beats everything. And I’ve seen my fair share of shitholes.” said Bronn bitterly. 

“Ah, stop whining, they’ll treat you as you were the King beyond the Wall.” 

“Not bloody likely… what is my role here again?”

“Teach the wildlings how to harass the supply lines, kill the ranging and scout parties, burn what needs to be burned… in one word, teach them to wage a war of attrition.” 

“Those fuckers should have learned that by themselves now.” 

“They’ve learned how to do raids south of the Wall, they were never invaded in their own land. We were all happy with them confined behind the Wall, now that ginger Stark bitch wants to add as much new land to her freshly formed kingdom.”

Bronn laughed: “Ha-ha, you truly hate them wolves of Winterfell.”

Yara grinned hearing that. She will not bow to the wolves; wolf is a sly animal which preys on the weak. 

Wolf has tasted the wrath of Kraken once; time has come for another lesson. 

_The hour of the wolf is coming to an end._

The wind blew across the longship’s deck, it was cold today, but it brought a delicious smell of the sea and salt, and Yara loved it. 

During her stay in Dorne, soon she longed for the sensation of her ship on stormy sea and of seagulls crying above her.

_Creatures of the sea, we the Ironborn are… _she was told many times.

“Ready axes, ready shields, we go ashore!” she bellowed the order as her longship reached the shallow waters.

Same order could be heard from other five ship.

“Come on, Lord Sellsword, time to get your arse wet!”

She, Bronn and two scores of her warriors came to land, Ironborn carrying many wooden crates of different height and length and more of those have been unloaded from the longships. 

There, on the coast, a band of fifty or so wildlings were awaiting them.

“Who speaks for you?” Yara asked when she came before them. 

“I am.” voice from the group said and she saw a tall, robust, broad chested man with thick read hair that fell to his shoulders and even thicker long beard.

Both hair and beard had streaks of grey. He was dressed head to toe in boiled animal hide lined with fur.

“Tormund Giantsbane is the name.” 

“I am Yara Greyjoy, Queen of the Ironborn.” 

He nodded “Ah… yet another southern queen. I’ve known many.

The Dragon Queen which is dead now and the Wolf Queen, hair kissed by the fire like mine.”

Bronn chuckled. 

“And who is this ugly woman?” tall wildling asked pointing at him. 

“That is Ser Bronn of the Blackwater.” Yara replied. 

“Just Bronn will do.” said former sellsword and former Master of Coins. 

“A Ser! A knight of Seven Kingdoms!” said Tormund loudly “I know of a Ser. Tall, yellow hair, mean eyes, fierce warrior and a gorgeous woman.” 

Bronn frowned: “Brienne of bloody Tarth! How in seven hells do you know of her?”

“I wanted to make babies with her, but some southern cunt with golden hand came and took her away.”

“Jamie fucking Lannister…” Bronn exclaimed not hiding surprise “…fuck me, those golden-haired cunts were screwing over even you, lot from other side of the Wall.”

"You know of big woman? And of golden hand man?” Tormund asked.

“Aye, I do. He’s been long dead; the Dragon Queen brought a castle down on his golden-haired arse and Brienne of Tarth is commander of the Kingsguard.” 

“I should go to King’s Landing to pay her a visit.” 

“Trust me, you really should not.”

“If you’re finished making friends…” Yara said “…we have a work to do here.

We brought you fifty crates of weapons… swords, axes, shields, spears, bows, arrows… all of that is Northern made. We took it when we plundered the northern holdfasts when Young Wolf was warring in the south. It is yours.”

“Good. Good.” Tormund said “We are thankful to you, queen of the ironmen and to the queen of deserts in the far south.” 

“Queen of the Ironborn and the Princess of Dorne.” Bronn corrected him. 

“Did you ever saw the far south, the deserts?” red-haired man asked. 

“Aye, I did. It is not all deserts. You have forests of all sorts of fruits down there. And the best pussy man can want... once you tasted Do...” former sellsword said.

Yara, annoyed by Bronn talking about pleasures of Dorne, cut him:

“Princess Arianne and I expect that you’ll put these weapons to good use.” 

“Aye, we will. Wolf Queen is an oathbreaker. We had a treaty with Jon Snow and she broke it.” 

Yara’s face changed when she heard that name: “Jon Snow is a traitor himself, a slayer of the Queen he sworn allegiance to. And his bitch sister is no better. All Starks are traitors and killers.” 

Tormund said nothing at first, looking at this fierce woman which came from the sea, he knew of the Ironborn, of people who roamed the seas like his kind roamed woods and mountains.

They were reavers with their own people to lead them, same as Free Folk did. Tormund thought what his men were in the forests and snow-covered hills, these ironmen were at the waves. 

“I don’t care about Starks, but I loved Jon Snow,” he replied “And later he knew he fucked up when he killed the Dragon Queen. For him she was like big woman Ser Brienne is for me.” 

“Ah, for fook sake…” Bronn blurted. 

“A traitor is a traitor. But no more of him.” Yara said firmly “When will you be ready to attack the Stark troops at Hardhome?” 

“We load the crates on our horses, we have them behind that ridge there and we march hard to east, to the shore of that other sea. The wolf fort at Hardhome will burn before the next full moon.” wildling leader replied. 

“Good. Make it sooner if you can. Stark queen will get a blow that will make her retch her supper… one more thing, Bronn here is staying with you, him and his escort, twenty men strong. All sellswords like him. 

He will learn your people how to make war that will bring wolves on their knees.” 

“What’s a sell..sword?” Tormund asked. 

“That, my friend, is the best way to fight wars.” Bronn replied with grin. 

“By selling swords?” 

“By selling your skills of using swords. For payment in gold, silver, lands or pussy…” 

“Free Folk can’t pay you. We have no gold or silver; our lands are not for sale and neither are our women.” 

“You won’t be paying me, friend.” Bronn said and pointed at Yara “I have a binding contract with her and the juicy pussy princess of the desert.”

Yara rolled her eyes before saying: “I am heading back to my ship. I wish you both good fortune in the war to come…and keep your ball sack warm, Lord Sellsword.”


	16. LORD AND COMMANDER

_Meereen, Essos, year 316 After Conquest_

**LORD AND COMMANDER**

“I understand your concerns, my lords and ladies, though if Meereen is to establish its own City Guard one should look forward, generation or even two removed, not making decisions upon the current state of affairs.”

Jon spoke in High Valyrian. Language that he was long ago taught by maester Luwin of Winterfell came back to him and was improving with every passing day, though he had trouble understanding some of the expressions of Meereenese Low Valyrian whose vocabulary was marked with words of Ghiscari origin. He addressed the Council of Citizens in the council room of the Great Pyramid.

He imagined it to be a larger room, what he saw is a hall roughly half size of the Great hall in Winterfell. 

Right in the middle of the room a wooden table was placed, its length enough for all twenty-one members of the council to comfortably sit side by side. 

Council members sat on ornate stools whose seats were padded with yellow fabric.

Air in the hall was pleasantly cool for which praise went to the thick stone walls of the pyramid and four tall but narrow windows which gave enough daylight to the room but kept the heat outside. 

Save the heat of discussion which he became aware of when the matter of establishing the City Guard of Meereen came to order.

Each of one and score councilors present had his or her own design how that guard should be equipped, how it should be structured, what should it do, even how it should be dressed.

Difference in opinion was mostly drawn along the line of former master counter former slaves.

First group advocated for officers to be recruited from the ranks of nobles and to differ in clothes and weapons from the soldiers who were expected to come from the ranks of former slaves. 

Former slaves, their representatives in the council at least, argued in favor of merits over birth right but proposed that all the members of City Guard have their faces hidden with masks. 

Jon could entirely agree on merits having more weight than ancestry, but to have a small army of phantoms patrolling the streets, that seemed to him as stupidity.

Marghaz zo Loraq, one of the nobles not hiding how pleased he is for Jon not taking the masked guard into consideration, stated: “I share your opinion on the masks, Sons of the Harpy had been wearing masks in their time, we cannot create a notion that our new city watchmen inherit from them instead from those who fought them.” He was an obese man with fat legs, well into his fifties. 

“Our guard will not wear mask of a harpy, there are many other creatures and animals.” said Marselen, one of former slaves.

“What do you want to achieve with these masks?” Jon asked them. 

“To protect the members of the City Guard and to give them more respect and…”

“Fear. Yes, I can see how that can be appealing, but if I understand correctly, this city is not trying to form Faceless Men in Meereenese style. City Guard must be public force, a host made by the citizens serving the citizens. Aim here is not to spread fear to people of this city, but safety.” he explained.

Many of them, from both sides, now nodded letting him know that they had understood. All of them have murmured, either in approval or disapproval. 

The head of the Council, Galazza Galare, high priestess of the Ghiscari Temple of the Graces, woman counting nearly ninety years of age but still tall and graceful.

She governed this assembly of bickering men and women with soft and kind voice but she always managed to swing their opinion in the direction she wanted. 

“Before I allow Lord Jon to proceed, would our honorable guest like to add something?” Galazza asked.

Jon’s eyes turned to Daenerys who sat at the table, on the spot reserved for the guests of honor and no guest was treated with more honors than Meereen’s former queen. 

Two weeks have passed since their first encounter and he hadn’t seen her since, to his surprise she was seated with the Council of Citizens.

Though she and Jon both had their chambers at the R’hllor’s temple he made sure that their paths do not cross.

He did not even see his daughters in all that time save once, to calm them after that evening when girls stood at his side facing the Unsullied, guards of their mother. 

That was his victory before Daenerys’ very eyes and he relished in it, in a way. On the other hand, he hated the notion that Lya and Rhae would be drawn into this bitter feud of their parents.

Daenerys replied: “I would like to hear what this Westerosi nobleman proposes regarding the future City Guard of Meereen.” Her voice was polite and her eyes only briefly touched Jon.

“My lord, if you please…” Galazza gestured him.

“Thank you, honourable lady Galare.” Jon said and continued: “What is the role of City Guard? To defend the city of Meereen, to enforce the law and at that to answer only to this Council and no other. Its commander must be responsible to you alone.

Still, commander should be elected within the ranks of the guard, not appointed by you. That way you will have at the head of City Guard commander who enjoys the trust of his men, be it all or most of them…” 

He proposed to Meereenese the same way of electing commander of City Guard as Night’s Watch elected theirs… 

“…then its role should be made clear. For what shall City Guard be used?

As guards, as keepers of public peace and order – or as foot soldiers? One should bear in mind that City Guard is not a true army. 

Not as hosts in Seven Kingdoms are and surely not by far as Unsullied are. I have seen the Unsullied fight in our wars in Westeros…” His gaze went on Daenerys, for a moment they locked eyes. 

“…no City Guard anywhere in the world will ever be able to fight like that nor is that their duty. King’s Landing had its City Watch six thousand strong, still you could only deploy every fourth man to a pitched battle.

I pray that Meereen will be of better luck with its guardsmen. For that purpose, training should be harsh to make sure only the best trainees remain. All can join, few will remain.

But those few will be the Meereen’s best and bravest.”

He paused to see how they receive his words and was content. 

“In regard of City Guard quarters, one will not do. This city is large as Astapor and Yunkai put together. Guardsmen will not be able to ensure peace and order if stationed in only one place in the city.

There must be a chain or web, if you like, of guardsmen barracks all over city from which they will be able to respond swiftly whenever called to.”

Marghaz zo Loraq used Jon taking a pause to ask: “Of how many places we speak of?” 

“In the first days, four. North, south, east, west… all sides of the city should have its own City Guard quarters or barracks. Then, as guard grows in numbers additional quarters can be added.” 

“That is very good reasoning, lord Targaryen.” said Nakhmaz, one of former slaves.

Nakhmaz called him with the name of his house, Jon for a heartbeat gazed at Daenerys, there was a shadow of smile on her face which he found very odd. 

“Still, based on my days in the Night’s Watch, on historical record of city watch of King’s Landing, Oldtown and Lannisport, I believe Meereen could take one more step.” 

“What kind of step, lord Jon?” 

“As I previously stated, City Guard cannot be a replacement for a proper army.

Which does not mean that from the ranks of City Guard a small but efficient host should not be made. Men who will be equally good on foot as on horseback, good with wide choice of weapons, not confined in one part of the city, but able to act in whole of Meereen, if need to act arises. And outside of the city as well.”

“Are you suggesting some elite caste of warriors, my lord?” asked Skahazza mo Kandaq, cousin of her namesake who served Daenerys during her reign over the city. 

“Not at all, my lady, elite castes or orders of warriors in my experience fail just as easily as lowest of the sellsword companies.

Westeros had its Night’s Watch, many centuries ago a knightly order reduced in my days to a place where Seven Kingdoms disposed its worst sons.

It also had its Kingsguard, a flower of Westerosi knights, in the end they had less knightly honor than simple squire on the battlefield defending a dying horse.” 

He saw all of them nodding in approval. 

“How do you suggest we proceed, my lord?” Galazza asked “Should we first ensure the chain of command, then rest of the men?”

He politely shook head: “All at once, all coming at their free will. No conscripts of any sort. Send word to every corner of the city that able bodied men willing to serve as guardsmen are needed.”

“Where will listing and training of those who respond to the call take place?” Marghaz raised a question. 

“With that issue, Meereen is fortunate. In one of your smaller fighting pits, one whose owner is willing to render his facilities to the city. With proper fee, of course.” 

By the looks on Galazza’s face Jon could tell that she is pleased which usually meant that rest of the Council of Citizens will follow suit. 

“When can you start with preparations, lord Jon?” 

“The sooner would of course be the better. Still, I’d require additional trainers such as me. Mayhaps some from the remnants of the Golden Company has strayed here… It is important that your citizens do not see us, strangers, as face of this new guard. They must see their sons, brothers, fathers…” 

Councillors clapped their hands hearing this. 

He bowed politely, then added: “One more matter to be mentioned, my lords and ladies, guardsmen should receive sufficient payment from the city, not from anyone else, mayhaps coins will not buy loyalty of each and every one of them, but it can make them do their duties with more will.” 

Eraz lo Hazkar, another former slave master, in recent years a merchant of Meereenese goods inland, with features of low cunning, frowned upon hearing this: “I cannot argue with your words, my lord, but bear in mind that city’s vaults are as full as are vaults of those of us who earn the most. Or try to earn. Surely you are familiar with our plight with the Dothraki and the tributes they have imposed on all trading routes in Essos.” 

Daenerys set her eyes on that man, discreetly but it had not escaped Jon. 

“I am somewhat familiar with it, not in so many details, but what I can say to you is that in foreseeable future there is no solution at hand.” 

“Would you like to elaborate that further, lord Jon?” Galazza said. 

“My lady, I have seen the Dothraki fight in Westeros, just as I have seen the Unsullied. Many of horselords perished, most defending the seat of my mother’s family, some in taking King’s Landing from Cersei Lannister.

A good portion of them come back home, here in Essos. Their collecting tributes can be treated as an improvement from their old ways of sacking and destroying cities and towns.

Still, you’ll never make a sheepherder of a Dothraki. Just as Ironborn will never be farmers. It is what they are. To solve your problem, it would ask to destroy a whole people to the last toothless man and the last babe.” 

Eraz grinned: “I assure you, lord Jon, world would be a better place without the sons of kraken and without the horselords.”

Jon noticed again how Daenerys looks at this man. He has learned of her doing trade all over Essos and obtaining riches and wondered if she’s in some way involved with the Dothraki. 

“My lord, in Westeros I got stabbed by men who disliked the notion of me helping to save one whole people, them too were considered savages.” 

He silenced Eraz with this, his eyes again went to Daenerys, she turned her head away but not before he caught her brief approving gaze which reminded Jon of that day in Dragonpit when he declared for her before all present.

Galazza called this session of the Council adjourned and the twenty-one were leaving the council room.

Azzak zo Ghazeen who served the Council as scribe approached Jon and spoke in Common Tongue:

“My lord, for the purpose of keeping record of today’s session my duty is to make a transcription of all discussions. Have I understood well that the name of your house is Targaryen?”

“Kessa, bona iksos drēje.” 

Jon replied in Valyrian “Yes, that is true. You speak language of Westeros very well.”

“Not as good as you speak High Valyrian, my lord. Are you and lady Daenerys related since you have the same name?” 

_Ignorance is truly a blessing sometimes, _Jon said to himself “Yes, indeed we are.” 

“Oh, I did not know that… you don’t act familiar with each other so I assumed…” 

“Azzak, don’t assume too much and don’t waste other people’s time.” came the woman’s voice from behind. Daenerys approached them. 

“I am sorry my lady, my lord, if I have…” Azzak said bit shaken. 

“Daor jorrāelagon naejot. Ziry iksos ry paktot.” Jon said to him, making it clear no apologies are needed.

Then he asked: “Azzak, could you recommend a tavern or an inn near here, with proper food?” 

“You could eat here; they can arrange it for you.” young scribe said. 

“I’ll be on Council’s pay for certain time it seems, I don’t have to eat from their hand too.” Jon replied.

“I’ll inquire what place is to be recommended, my lord.” Azzak said and left. 

“Proud man…” Daenerys said mockingly “…in a city he doesn’t know looking for a place to eat… it is certain that you’ll end up with some kind of bowel fever, mayhaps shitting yourself to death.” 

“There’s a pleasing sight for your eyes.” he answered in even tone.

She gave him a cold, killing look before saying:

“I wish you no harm. As you can see, Meereen will hire you to form their guard. I could have advised against it and soon you’d be begging in the streets.”

“Begging? Hardly. I’d sell my sword, as many Westerosi that came here.”

“You could, yes.”

“Why didn’t you advise this Council against me?”

“For I trust you to be the best man for the job. And Meereen deserves the best. With you busy here, I’ll be certain that you will be far enough from me and my daughters. I don’t live here, as you know but leagues away.

So, as commander of City Guard you do not wander around taverns to eat whatever they serve you.”

“All right. Then I can just as well eat here.” 

“Good. I’ll see it done.” she said.

He wanted to thank her but she walked away followed closely by Azzak. 

Jon decided to look around this highest floor of the Great Pyramid.

_So, this is from where she was ruling this city_, he reflected, _as if on the top of the bloody world._

He walked into the throne room. Ten wide stairs carved in stone lead to platform on which advisers of the ruler would stand.

Five more, far narrower steps, and there was a stone bench that served as a throne for last Meereenese monarch. For Daenerys.

This throne towered over anyone seeking audience, being some ten feet above the floor. From each side of the stairway were a narrow pool of water. Too much stairs, too much stone, too much dun color.

“My lord, your meal is ready.” one of the servants informed him. 

Food was served in the small chamber, right next to the council room, separated from it with wooden screen.

Jon saw four padded chairs coated in black, all equally adorned with rich golden ornate featuring swans; small round table followed the same suite as the chairs.

Served meal consisted of dog sausages, roast onions, figs, dates, melons and pomegranates with pecans and peppers and a big bowl of honeyed locusts. For drink there were two bottles of chilled wine and sweet water.

Jon frowned at locusts, shrugged and went for dog sausages. _Dog sausage, it would never find its way on a table of Westerosi highborn_; he mused while eating it… _nor would Ghiscari drink fermented goat milk. Like Free Folk do._

“Try locusts… it is a delicacy in this part of Essos.” said soft voice of Galazza Galare. She sat next to him and grabbed two locusts from the bowl.

“I doubt I will partake in that delicacy.” 

“More for me, in that case.” old priestess noted contently.

_Now, this would be a proper match for maester Aemon_, Jon thought and grin almost escaped to his face, _both century old and wise, he of Old Valyria, she of Old Ghis. They could exchange life stories until they run out of life._

“I believe there is a fighting pit already available to be used for training of the future City Guard. I’ll look into it and inform the Council.” she said, her voice sounded bit distant now. 

He looked at her: “It appears you want this City Guard to be a success. I am thankful for the assistance.” 

She rose from the chair, ready to leave and replied:“I am doing that for city of Meereen so it would not depend on hired foreign help. No offence, my lord.” 

“Truth never offends honest men, my lady, it offends only liars.” 

“It is a shabby ruin, my lord, but with some repairs we can bring it to a required standard.”

Nakhmaz said in Meereenese Low Valyrian as he strolled around the abandoned fighting pit “Yezzan zo Qaggaz never tend to this place even when masters ruled Meereen, he can even less now when he is dead.”

Jon replied to him, standing on the other side of the pit: “Another of your nobles?” “No, he was of Yunkai, but some way he got to own this fighting pit. A debt of some sort certainly…”

He looked at every corner of this place. At its southern side was a tall stone wall separating it from the neighbouring houses and blocking the view of anyone outside the pit itself.

Northern side was open, there were no houses there, only cluster pine and cypress trees stretching for a half of a mile to the bank of Skahazadhan river.

At this side there were stands, carved in stone and a wooden dais, for dignitaries, now rotting in most non-dignitary way. Over the stands towered the pine trees providing the audience a thick shade while those in the pit fought and killed each other under blazing sun.

Jon was disgusted with this Meereenese tradition, more than with fact they valued dogs above mutton, tastes in meat differ but it should be a common thing to shun from such forms of amusement as fight to the death is.

What he saw as good news, since slavery was abolished in the city, interest for fighting pits was on steady decline. Only the greatest pits survived, others like the one whose capacities he was just studying were closing one after another.

“This side, towards the river, is open. That must be remedied at once, first a palisade and then this wall must be extended, it must encircle the barracks of the City Guard. As it is, anyone could come from the river, sneak its way through the woods and slaughter the garrison at sleep.” 

“It will be done, my lord.” Nakhmaz replied. Man was one of the first volunteers for the service in the newly formed City Guard, though to say it was newly formed would be an overstatement. This was not even a beginning of a beginning.

_Even the longest journey starts with first step_, Jon thought, _someone somewhere had said that. _

He pointed at the arched entrance in one the walls. “What is in there?”

“That is where the fighters were, before coming on the sand. Place for them to rest or to die from their wounds, if they hadn’t been killed before the audience.”

“I want to see it, that could serve as an armory, pantry, storage.”

As he passed under the arch, he found himself in the passage, as long as the wall inside which it was built. It was also arched with wooden benches, some whole, some broken.

Chain, fastened to the wall with rings, stretched for entire length of the passage. 

“Nakhmaz, is it me or this place after all those years still reeks of blood, piss and sweat?”

“It is possible, my lord, that walls have soaked all those odors. For years men were dying, pissing and sweating here. Some did all three in the same time. Good thing they didn’t shat themselves dying, like some do.” 

Jon said loud when he stepped out, back at the open: “All this must go out, the benches, the chains, the bars… this will be a home of free men, last thing they need is a smell of slavery.” 

As they rode out from the former fighting pit, soon to be first garrison of City Guard, back on the streets that led to the R’hllor temple, people swarmed everywhere. 

Some rode litters or sedan chairs, some forked donkeys, many were afoot. 

Nine of every ten were moving westward, cutting off their path to the R’hllor temple. 

A great drum led the wedding procession to clear their way through the streets.

Between each beat, a herald in a shirt of polished copper disks cried for the crowd to part. “They come!” Drum sounded.

“Make way!” Drum sounded. 

“The pure bride!” Drum sounded. “The illustrious husband!”

Behind the pair which was to be wed, man and woman each in own palanquin, followed their closest kin, after them more distant relations and in the rear the entourage whose role in this wedding was to make guests of importance as comfortable as possible. Procession stretched for a good mile. 

“We have to wait now, I guess…” said the Meereenese man riding next to him. 

“How many of them are there?” Jon wondered. 

“Not more than four hundred, that is a middle-sized wedding affair by Ghiscari standards. But, know that on each guest comes at least one servant to tend his or hers needs during feast.” Nakhmaz explained. 

“What sort of needs?” 

“Keeping them cooled, bringing them wine, water or other drinks, placing food before them…” 

“Do they put food in their mouths too?” 

Former slave smiled: “Sometimes… all this is remnant of times of slavery. Habits die hard and some like to cling on them as hard as they can.” 

“How long does their feasts last?” he asked. 

“Three days. On the day before the ceremony, man’s guests gather and feast at his home, so does the side of the bride…” Nakhmaz gestured with his hand as he was delivering vivid description of wedding customs of his people, though it would be truer to say, people who owned him once. “…On the day of the ceremony in the Temple of the Graces, each come by their own way before the temple, there man washes the feet of his bride before all those present, then they enter a temple for rites to be performed and four hours later, they come before all as man and wife, bound together wrist and ankle with golden chains. Last day is at the home of the new couple, eating and drinking then retching and eating again… customs of Old Ghis.”

“Aye, but that will die out with this generation or the next. Young oft cast aside the practices of the old. Was not Old Ghis also built on slavery? Its traditions make sense in slaver Meereen, not in this one.” Jon said his mind.

Then he dismounted “…we have to pass through that alley and we’ll be on the way to the temple pyramid, pass the rear of this wedding feast march.”

“Procession is the proper word.” Nakhmaz corrected him. 

“A bloody hindrance would be the right one.” he spat angrily.

They passed through the alley on foot, then mounted their horses again.

Road was clear so they could gallop for a good portion of the way. Then, at the beginning of the climb up the hill where the R’hllor temple pyramid stood, streets were again too crowded, they had to resort to slow trotting.

At the foot of the hill, stood a two-floor high Outlander’s Tavern.

Here traders and passengers from as far as Oldtown and White Harbour mingled with their counterparts from Braavos and Pentos and Myr, with hairy Ibbenese, pale-skinned Qartheen and coal-skinned Summer Islanders.

Outside the Outlander’s Tavern a trestle table had been set up in the shade.

Eight men, lounged around the table, were sometimes calling out to passing women, but mostly were occupied with emptying flagons with wine and ale with oft belching.

_Westerosi_, Jon concluded at the first sight, _drunk beyond their wits, seafarers, some of the North…Arya’s men on a shore leave. _

The youngest of them pulled a wooden fife from somewhere, other started singing a gloomy song:

_They speak of a sorrow, one unseen before  
_

_The shields have been shattered and land's been torn  
_

_The battles were lost and the battles were won _

_A fallen father avenged by his son _

_My home now calls me and my ships goes forth_

_On the waves that will take me North._

He listened to the song, it was not known to him, but it made his mind wander off, to the land of his youth. _Home_…_North…_ images came to him.

Winterfell of his childhood came to his mind.

And then it was replaced with another image, when he watched his two daughters practicing the Braavosi water dance. They had thin wooden swords in hand, made to the liking of Arya’s Needle. 

Girls slide gracefully across the floor, side by side, so synchronized as one were mirror of the other, turning on their heels, switching swords from one hand to other. It was an image of martial elegance.

“This is home to me now. The only home.” he said aloud rushing his horse up the hill.

That night he couldn’t sleep, not right away, just as he could not last couple of nights.

Wave of heat came from inland, some said it came with high winds all the way from the Red Waste, hundreds of leagues eastward; from whatever place it has originated Jon could not get accustomed to it.

Less than a moon ago he lived in a log cabin on the other side of the world where hottest day was still colder than coldest Meereenese night. He put on his black trousers and sleeveless linen jerkin of dark red color and stepped on the terrace.

Heat was slightly bearable out here, but breeze coming from the sea brought some freshness in the air.

Meereen, just as other Essosi cities in the summer, lived at night when people came out from the shade of their houses, manses, gardens to eat, drink, sing and dance together or just to talk to one another or to fight one another when wine and ale would step in the place of good sense. He could hear the noises coming from the city quarter where temple pyramid stood, ranging from laughter to yelling and singing which in truth more seemed as shrieking. 

Then a sound come from behind which made him turn around.

A small hooded figure in red robe was slowly walking across the terreace. 

“And who might you be?” he asked. “It’s me, Papa.” the answer came.

“Rhaella?” Dark lilac eyes smiled at him beneath the hood as she nodded.

With hood on her head, Jon now saw even more how his silver-haired daughter looks like Dany. 

“You should be in your bed, Rhae. On the upper level of this pyramid, as I recall.” 

“It’s too warm to sleep.”

“How did you get here? There are guards on that level, keeping you, Lya and your mother safe.”

“There’s an inner stairway, servants use it and the Unsullied don’t guard that.” Rhaella explained.

“You sneak around, Rhae. In servant’s clothes.” Jon smiled as he took her on his lap.

“I wanted to see you, Papa. Why don’t you come to Lya and me anymore?”

“Your mother would not like that.” he said, after a deep sigh.

“She is very mad at you, father. Can’t you beg her to forgive you? She always forgives me when I make her angry.”

Jon smiled and kissed her on her head:

“I wish it was that plain, my sweet. When people grown make each other mad, forgiving is never easy… And I did your mother the greatest wrong…”

Rhaella looked at him, he could tell that she knows nothing of him killing Dany.

“Mama says that soon we’ll be going back to Port Yhos. Will you come there? To be with Lya and me?”

“No, Rhaella, not right away. I must stay here, I have duties here.”

Her eyes watered: “So, you will leave Lya and me again.”

Jon felt pain in his chest.

“No, my daughter, I will never leave you and Lya. Never. You know what you are? Iksā se perzys hen ñuha ābrar. You are the fire of my life.”

Silver-haired girl hugged him firmly and he could hear her soft words: “Avy jorrāelan, Papa.”

It brought tears to his eyes… it was the first time she told him that.

“I love you too, sweet Rhaella.” She parted embrace and said: “I must go back now.”

He nodded: “Go or you’ll make Daenerys angry. But before you leave, I want you to promise me that you will never disobey Muña. Here or in Port Yhos.”

“Even when she tells that Lya and me can’t be with you?”

“Aye, even then.” Jon said, though his voice trembled.


	17. GAWEN

_Hardhome, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest_

**GAWEN**

The horn cried, long and low, now coming from the other side. 

Gawen Glover begun to hate the sound of horns. One that sounded now was not horn of friends, but of foes.

“To the walls,” Gawen Glover told his men. He turned his own steps for the barely five days before built new watchtower, with Benjicot Branch, right behind him.

The wooden watchtower was the tallest thing this side of the Frostfangs, rising twenty feet above the biggest sentinels and pines in the surrounding woods. “There, m’lord!” said Eddard Forrester, when he made the platform.

Gawen saw only trees and shadows, the moonlit hills and the snowy peaks.

Then he saw them, cloaked in the tree branches, it seemed as first line of forest is moving closer towards the outer palisade of the Northern garrison at Hardhome like a slow green tide.

“Scores, hundreds of them!”

“We cannot fight so many,” Benjicot said. 

“The more there are, the more the glory.” insisted Forrester.

_Fuck glory and fuck honors… beyond grave one can taste neither…_ Gawen reasoned. Eastwatch was long leagues away. Would they do better to stand and fight behind Hardhome’s wooden walls?

“In the morning us or them will feast with forefathers.”

Eddard Forrester stroked his axe as if he could not wait.

“A living man can find a proper feast more easily than a dead one. Let the wildlings keep their haunted forest. We are retreating to Eastwatch.” 

“My lord,” said Benjicot “here we have the walls, but if we go marching south to Eastwatch they’ll carve us bit by bit along the way.”

“And should we stay here they will butcher as all at once.” he replied.

“A ram!” a voice shouted down from the walls. “They have a battering ram!” 

“For fook sake! Wildlings with battering ram?!” he shouted “What side?” 

“West!”

From beyond the fort’s wooden walls came the sudden sound of trumpets.

_Trumpets_ _? Wildlings with trumpets? _

That was odd_,_ but Gawen had no time to ruminate about it. 

“Open the south gate,” he commanded, even as the western wooden wall shook to the impact of the ram. He pulled his longsword from the scabbard across his shoulder.

“My brothers. Now comes the hour of the spear, the sword, the axe. Mount up! We ride south. We ride for home!” 

From a hundred throats came roars of “Home!” and “Glover!”

Home. His home, home of most of these hundred men were Deepwood Motte. Hundreds of leagues away, in the south, not far from the sea.

But it was not the same sea on whose coast Hardhome sits, at Storrold’s Point.

This was a sheltered bay with natural harbour deep enough for the biggest ships afloat. A proper place for Kingdom of the North to establish its northernmost port.

_Queen Sansa may not be to one’s liking but she is a clever and able woman; _Gawen thought of his ruler; _one into whose heart and bed my friend and ally Elric Karstark has found his way, out of true affection or pure lust, it mattered not, but this conquest of the Gift and land north of the wall was their joint labour. And it goes well…_

Wood and stone are plentiful near Hardhome.

The waters teem with fish, and there are colonies of seals and sea cows close at hand. A great cliff looms above the settlement, pocked with cave mouths.

Hardhome was once close to becoming the only true town north of the Wall. Before its destruction.

In one night, six hundred years ago Hardhome was destroyed. Something terrible happened that night; the accounts of it are uncertain. Its people are said to have been carried off into slavery by slavers from across the Narrow Sea or slaughtered for meat by cannibals out of Skagos, depending on the tale one chooses to believe. 

Homes of those who lived at Hardhome in the hour of destruction were said to have burned with flames so high and hot that the watchers on the Wall far to the south thought the sun was rising in from the north. 

Afterwards, ashes rained down on the haunted forest and the Shivering Sea alike for almost half a year. 

Traders and a ship sent by the Night's Watch to investigate reported only nightmarish devastation where Hardhome had stood, a landscape of charred trees and burned bones, waters choked with swollen corpses and blood-chilling shrieks echoing from the cave mouths that pock the great cliff that looms above the settlement, a cliff where no living man or woman could be found. After that Hardhome was shunned.

The wildlings never settled the site again, and rangers roaming north of the Wall told tales of the overgrown ruins of Hardhome being haunted by ghouls, demons, and burning ghosts with an unhealthy taste for blood. 

_Tales for old women to scare little children, _Gawen knew.

Northerners can be a superstitious people and that goes twice for the wildlings, a lot with no maesters or learned men of any sort to teach them knowledge instead of folk tales.

The tale of new Hardhome, one of Queen Sansa and the Northern crown, begun well, more than well, some would say dreamlike.

Northern force of three hundred men on horseback but also with wagons and carts crossed on the other side of the now useless Wall nearly three moons ago and met no troubles, from nature or from men.

As the Northern cavalry progressed to Storrold’s Point, road followed, as sappers and timber men cleared the way. At the ruins of Hardhome, a wooden fort was built.

It was a plain construction, in shape of a square, with eastern gate looking at the sea and planned to be extended with a long pier for ships and boats to dock. Western gate looked at the other side of Storrold’s Point.

Southern gate was fort’s only land way to the rest of the Kingdom of the North. There were five smaller watchtowers on the walls and the much taller one added later in the yard of the fort.

Its height collided with the size of fort itself, but it was necessity when things took turn for the worse and founding a new Hardhome, which Elric Karstark wanted to rename into Queensport, to honor his ruler and lover Sansa, came into question. 

Wildlings. Free Folk. Once allies in the war against the Night King, now bitter enemies again. _Dumb goatfuckers_, Gawen oft mulled, _they saw how we live south of the Wall and yet they don’t want any of that, only to live as savages in the woods and caves. _

Attacks started small, one missing scout, then another.

It was no longer safe to cut timber in the woods nearby the growing fort of Hardhome.

Then ranging party was ambushed. It all reminded of the wildling attacks from the old days. Till the day when baggage train coming up the road from Eastwatch-by-the-Sea was sacked, all the horses killed, all the carts and the wagons burned. And all the men that were with the supplies butchered. 

Mounted patrol from Hardhome rode out to see the source of smoke rising over the haunted forest and saw fifty heads of Northerners on spikes, one for each quarter of a mile.

On first and last spiked head, a piece of animal hide was nailed on a dead man’s forehead with scribbled message: “_headpoles go from hardome to wall other time_”.

This screamed for vengeance and reprisal with no mercy and none would have been given to any wildling able to carry a spear if such were to be found.

Both men from fort in Hardhome and those sent from the North, close to five hundred strong, swept the land from Storrold’s Point to the First of the First Men. And found nothing.

Wildling villages, some just few years settled, were empty.

That called back the days when tens of thousands of wildlings were united under Night’s Watch deserter Mance Ryder. There were not so many of them left now, mayhaps even ten times fewer than when they charged at the Wall led by Mance only to get crushed under hooves of Stannis Baratheon’s army. But they were out there and were an unwanted barrier to the cause of the greater North. 

Supply line on the road from Eastwatch to Hardhome now asked for more escort and only cavalry could answer that task, cavalry that Northern kingdom had precious few to begin with, it was not easy to regain the depleted strength in horse after the wars that took place since Ned Stark was beheaded and lasted until Sansa Stark was crowned queen. 

First wagons with food provisions, timber and other equipment for the builders with escort of five score of mounted men passed unharmed, as did the second baggage train. Building of the fort was now in final stage, it could provide shelter for a garrison of five scores of men, all walls save the eastern one that looked to the sea were raised as were all the watchtowers on those walls. 

Third convoy with supplies came to Hardhome and reported no harassing along the way.

With food, clothes, building material it brought new men to relieve some of those who were guarding _Queensport to be_ since the first day when only ancient ruins, overgrown with dark ivy, rested in the place of future Northern port. 

On the fourth day upon arrival, now empty wagons and wayn carts assembled, men who were relieved climbed up on them and slow trek southwards began.

Two and thirty horse or mule driven wheeled transports sloughed over the muddied road, rain fell heavily the night before, and train stretched for three quarters of a mile, from van to rear-guard. 

It has passed across the Storrold’s Point, a rocky ground with only seldom trees growing along the road, before entering into the thick wooden halls of haunted forest. 

The road Northerners built followed the coastline where ever it was possible so that only one side of that forest trail would be facing woods which removed the threat of ambushes from both flanks.

A clever presumption, when wildlings, a folk belligerent but still lacking knowledge of true art of warfare, are in question. Wildlings however were able to pull new tricks, as baggage train returning to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea learned that day.

As wagons and carts came on the part of the road which left the coastline and arched into the forest for two miles only to emerge back over the Shivering Sea, it had begun.

Three trunks of tall sentinel trees came crushing on the road, one above the other, reaching the height of average man and blocking the pass of the main part of the train which fell behind the vanguard, same took place half a mile up the road and men and wagons on the rear were cut off from the rest.

Horns sounded alarum on all sides, mounted escort from head of now in three parts sliced column, turned their horses back to ride in assistance of the main… then chain hidden on the ground by the mud was tightened across the road as galloping men came closer. First rider broke his neck as chain struck him below the chin, others were thrown off their horses, only last few managed to lean sideways in their saddles and ride below it.

Then arrows came, from everywhere, from the thick bushes, behind the wide oak trunks, from the tree tops. Men and horses both were dying, some Northerners taking dozen hits and still stumbling as two-legged pin cushions.

_Form the line, form the line_, officers shouted, _shields and spears…shields and spears…_ then some fool among the officers shouted: _Dismount! _

A commander of foot soldiers by trade, no doubt, it was an idiocy to order cavalry to dismount on the narrow forest road… 

Kingsroad of the Seven Kingdoms built by Jaehaerys the Wise was not much compared to the roads Old Valyria once built all over Essos and this newly laid woodland road from Eastwatch to Hardhome was a poor aping of the Kingsroad.

As mounted escort were now on foot and taking cover behind the wagons or their own shields, there was not enough place for both men and horse so they had to chase them away to get clear view of the woods from where death was still coming on the arrow tips.

Riderless horses galloped down the road, some with arrows sticking from them, but only the mounts of the vanguard could flee, those of the main part of the wagon train were trapped between the tree trunks that lay on the road dividing main from the van on one side and from the rear on the other.

The rear-guard fell apart first, yet unseen enemy had targeted and struck down any man who even remotely resembled an officer or commander or knight, rear traditionally had mostly non-fighting men, from cooks to smiths and other craftsmen to soldiers ridden with illness or wounds. Those on the rear able to run or ride, retreated in disarray towards Hardhome, but only few made it there as wildlings now slew them as they were trapped beasts, some even threw themselves of the cliffs into the sea to avoid being butchered. 

_"Kill the fucking horses! Kill them!” _shouted commanders at the main part of the column, horses were now so spooked they charged back and forth, from one blockade of trunks to another, running over everything and everyone on their path.

The line of shields and spears was never formed and arrows rained on the trapped column from one side of the road, then from another, as if attackers were taking turns. 

Bowmen on the wagons tried to shoot back, but without shield cover soon were struck down. _“_

_Flee, leave the wagons, flee!”_ It was the only choice as losses were piling… all men from the column’s main went running south, where the vanguard was, some tried climbing up the trunks blocking the road, others crawling beneath it in complete disorder. Dozens more died or were wounded by arrows.

Vanguard managed to form a shield line; their cavalry returned seeing no aid to the rest of the train was possible. Sounds of slaughter behind them were heard, screams of horror by both men and animals, but they came under no attack.

Then they’ve heard sound of horn coming from down the road. 

Sound calling a charge. Then they saw horsemen, some thirty of them, dressed not as wildlings but as men of the North.

A Stark banner flew above them. 

“Rescue! Rescue is here!” 

Soldiers cheered and shield line fell apart, expecting to be saved.

As first riders approached, they rode past the first wagons of the van and then one holding the spear with direwolf banner lowered it and run it through one of the officers who cheered standing on the wagon.

Thirty riders cut down their Northern counterparts as they rode by them and then forest showered the van with arrows, mercilessly as it did the rear and the main.

It all ended less than hour later. North lost nearly quarter of thousand men, of that hundred mounted troops. Wagons and carts were burned, wounded horses and mules slain, others stolen. 

One of the Northern officers on the vanguard was crawling with arrow sticking from his thigh when black-clad man leading those thirty riders came over him.

_“Mercy blow, I beg you, my lord…”_ officer pleaded “_do not let them butcher me_.” _“_

_My lord… I am not a lord…” _

_“You’re not a wildling either…”_ officer spoke thru his teeth, gritted of pain 

“_No, but I fight for their cause. There will be no mercy blow, no butchery, you will ride south to your ginger wolf queen and you will tell her: the North has forgotten but the Free Folk remembers.” _

“_Whose…whose message… I’ll be delivering?”_

“_Message of the King beyond the Wall.”_ man dressed in black said.

“King beyond the Wall?!” shouted in rage the Queen in the North, walking across her chamber in Winterfell “What kind of nonsense is that? Wildlings who never bend the knee now have king?”

Gawen stood by Elric Karstark and both listened their Queen in silence. Wisest choice, knowing the temper of Sansa Stark when she was displeased. And she was more than so that day.

“Two hundred-thirty-seven Northerners slaughtered! Their head on spikes are now used as league-posts from first yard beyond the Wall to Hardhome!

And there are no two hundred-thirty-seven leagues in that road, barely so many miles, if more of our men had died the wildlings could have used them to mark furlongs!” 

“Your Grace, all the survivor accounts agree in one. This ambush was not done how wildlings usually do it, it was done how armies of Westeros lay ambushes.” Elric Karstark said. 

“And that man who called himself King beyond the Wall, he was no wildling.”

“Then who was he?” Sansa asked.

Glover and Karstark looked at each other. “Your Grace, that man spoke as no wilding and was dressed whole in black. We cannot rule out the possibility that…” Gawen started and Karstark continued: ,,

“… that your bastard brother Jon Snow is leading the wildlings against us.”

Sansa dismissed that notion with hand gesture: “That is madness even to think. Jon would never raise sword against the North, he was our king for all the gods sake.”

“Your Grace, our scouts ranged the land near the Antler River before this wildling rebellion started and they have found abandoned log cabin with lot of things that belonged to the Night’s Watch...”

Elric said “…it could be that he left from there when he joined the rebels.”

“And our men claim to have seen the huge white wolf roaming the haunted forest with the wildlings.” Gawen added.

“We are not going to discuss this further; those are just hearsay and apparitions that men ranging the forests for too long begin to see.” Sansa said irritated.

“If proven true, Your Grace?” asked young Karstark.

“If proven true, Jon Snow will hang as any other traitor. Is that clear enough?” she cut him off “Now, my lords, what do you propose North should do to quench this rebellion?” 

“Your Grace, if Queensport is ever to exist, we must remain the presence in Hardhome, no matter the cost. And the cost will not be this high ever again, I assure you of that.” Elric proclaimed. 

“Oh, and how are you so sure of that?” she replied, unimpressed. 

“We have one advantage over those savages which we have not exploited enough. Not at all, I dare say.”

“And that is?” Sansa asked. 

“Sea. Ships. We can supply Hardhome by the sea.”

North had no strength at sea for thousands of years.

Since the days of King in the North Brandon Stark, known as Brandon the Shipwright due to his love of the sea. 

Thousands of years before the dragons came to Westeros, king Brandon attempted to sail across the Sunset Sea, but was never seen again. His son and heir burned the remaining ships in his grief, and is thus known as King Brandon the Burner.

After that, North, when still independent or later under dragon kings, never has shown ambition to build a proper war or merchant fleet. 

Only fleet that North had was at White Harbor, owned by the House Manderly who themselves were not of the North but settled at what today is White Harbor when Starks accepted them as their new bannermen. 

House Manderly was driven from the Reach by the Gardener Kings, thousand years ago before the Aegon’s Conquest. 

Now, those ships became of utmost importance to the Kingdom of the North.

Gawen Glover was appointed the new commander of Hardhome fort.

Road from Eastwatch to the fort was no longer used except for fast horse rides of scouts and messengers, of those most could break through. Most, not all. Gawen soon realised that Hardhome was now a gaol.

_A dungeon made of wood with watchtowers and guards on the battlements, equally keeping the Widlings out as it were keeping me and my men in, _he thought_._

Supplies by the sea came regularly, there was no complain about that.

Cogs from White Harbour could dock at the partly build pier with no difficulty.

_What remain unanswered is to whom will Queensport serve when and if founded one day_…Glover pondered… _one day when ships from across the Narrow Sea come, from Braavos, Myr, Tyrosh, even Volantis… where shall be that cargo going? _

_With wildlings butchering Northerners, who would be like to settle beyond the Wall? No one with any ounce of good reasoning left. And these Free Folk as they call themselves will never bend the knee to Sansa. _

And wildlings were not to leave ship-supplied Northern fort of Hardhome at peace.

Every night some of the guards on the walls would be killed or wounded by arrow. Outside the fort, it was safe to roam till the edge of the woods. 

After that, life of Glover men was short and cheap and death was gruesome, by axe or sword or rock smashing the skull. Still, it was only a testing of the strength.

Glover had six-score strong garrison stationed at the fort which burst at the seams. 

Works on the expanding of the fort were put at halt after the wildling first attack, construction that was planned to take in tenfold as many men, was now barely holding slightly more over hundred. 

It mattered not that night, as battering ram broke through the western wall. Eddard Forrester galloped up beside him on a tall stallion. The way was clear._ For how long? _

“Move out!” Gawen drove his heels into his horse’s flanks.

Men and mounts alike were trotting by the time they aimed for the line of trees on the far side of barren field that lay before the south gate of now fallen fort. 

They pressed on south when someone at his right side yelled:“Shield wall! Shield wall!” 

Other voice shouted: “Spears, beware of spears!” followed by loud, painful screams of horses. Pikes. Pikes behind the wall of shields. . 

His men rode into the thick wall of shields blocking the road, behind which were men holding twenty feet long wooden spears.

First two lines of mounted Northerners impaled themselves and horses, men that followed tried to halt their mounts but slammed into horses before them, those already wounded or dying.

Gawen could see the enemy coming from the darkness, lining up their left and right flank, holding crossbows. 

_Wildlings with crossbows… what fuckery is this? _

Bolts came flying like swarm of bees, killing his men with precision, without giving quarter. 

It was over soon. The failed retreat of garrison of Hardhome fort down the Eastwatch road. 

Gawen lay on his back, four bolts nested in his front side, he stared at the sky, at clouds driven north by the wind. 

A man came to him with reddened sword, clothes dark as this night: 

“Sigil of House Glover…” he pointed at his bloodstained leather jerkin. 

“Gawen of House…Glover…” he nodded “…king beyond the Wall... are you?”

“Nah… that’s just for the jape…” man replied 

“Then... with whom do… I have this… displeasure...?” he fought to finish sentences.

“Ah… finally a man who is not shite at dying.” man said and presented himself: “Ser Bronn of the Blackwater is the name…” 

Gawen’s face was now of pain and bewilderment. 

"I’ll deliver the mercy blow now, my lord.” man said with solemn tone. 

“I will be grateful to you, Ser.” Gawen acknowledged. 

Then all went dark for the lord of Deepwood Motte.


	18. MASTER OF SHIPS

_Dragonstone, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest_

**MASTER OF SHIPS**

It was a place of dark reputation. For many years. To the most of people.

To him it was a place of memories.

Of kings and queens whom he served and of people which stood beside them. 

Of stern but just Stannis Baratheon, true heir of his brother Robert, killed in hunt by a boar, but beast had assistance of his wife, Cersei from House Lannister. 

Of Red Woman, Melisandre of Asshai. He watched her giving birth to a shadow which slain Renly Baratheon. Later he watched her bringing back to life one honourable man.

And he watched her die in the snow of Winterfell, he wanted to kill her himself for what she did to Princess Shireen of House Baratheon, she and Stannis, her father, then truly lost to the sorcery of the R’hllor. 

They burned that sweet child at the stake as offering to the Lord of Light. 

It gave them no victory against the Boltons. 

It was end for Stannis himself.

He then thought of young Targaryen queen, silver-haired beauty sitting on the throne of her ancestor Aegon when he and young Northerner arrived to seek her help.

What a duel of wills it was among these two young rulers that day and in some days that followed; later he saw how they look at each other and he knew that something was lit between them… just woman and honorable man... it did not last. 

He thought of her adviser from island of Naath, woman of kindest heart he’s ever known, sold into slavery as a little girl she did not hate, was not resentful... even now he could see her curly hair and soft voice.

The way she was taken from this world… Cersei Lannister should have died thousand times worse death than she did.

His mind went back to the young Northerner. Melisandre brought him back among the living after his own men betrayed him and stabbed him to death.

Targaryen queen loved him and he loved her but his honor compelled him to do the worst crime for greater good. For that he was exiled to the same place whence he came from.

_He would have been a great king, had he wanted the crown_, this was carved in his mind, _but he was not after crown or power. _

It was always hurtful for him to think of Jon Snow. He urged the Red Woman to bring him back from the dead and then he served as adviser to this young man, from Castle Black to the Battle of Bastards, from Dragonstone to the Battle of King’s Landing.

_I didn’t even say a proper goodbye to the lad when the great lords of Westeros agreed to ship him back to the Wall, just to please the Unsullied… and that Greyjoy woman. Jon did not deserve that… what world exiles its saviours. _

_And he did save us all from the wrath of the woman he loved… the woman who lost her mind, plunging into hatred and delusion. I’m sorry, lad… mayhaps I could have done more back then…it is too late now. Gods only know if you’re still among the living. _

Man was deep in his thoughts as he walked at slow pace across the island heading to the castle.

It was said that Dragonstone was built by Valyrians with arcane arts, dragon fire and sorcery. Dragonlords being capable of melting and reshaping stone with dragonflames used their magic to shape Dragonstone to look like multiple dragons. A grim place.

_The Valyrians had raised it, after all, and all their works stank of sorcery_, said Kevan Lannister, Tywin’s younger brother, once.

The citadel of Dragonstone is wrought all of black stone. 

Statues in the shape of dragons can be found all over the castle…small dragons framing gates and dragon claws holding torches. 

A pair of great wings cover the armory and smithy and dragon tails form archways and staircases. Doors can be set in the mouths of stone dragons. 

Instead of merlons on the top of the towers, grotesques and gargoyles serve as brooding crenellations along the three curtain walls. 

The Great Hall is carved in the shape of a huge dragon lying on its belly; its doors are set in the mouth and those entering pass through its mouth. 

The kitchens resemble a curled-up dragon where the smoke and heat vented through its nostrils.

Most known artifact of the castle is the Painted Table set on the top floor of the Stone Drum tower. 

Chamber where table is placed has four tall directional windows and bare black walls. It holds a large table, carved and painted in the form of a detailed map of Westeros. 

From here, three-hundred and sixteen years before, Aegon the Conqueror planned his invasion of Westeros. 

The Painted Table is more than fifty feet long: about twenty-five feet wide at its widest point and four feet at its thinnest.

He was here many times, standing next to Stannis Baratheon, then next to Daenerys Targaryen and Jon Snow.

Man’s name was Ser Davos Seaworth, some called him the Onion Knight, then he served as Master of Ships on the Small Council of King Bran the Broken.

At the age of six and sixty years, when this three-hundred and sixteenth year after Aegon’s Conquest began, it was enough for him.

He decided to retire and return to his wife in their small holdfast at Cape Wrath in Stormlands. He came home for good after almost twenty years of coming and going. 

He was done with halls and councils of kings. 

_I was a better smuggler than a knight, a better knight than a King's Hand, a better King's Hand than a husband. _

_I am so sorry. Marya, I have loved you. Please forgive the wrongs I did you. _

He said to his wife when he came back. Wife who waited for him all those years, raising their youngest children.

Then a rider came. Not a raven, a rider, sennight and a half ago. 

_Come to Dragonstone. I’ll be there on eleventh day after you’ve read this. Archmaester. _

He mulled about this message for a day or two.

Then he decided that if message were true, his friend from the Small Council could be in need of him, in some sort of trouble.

If message were decoy, he’s long ago learned how to watch death in the face.

Davos donned his simple brown and green wool mantle, beneath his old leather jerkin and brown breeches. He put on his old boots.

It was him from six and ten years ago, when he sailed to the Blackwater Bay with Stannis to take King’s Landing…. It was him of then only by clothes. 

Man wearing it was not. He was older and tired.

He took the boat with seven other men from his household and sailed from Shipbreaker Bay, going past the island of Tarth, boat was in the Narrow Sea. 

In the sunset of fourth day of voyage, tenth since rider came with the message, he set foot on the beach of Dragonstone. 

He could even see the entrance to that cave where dragonglass was mined for defence of the North against the White Walkers. First memory of many that swarmed his mind as he slowly paced to the castle.

Castle of Dragonstone was abandoned.

Sealed, would be the proper term. When Dragon Queen fell, all of her men left Westeros and castle was once again home to no king or queen or lord.

New king ordered for this castle to stay vacant, unused, his gates sealed. Home only to haunting memories of failed dreams of ruling. And, yet, he was summoned here by his friend.

Archmaester Samwell, once of House Tarly, once of Night’s Watch.

There he was, waiting him at the Chamber of the Painted Table. 

Dark hair, pale eyes, large moon-shaped face. Obese, too much for his age and he was of half the years which Davos had.

He was not dressed in archmaesters robes, but in his clothes from the times he served as brother of the Night’s Watch. Black cloak over black leather tunic and black breeches.

“Ser Davos…” he nodded.

“Archmaester...” old man replied. 

“Sam will do just fine…” younger man said “… was the sea kind to you?” 

“It was…why have we met here. You could have visited me at Cape Wrath, in my home.”

“It had to be here, my lord, in this empty castle.” 

“Why?” he asked. 

“I am man of learning, of books and science, Ser Davos. And yet I have dealt with enough magic and sorcery in my life thus far as seldom maester before me.” 

“Hardly an answer. Why are we on Dragonstone?” man who once was a smuggler asked. 

“To make sure he will not see us, not in present time at least.” young Tarly replied. 

“Who?” 

“Our king. One we call the broken.” 

“What are you talking about, Tarly?! Why should I be hiding from my King? I served him for ten bloody years!” Davos shouted with gestures that seek explanations.

Samwell took a deep breath before answering, his face was red and sweaty: “Ser Davos, the King you served, our King would want you to be hidden from him, he would want not to know where you are.” 

“You’re making even less sense, lad.” old man’s voice now sounded with anger and Samwell noticed that.

“My lord, a fortnight ago, I was with King Bran. He’s been of poor health last two moons, but it is not a matter of illness, of fever or ache of any kind. It is as king’s mind has split asunder, Ser Davos. As he argues with himself…” 

“It is not easy for such a young man to wield powers that Bran has, mayhaps it is just a passing moment of weakness.” he replied. 

“I wish it were, my lord.” Samwell sighed “I thought that too, but then, that evening in Godswood of Red Keep, he warged into me.” 

“He did what?!” 

“He did what he does to ravens, what he used to do with his wolf... he overtook my mind.” Sam told him in one breath. 

“I know what warging is and I know that Bran said in first days of his reign he’ll never do that on a man or woman.” Davos responded. 

“I know that, but truly, Ser Davos, I am glad he did it. For it was not my thoughts he wanted to see, no, he wanted me to learn his...” 

“What did you learn?!” Seaworth asked with tone of surprise and curiosity.

Samwell took another breath: “Bran… I think it was Bran… told me that I must prevent a vile crime that voice ordered using his mouth… crime of murdering innocents…”

“What are you talking about, lad?! A voice?”

“Ser Davos, Bran… the Three Eyed Raven has learned of something hidden for many years… he learned that Daenerys Stormborn is alive.” 

“That’s impossible.” Davos replied. 

“My lord, of all the living, you should be the last one to say that. You saw Jon coming back from the dead… same was done to her. She lives.” 

“Hardly she is innocent. No wonder Bran wants her dead. Again.” old man replied when his mind allowed that notion of Targaryen queen living could be true. 

“Not her, Ser Davos… her children… children Jon sired…Bran said his mouth ordered them killed…”

Davos grabbed closest chair next to the Painted Table and sunk on it. 

“Seven hells… are you sure that is what he told you, you could be wrong…Bran once told me to warg a man could ruin his mind forever...” 

“What more proof do you need that Bran desperately wanted to share that; he knew he could do me damage…"

Samwell continued “…he saw his sister… the one who went at high seas… he saw her beyond the Wall… saw her telling someone of Daenerys and his children living in the east… in Meereen most likely… who else could that be but Jon...”

Young Tarly also sat down. 

“Oh… for fuck sake… but that mean she’s been alive for many years now and we never heard of her… in all those years she didn’t came after us, to rain fire and blood on us again…mayhaps she still could, but why did he ordered for the children to be killed…?! If they’re Jon’s that makes them Bran’s nephews or cousins for the love of all the gods…” Davos said loudly. 

“It was not Bran who ordered it. There is not much of a Bran left...” 

“Why would Three Eyed Raven ordered something so vicious as slaying of innocent children…all these years we believed him to be on the side of the good...” Seaworth’s voice echoed all over the chamber. 

“It was or it wasn’t the Raven, mayhaps I err in judgement, but… when he warged me I could hear Bran’s voice and another trying to loud him over and it did in the end…that voice drove Bran out from my mind… then I saw our King slumped in his chair.”

“What does all that mean!?” Davos asked, utterly bewildered. 

“I am unsure, my lord. Either the Three Eyed Raven has two faces, one good and other vile… or there is another one in the mortal body what once were Brandon Stark. I am not a man of magic, Ser Davos, but I will not deny its existence nor its powers.

What I know is that Bran wanted me to act and to prevent that crime of spilling innocent blood. Blood that will pull our Realm into chaos and disarray from which it will never recover.” Sam said in somber tone.

“Why did you call me, an old man, to tell me this? You have Brienne of Tarth, you have Tyrion.” 

“My lord, Ser Brienne has gone home to Tarth, to be at her father’s deathbead, Lord Selywn has been very ill since this year begun… And Tyrion… King’s Hand is wholly involved in arranging that murder of Daenerys and her children comes to pass.

He travelled to Myr for that purpose.”

“Seven bloody hells… has the Imp gone mad?” Davos yelled. “He served the Dragon Queen to the bitter end and now he wants her dead?” 

“He did serve her and he betrayed her. He is afraid of her coming back, ever. Moreover, Tyrion was the one who proposed Bran Stark as elected king, he will serve him too till the bitter end.

I am afraid that Lord Hand is becoming more and more as his dead father and dead sister. Ruthless more than he is clever.”

Davos asked again: “Still, what can I do to help you, Samwell? I am old and tired, never been much of a fighter, not even much of a talker…” 

“Aye, but you were a seafarer and smuggler, my lord. That makes you the best choice.” 

“Choice for what, young Tarly?” 

“To go to Meereen this very night. To find the Targaryens and assure them that true king of Six Kingdoms does not want them dead, surely not his own blood.”

“You value my life that small, archmaester?” Davos asked. 

“I value your wisdom, my lord, Daenerys and you have no bad blood, I dare to say the contrary, she liked you all those years ago… a fastest ship I could get from Redwyne fleet awaits you.”

Davos shook his head, remained silent for a long while weighing his options and then said: “If I am to go to Essos, even if only in Meereen, how will I find them? That city has as many people as King's Landing. If not more.”

Samwell nodded, then said: “Arya Stark. Go to ports, seek her ship. She should have Stark sigil on her sails.”

“Arya Stark... another woman long presumed dead. Well… fuck me…” old man said. 

“You're too old for my taste..." Samwell japed. 

“Young maester Tarly, if I come back from Meereen alive, I’ll have a word with your Free Folk wife. You’ve become rude in your more mature years, lad.”

“Agreed. Just come back alive, Ser Davos. Realm has a shortage of men like you.”

“Samwell, I will need a favor of you. To bring a letter to my wife… gods… if Daenerys does not kill me, Marya Seaworth would. After just few moons of being home, her husband is leaving again.” 

“I’ll go to Cape Wrath the moment you sail for Meereen, my lord.” 

Davos gave him a long gaze before asking: "Why are you doing this, Tarly? She burned your father and your brother. One would expect you to be on the same side as Imp is."

"Now you wrong me, Ser Davos. Yes, she did burn Dickon and my father, but that is no reason for her children to be killed. I am Tarly. Not a Lannister. My house does not have history of butchering innocent babes. I blame not children for the sins of their mother." Samwell of House Tarly, archmaester of the Citadel replied.


	19. QUEEN OF SALT AND ROCK

_Gulltown, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest_

**QUEEN OF SALT AND ROCK**

_Off to Gulltown to see the fair maid, _  
_heigh-ho, heigh-ho._  
_I'll steal a sweet kiss with the point of my blade,_  
_heigh-ho, heigh-ho._  
_I'll make her my love and we'll rest in the shade, _  
_heigh-ho, heigh-ho._

“Loose!”

A trebuchet mounted on a bow of _Iron Victory_, the flagship of the Iron Fleet, launched another flaming projectile into the walls of Gulltown.

Gulltown was the major port of the Vale of Arryn.  
It was a fine harbor, at the northern tip of the Bay of Crabs, south and east of the Eyrie and south of nearby Runestone.  
Gulltown was closest that Vale had to a city, still it appeared like a village in comparison with other port cities in Westeros, King's Landing, Lannisport and Oldtown.  
This was important port and entrance to the Vale with sheltered harbor offering anchorage to ships traveling from King's Landing to Braavos or the North.  
It never lacked for trade in many of the exotic goods making their way from across the Narrow Sea, keeping the Vale supplied even when the passes of the Mountains of the Moon are closed in winter. 

_Gulltown has fine seamstresses_, she recalled hearing somewhere, that will not help them now. 

Yara Greyjoy stood at the helm of her flagship watching how forty ships of the Iron Fleet bombards the walls with flaming stones coated in tar and oil from trebuchets or with huge bolts from scorpions, a smaller kind of ballista mounted on ship’s prow.  
Assault lasted for over two hours now and defenders could not do much save running across the battlements in search of a better cover.  
With _Iron Victory_ there were other warships of the Ironborn.  
_Iron Vengeance, Maiden's Bane, Iron Wind, White Widow, Iron Lady, Lamentation, Reaper's Wind, Kraken's Kiss…_  
Trebuchets on the ships were scaled down versions of their land counterparts but large enough to deliver serious blows to any walled city, town or fort. 

_Warhammer’s _ burning stone shot went over the walls and struck the Motherhouse of Maris, symbol of faith in Seven in this town.__  
Crews from other ships cheered.  
Ironborn do not hold faith in seven gods, they believe in their own, in Drowned God.  
_Iron Kiss_ fired flaming scorpion’s bolt and hit Gull Tower which brought another salvo of cheering. 

__ Yara decided for Iron Islands to go at war with Vale. She had a good reasoning.  
Vale, without consulting the King of Six Kingdoms, sent aid in men and arms to Kingdom of the North, thus getting involved in foreign war as interventionist. Robin Arryn sent help to his cousin Sansa.  
Pyke followed the suit and now openly joined in that fray, but on the other side, on the side of the Free Folk. 

__ _To the people of Six Kingdoms, both Northerners and wildlings were now foreigners, same as Essosi from across the Narrow Sea._  
_If Vale with that breastmilk fed lord Sweetrobin considers justified to march into foreign queen’s war without asking permission from the King or the Small Council, so can Ironborn decide at our own will whom to support;_  
Yara concluded and longboats from the Iron Islands came in number with men and weapons to the Bay of Ice and disembark at the Westwatch-by-the-Bridge to be joined with the wildlings. 

_ _It was on the other side of the lands beyond the Wall where Ironborn have crossed swords and axes with the Knights of the Vale, at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea._ _

__ That former castle of the Night’s Watch became a launching point of Northern invasion of the wildling lands and it was of utmost need to drive Stark men out of there, further south.  
The ground at ruined castle of the Crows, as their new allies called the Night’s Watch, was soaked and slippery, equal parts of mud and blood.  
Before them, behind the palisade men were turning, hurriedly trying to brace for the shock. Dozens of men, dressed in animal hide or in salt stained leather, charged with lifted axes shouting _True North!_ or _Kraken!_

_ _Meldred Merlyn of Pebbleton, island of Great Wyk, lead the Ironborn, two hundred of them, together with twice as that many of the Free Folk against the Northerner camp at Eastwatch. _ _

_ _As they reached the first line of defence, Meldred heard anguished screams, the hungry crackle of fire lit by the flaming arrows, the shuddering of war-horns, he saw his men and the foes crawling at the wooden palisade, one to tore it down, other to keep it standing, men burned and bleeding, coughing from smoke, staggering, many dying.  
A spearman wearing the orange coated shield depicting a brown bull moose, sigil of House Hornwood drove the point of his weapon up through the chest of Meldred’s horse before he could dismount, almost spilling the Ironborn from the saddle. _ _

__ Meldred hacked off the man’s head as he flashed by, and by then it was too late to rein up.  
His garron leapt up as if horse wanted to shake the spear tip off, landing with a splash and a scream in ankle-deep mud.  
Madness followed.  
His horse was killed under him, blood gushed from poor animal's throat, drenching his arms and chest.  
He managed to get on his feet again and lurched to the palisade, and then he was fighting, staggering and splashing across crooked wooden poles.  
Northerners came at him.  
Some he killed instantly, some he wounded, and some run before his axe, but always there were more.  
He lost his short sword and gained a broken spear; he didn't know how. He clutched it and stabbed, shrieking curses.  
Meldred stabbed one man in the kidney when his back was turned, and grabbed another by the leg and upended him onto the broken poles of the palisade, impaling him.  
Arrows hissed past his head and clattered off his helm; one lodged between shoulder and his breastplate armor, arrows tip stuck in the chainmail hauberk he wore beneath, but he never felt it. 

_ _Large portion of the palisade went down as some wildlings, not sparing their own lives, attached three iron hooks, each on the end of a thick rope that was pulled back by mounted men.  
After a thundering sound when wooden poles met with earth, a tide poured into the Northern camp, tide of grey and black, of fur and leather but most of all, of steel and iron. Tide that swept away all in front of it. _ _

__ _Stark! Stark! Winterfell!_ defenders shouted assembled at the main part of the camp.  
_Free folk! _came the response, louder, wilder, as if all the forest demons were shrieking at once.  
_Iron price!!!_ came from his right side, he saw his own kind charging with full rage, axes and swords and spears carving their way through flesh of the foe blocking their advancement. 

__ The battle fever. He had experienced it himself countless times and what an experience that was.  
Nothing mattered, not past, not the future, only here and now. Fear was gone, even notion of his own body was gone.  
Oft in battle he didn’t feel his wounds then, or the sweat running down into his eyes, weight of armor and arms he wore...  
There was nothing save the fight and the fight, the enemy, first one he slew, then second, then third until he’d lost count. 

_ _He saw the banner pole at the commanding tent of the Stark camp falling down, bringing the white cloth with grey head of snarling wolf in the mud. He saw the Northern leader, a young man in black-clad clothes with white sunburst on his breastplate, bellowing orders to his men whose formation was melting down: "Fall back! Fall back! Aid is coming!"_ _

_ _ _Aid, what bloody aid, you mangy wolf pup, you’re done for…_ _ _

__ Then he heard it. Trumpets. Loud, from the south. The Wolves have no trumpets, only war-horns. Then the drums.  
The new enemy was emerging from the west, from the south, coming down from the Queensroad as Wolves have named the road they built as extension of the Kingsroad that ended at Mole’s Town from where this new Northern road begun, going aside the Wall and ending at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.  
Place where today swords were broken and shields were shattered.  
They were coming in one column, horse and foot, dark glinting steel and bright coats. More and more men were pouring from the road, knights, bowmen and men-at-arms, dozens of men, hundreds of men. 

_ _ _From what hell did these fuckers come from? _  
Meldred Merlyn of Pebbleton spoke out loud but soon it was answered. Banners. Sky-blue falcon and the white moon. Vale, knights of bloody Vale. __ _ _

__ __ __ “Clever, my Queen, the Karstark pup was clever.” Meldred reported to Yara Greyjoy four days later onboard her longboat at the Bay of Ice  
“He had those Vale cunts hidden till we broke in their camp and then called them into battle. But, we’re not dumb as Boltons, no… he wanted us encircled between Wolves and Falcons as it were in the Battle of Bastards, but we’re smarter than that.  
We’ve pulled out and saved many of Ironborn and wildling lives, my Queen.”  
“Well done, Meldred. How many did we lose?”  
“Six and forty, my Queen…Wildlings roughly the same. Wolves lost twice as many, that I can swear.” he replied.  
“Tell me, did our men fell from the lances or spears of the Vale?”  
“They did, yes. As we retreated their horsemen tried to pursue and some of our fell by sword and lance but also by arrow and under hooves.”  
“That is all we need. The men sworn to Vale of Arryn shed blood of the Ironborn at the foreign soil.” Yara said in grim tone “Now we go to war with the Vale. On their soil. Summon all the Iron Fleet captains. We sail to Narrow Sea in two nights…” “Where are we going, my Queen?”  
“To sack Gulltown.” 

_ _ _ _ _ _

__ __ __ And sack it was. Town defenses yield after less than four hours of flaming projectiles from the trebuchets and fire bolts from the scorpions. Ironborn landed and breached into city.  
Yara forbade the rape and slaughter of the smallfolk, but allowed everything else.  
Any man who resembled a soldier was slain or taken into captivity to serve as thrall on the Iron Islands.  
There were no slaves on the Iron Islands, only thralls. A thrall was bound to service, but he was not anyone’s property. His children were born free, so long as they were given to the Drowned God. And thralls were never bought nor sold for gold.  
A man paid the iron price for thralls, or else had none. 

__ __ __ All of the Gulltown young womenfolk was taken too. To become the salt wives.  
In Ironborn culture a salt wife is a concubine, a woman kidnapped by the men of the Iron Islands during raids.  
An Ironborn may keep several salt wives, but only one Ironborn rock wife, a true wife born and bred on the Iron Islands, which keeps his household and his family while he is at the sea.  
Salt wives are bound to their captors in a religious ceremony, though it is viewed as a lesser ceremony than that of their rock wife.  
The number of salt wives kept by an Ironborn talks of his stance in the ranks of his people and of the strength of his lust for women. 

__ __ __ Yara knew that most, if not all, of these women will be returned to Vale as part of prisoner trade once this war is over.  
Salt wives were rare thing on the Iron Islands of this age, but she relished the notion of returning the young Gulltown maids to their own after being besmirched by the Ironborn.  
On her ship, _Iron Victory_, she hosted one girl from House Shett and one daughter and one sister of Lord Gerold Grafton. 

_Not so comely girls_, she thought upon seeing them, _ I don’t even crave to see them naked_. 

__ __ __ Denuding captives was oft a part of them learning obedience to their new masters, but it mattered not at all to Yara. She’ll return them to their fathers for a good price.  
_I find more pleasure in bringing the sigil of House Grafton to life, she smirked._  
House Grafton had on its red-black shield a yellow tower, burning.  
It represented the Gull Tower.  
And that building of Gulltown was set to torch. Among many other halls and houses. 

_ _ _ When mounted column of House Royce of Runestone came to relief of Gulltown, it was too late.  
Except for Sweetrobin to call his banners and press the Red Keep demanding for the punishment of the Ironborn. _ _ _

__ __ __ Next step Yara took was to land on Dragonstone. She saw no use in returning home, to Pyke, on the other side of Westeros.  
Her war was here, in the Narrow Sea, with Vale.  
Vale that after sack of Gulltown had no port and it was cut off from the sea trade. Their main port was now King’s Landing, many leagues southwards. And King sitting in the Red Keep were now to make the move. 

__ __ __ Queen of Salt and Rock awaited that move on the island where she swore allegiance to the last Targaryen in exchange for freedom of Iron Islands.  
Awaited with fleet of close to fifty warships and many more were coming.  
A raven came soon. 

_ _ _ From King’s Landing. With wax seal featuring the hand. Tyrion Lannister. The Imp.  
_Mayhaps he wants to know where is his sellsword, one that he seems to have misplaced in last moon or two._ It was a message of invitation to parlay at King’s Landing, at the court. _ _ _

_ _ _ _Only a fool would accept such invitation, I was paraded once in chains through King’s Landing, it won’t happen to me twice. _ _ _ _

__ __ __ She sent her reply:  
_To Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King, the Iron Islands agree to a parlay with the Crown and the Vale of Arryn._  
_It will take place on Dragonstone or it will not take place at all. If the Crown agrees, parlay can be held on sixth day from today. _  
_Vale is free to choose its witness at the parlay. The Ironborn choose Dorne. _

__

_ _ _ _ _ _

__ __ __ Yara knew that Crown has no strength to force her to come to King’s Landing nor was the Royal Fleet able to drove her warships away from Dragonstone  
She only had to wait for Tyrion to consider all the options. Of which he had two.  
To come to Dragonstone or parlay to fail. 

__ __ __ Six days have passed since reply was sent and at the Chamber of the Painted Table, a group of men and women assembled  
On behalf of the King, his Hand was present, Tyrion Lannister.  
On behalf of the Vale of Arryn and their lord Robin Arryn, Yohn Royce was there, a tall and large, grey haired man wearing his light-brown cloak with inscriptions in runes.  
As witness for the Vale came Edmure Tully, middle aged man of auburn hair and trimmed beard wearing surcoat embroidered with silver fish and striped in red and blue. 

_ _ _ For Iron Islands spoke her, Yara Greyjoy and for the occasion she donned brown quilted tunic and breeches of green wool.  
As witness for the Ironborn came Princess of Dorne, Arianne Martell. Her dark hair was now in simple braid, falling over her shoulder; over dun color breeches she wore a sleeveless brown gambeson leaving her arms bare. No weapons of any sort were allowed in the chamber. _ _ _

__ __ __ “Lady Yara, I recall last seeing you in this very room…” Tyrion took the opening word.  
“Aye and I recall you serving a different monarch back then.” she cut him off.  
“Well, I was same then as I am now in sense of office I hold while you have progressed to undisputed ruler of the Iron Islands from a fugitive running before your own uncle.” he replied.  
“Go to the point, Lannister.” Yohn Royce said “You can share memories with this pirate in your own time.” 

__ __ __ Yara gave the old man a killing look, while Tyrion cleared his throat:  
“Very well, the point of today’s not so merry assembly is the armed conflict between the Iron Islands and the Vale of Arryn.”  
“What armed conflict, Lannister?! A treacherous plunder of Gulltown! Without any cause or a previous declaration of hostility.” Royce almost shouted “An act of piracy for which all responsible should hang, no matter how highborn they are.” 

__ __ __ “Without cause you say? The cause, my lord, was your knights killing the Ironborn at the Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.  
On the land given to the Night’s Watch thousands of years ago, the land that is now stolen by Sansa Stark, the Queen in the North, the land which not only is not part of the Vale but not part of Six Kingdoms.  
What are the knights of the Vale looking for at the Wall? Fame or honor?”  
“One might ask what do Ironborn seek beyond the Wall, lady Yara.” Edmure Tully said not without trace of caution.  
“We were invited, my lord, by Wildlings who suffer from Stark invasion of their lands, lands that were given to them by previous ruler of independent North. What was his name again? Jon Snow…?” she replied.  
“It is a queenly prerogative to alter the previous agreements, my lady, which you’re very well aware of.” Tyrion stated. 

__ __ __ “And it is prerogative of the Ironborn to give aid to those who need one. We have not sided with a foreign kingdom as Vale did. We have sided with the people that are being robbed of their homes.”  
Yohn Royce and Edmure Tully nearly burst in laughter.  
“Ha…” said the elderly man with runes on his cloak “…do you truly suggest that you’ve send your longboats to wildlings out of goodness of your heart. Your sort lusts for reiving, for raiding and looting, for rape and blood… in that you have found kindred spirits, the wildlings, another heathen lot.”  
“And you, why did you send your host to North, to a foreign country now, to protect the weak or is Vale in truth assisting Sansa in her war of conquest? Your lord is her first cousin. And you did that without counselling the Crown.” 

__ __ __ Dornish princess break her silence with serious tone  
“All of you here are one way or the other related to Sansa Stark. You, lord Hand, were or still are her husband. We did not receive news of your marriage being annulled.  
Lord Arryn is Sansa’s cousin, lord Edmure is her uncle and of course the King is her brother… it is all one big family affair. Just as it was when North was allowed to leave the Realm. Should we expect Vale to join Sansa’s kingdom?  
As you’re already warring at her side, that would be the next step. Kingdom of North and of Vale…  
Do you, lord Tyrion, really think that Dorne will sit idly and watch how larger Stark family is carving up Westeros? We will act.” 

_ _ _ "Lady Arianne, I assure you in the name of King Bran that in decision making he’s not been guided by blood relations of any kind. He does not even consider himself to be a Stark.” Lannister said with calming tone. _ _ _

_ _ _ <“What King considers him to be or not is of lesser importance. It is a fact that this conquest led by Sansa Stark affected treaties thousands of years old and King did nothing.” Arianne replied  
“Result is this war on the Wall, war Sansa was losing before gallant knights of the Vale came to the rescue. Is Realm at war with the wildlings, war that serves only appetites of one overreaching woman? It is a simple question, lord Tyrion.” _ _ _

__ __ __ “No, the Realm is not involved in the Northern-Wildling war.” he replied.  
“Then can we expect of King to issue an order or proclamation, telling Vale to bring its troops back?” Yara asked.  
“Absolutely you cannot!” Royce replied “Our men are there to protect the settlers and the farmers in the lands Queen Sansa joined with the North from wildlings and your kind. Lord Tyrion, if we withdrew, iron scum will stay.”  
“Only scum are men in full armor on heavy horse going after women and children in their villages.  
As low as dishonour… those should be the words of House Arryn.” Yara hissed at Royce.  
“I will not suffer insults by pirates, lord Tyrion. I will leave this parlay.” old man threatened. 

__ __ __ “Now, now, my ladies and my lords, before we reach an impasse…” Tyrion gestured for all to calm “… I will suggest the course of action to defuse this very dangerous crisis, mayhaps the greatest threat for stability of Six Kingdoms in all of our eleven-year existence.” “What do you propose, my lord?” Edmure Tully asked.  
Lannister sighed: “As first step, the Iron Fleet will return to Iron Islands and vacate the Dragonstone which was declared to be abandoned by the King himself. That should be done in next three days.  
Ironborn will also cease providing aid to the wildlings and not sail to far North anymore. It should also take place within next few days. The Vale following all that will return their troops from the North, within course of one moon from now.” 

__ __ __ Yara listened his proposition calmly and then clapped hands:  
“Well, if there was doubt of whom the Crown prefers in this dispute, it is clear now.  
You’d like for Ironborn to withdrew home in less than a week and you’d let Vale to linger up North for an entire moon… until Sansa regains her control over Eastwatch and Hardhome once again, aided by the Vale men.” 

_ _ _ “It is quicker to return home from the far North by ship than by land, Ironborn return home will last shorter than Vale riding home.” Tyrion tried to explain. _ _ _

_ _ _ _“No, all the men from all sides return at the same time or we have no agreement.” she cut him off “What you proposed just gives time to Sansa Stark and her grand schemes.”  
“That is preposterous!” Royce was loud “Our men who were sent North are stretched thin from Winterfell to Eastwatch, we must assemble them first, then form a baggage trains for return to Vale… we cannot do that in matter of one week…” _ _ _ _

__ __ __ “Either all the not-Stark and not-wildling men are to return from the North in the same time or there will be no agreement.” Yara replied dryly.  
“When will you return the women and girls you stole from Gulltown?” old man asked.  
“When you return their fathers and brothers from killing Free Folk women and girls. Or I can strip the ladies of House Grafton in their nameday suits and tie them to ships’ prows as figureheads. They’re far from mermaids but they’ll do.”  
“Damn pirate scum!” he yelled “Lord Tyrion, I have heard enough. Vale leaves this parlay and expects from the Crown to solve this matter. Until then, the Eyrie is at war with Pyke.” 

_ _ _ Royce and Tully have marched out from the chamber discussing loudly along the way. Tyrion, Yara and Arianne remained.  
Hand of the King sighed: “Lady Greyjoy, if your attacks on the Vale should continue, the Crown will have no other but to treat that as open rebellion. I appeal to your good sense to consider what this stupid conflict could mean for the Ironborn.” _ _ _

_ _ _ “You were there, remember, in Meereen… you, I, my dead brother and our dead Queen when I asked for freedom of Iron Islands and she gave it to us. We asked and she gave us our independence.  
I didn’t press it then, but I will press it now if your Six Kingdoms were to serve only to the wolves of Winterfell.” Yara said with anger. _ _ _

__ __ __ And Iron Islands will not be alone…” Arianne Martell added “…Dorne has had enough of this travesty as well. Westeros is not one huge holdfast of House Stark.  
Unbent, unbowed, unbroken, lord Tyrion, those are Dornish words. Dragons could not bring us into the fold.  
So why do you think we will lower our heads to a raven? No matter how many eyes he has. Tread carefully with Kraken or you will stir the nest of vipers…” 

_ _ _ _Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King, realised then that Six Kingdoms are no longer mere fractures. The Realm has cracked._ _ _ _


	20. ARYA

_Meereen, Essos, year 316 After Conquest_

**ARYA **

Tonight she supped with her brother by heart and cousin by blood.  
Jon who now bore his true father’s name, name of dragonlords, seemed content.  
_He is now as far from that broken recluse as I am from being perfumed noble lady in silk dress serving as decoration at some highborn lord’s side.  
Less than two moons ago, Jon was alone in the haunted forest, half mad, now he knows he has a family. And he is close to them._

She could not say that Jon was happy. He was close to his twin daughters and to their mother, but still he kept distance.  
Daenerys was not a forgiving woman. No woman or man would forgive her or his killer easily.  
When Arya tried to put herself in Dany’s place, she concluded that there was no chance in seven hells that Gendry would be left living if he were in Jon’s place.  
Arya would go and kill him in most gruesome manner on the second day of her new life. 

She knew that Daenerys will not do any harm to Jon. Twins grew to like and love him, even after only a brief time with him. He captured their hearts as girls did hers.

Arya Stark of Winterfell and her ship, the carrack named _Nymeria_, have stayed in Meereen for over two moons.  
After ferrying Meereenese noblewoman Shazza Galare to her new husband in Tolos, crew which was grumbling about it had a change of heart on the matter of such short voyages which if cleverly negotiated and arranged could bring decent gain.  
And given the state of affairs on the Essosi roads there were many opportunities for ships to make short journeys for a lot of golden coins. 

Land transport in Westeros was far more expensive than shipping, in some cases tenfold more, so merchants or armies needing to move goods over long distances used sea or rivers whenever they could. Seven Kingdoms have actually built four proper roads, most known be the Kingsroad going from Storm’s End, passing through the capital city of Westeros and stretching all the way to Castle Black at the Wall, almost two thousand miles. 

From the Oldtown to Highgarden and further to King’s Landing led the Roseroad, named after the sigil of House Tyrell.  
Goldroad which got its name after main trait of House Lannister was connecting King’s Landing with Casterly Rock.  
Fourth was the Riverroad, a route leading from Casterly Rock to Riverrun and Harrenhal.  
Best of four was Kingsroad, but all in truth were just glorified ox-cart trails, covered in dust during summer and frozen mud in the winter.  
To ship men or goods from Gulltown to White Harbor would take five days even with rough sea while the land transport would last two weeks if weather was merciful. 

Good portion of Essosi roads were those that survived the fall of their builders, the Valyrian Freehold, roads in far better, almost incomparable state to their Westerosi counterparts. Yet, this woven net of overland routes had different problem which lasted for over ten years now.  
The payment of tributes for safe passage to the Dothraki khalasars.  
It could not be avoided when cargo was headed for the inland cities.  
Dothraki were as inevitable as shadows on a day with sunshine.  
Safe passage tribute has become the part of everyday life of Essosi merchants, even written contracts had tributes stated as part of the costs. 

Essosi cities on the sea coast, be it the Free Cities on the Narrow Sea or those on the shores of the Summer Sea, when trading among themselves could have resort to shipping and avoid the land transport all together and that would also remove the costs of safe passage payments. This was a good measure in dealing with the tributes imposed by Dothraki, but it had many shortcomings. When Dothraki found out that certain merchant was using shipping to reduce the costs of tributary payment, they would just double the amount of tribute next time his caravan would have to pass across the inland Essos which could not be avoided. 

Qohor and Norvos in the western Essos were inland cities, just as far from the sea as Winterfell, Harrenhal or the Eyrie were in Westeros.  
Water could not serve as way to deliver people or goods to those places. Even Selhorys on the east bank of the mighty river Rhoyne was dependent of caravan routes. 

Seafaring for sake of trade still flourished in Essos.  
When Dothraki were given their share, merchandise that came by land would get loaded on the ships and carried across the sea to its journey's end. Some merchants, those who learned from their own sufferings, still would use ships to transport some part of their cargo which could’ve gone by the land, but tributaries would only increase its price. Usually that was done by loading the cargo in hidden coves or at the open sea, from one vessel to another, far from prying eyes. Dothraki had spies in every port, among laborers on the docks, even merchants would betray each other to them.  
_Nymeria_ became one of such ships, a tribute runner, as Arya japed at her own account.  
A vessel of exploration coming from far side of the world, was unsuspicious, having no affiliation with local merchants. 

Ship with wolf’s head on the prow would leave the port, sail to the open sea or around the nearby isles, there a boat or smaller vessel would wait for Nymeria and loading of the cargo would take place. Afterwards, Arya’s ship would sail to one of the cities on the southern shore of western Essos and cargo would change hands again, being handed to its destined owner. In such manner, highly priced goods would go from Tolos or Astapor, goods for which Arya guaranteed discretion with even her not knowing what they were ferrying, to Volantis and her vassal towns of Volon Therys and Valysar, north of the wide delta of the Rhoyne. 

_Crew grumbled at first, of course. No wonder there, Arya thought. _  
They were becoming weary of Meereen, of its heat, of scents in cheap brothels and smells in cheap taverns.  
Grumbling ceased, though, when fruits of these covert cargo shipments came. Merchants pay well for _Nymeria’s_ services. 

Brothels were not cheap anymore so Dalton Pyke, ever the whining loudmouth, could roll with two Lysene courtesans in priciest of brothels of Volantis.  
Warrick Manderly indulged himself in eating, a trait he shared with his kinsmen back at White Harbor.  
Artos Costayne and Devan Lantell enjoyed both, naked flesh and roasted meat. But not before they have found a new healer for _Nymeria._

Though truth was he has found them. 

Illeo Maegyr, a man of age close with Arya’s, saw the ship docked at the port in Volantis and came to present himself.  
He was second cousin of Talisa Maegyr, wife of Robb Stark who died with him, butchered at the Red Wedding.  
Illeo was of slim built, dark hair and olive skin; one of older men among Arya’s crew remembered Talisa when Northern host was camped at Harrenhal and likeness this man had with his murdered kinswoman was there. Illeo also choose the calling of healer. Though he was of family being among Volantene Old Blood, the noblemen which could prove unbroken descent from Old Valyria itself, he could not have hoped for position of power. 

Volantis was ruled by triarchs. They were neither kings nor princes, but instead chosen by every freeborn landowner.  
The triarchs were chosen from among the noble families who could trace their lineage from old Valyria and would serve for a year, until the first day of the new year. Triarchs of Volantis have been considered so elevated that they’re not allowed to have their feet touch the ground during their one year of service. 

The triarchs came from one of two political parties: the tigers and the elephants.  
The elephants were the party of the merchants and moneylenders, while the tigers were of old aristocracy and warriors.  
The elephants advocated trade and the tigers advocated conquest by the sword.  
Tigers have held sway over Volantis for almost a century after the doom of Valyrian Freehold, the mother of all nine of the Free Cities.  
That rule led Volantis into conflict with seven of remaining eight Free Cities which ended in sound Volantene defeat and the elephants who preferred the way of peaceful trade took power from the tigers. Ever since then at no time has more than one tiger been named triarch. 

Maegyrs were of tiger party and only most prominent men of that family could aspire of becoming triarchs or high ranked in the Volantene authority.  
It was not the case with Illeo. He politely came to greet the ship bearing the sigil of House Stark, one whose young king Robb his cousin has wed out of love that ended in treachery and bloodshed of which Talisa’s family learned many moons later.  
Arya received him, him being her family by marriage and in conversation that followed his healer’s calling came up.  
She offered him a station aboard _Nymeria_ and they agreed on a binding contract of service for duration of ship’s next long voyage. 

One that would take _Nymeria_ sailing around entire Essos, from Meereen on its southern shores to Nefer on coast of the Shivering Sea.  
By land, going eastwards one should pass a bit less than five thousand miles from Meereen to Nefer, across the Dothraki Sea, the Bone Mountains, then the desert of Great Sand Sea and the plains of Jogos Nhai. Few ever took that road, not one ever managed to finish it. 

By sea, though it were three times longer journey in mile length, one could hope to reach the port of Nefer alive and unharmed, battered by cold waves of the Shivering Sea but safe from perils which prey on that deadly road by land. 

Arya was content that day in Volantis, she has finally found the proper replacement for her two perished maesters.  
Then, she was even more content. She stumbled upon a Tyroshi captain who was seeking for a buyer of his swan-ship.  
_Whoring and gambling sometimes ruin seafarers, worse than pirates or storms,_ she mulled over,_ for this one was either to sell his ship or himself to slavery._

Swan-ships were large vessels, capable for long journeys at high seas, built in the Summer Isles.  
People of Westeros called them so due to their large, white sails and figureheads on the ships’ prows that oft depicted birds.  
They were known to sail well and faster than galleys. 

Artos Costayne, _Nymeria’s_ first mate and Warrick Manderly, helmsman, together with Arya took a good look at Tyroshi ship.  
Every bulkhead, every deck board, every screw and bolt were thoroughly checked. 

“What say you, Warrick?” Arya asked him.  
“Ah…fook it, lass, ya know I shite on ‘em swanships, but ya won’t get bett’r ship for t’is price, ya won’t. Now, don’t ya say nuthin’ to t’at Tyroshi cunt.  
Try to bargain, may’aps he can lower the price for a wee bit…”  
“Artos? What do you think of this purchase?” she asked.  
“We’re preparing to navigate all around Essos, Arya, we all like our direwolf of the seas, our _Nymeria_, but she’s been a lone wolf for ten long years. Time for her to get a company. Two ships on a long voyage are better than one. We can man this ship with some of the crew we have and we’ll fill the ranks when we get to Pentos or Braavos, there are always available Westerosi sailors there.”  
“Agreed. You will be the captain of our second ship.” Arya said to him.  
“I am honored, Arya, with your trust in me.” Costayne replied.  
“Don’t go further with the formalities or I’ll appoint Dalton Pyke as your first mate…”  
“Gods forbid, Arya…” he laughed.  
Warrick blurted: “Lady of Spices… seven ‘ells, whatta stupid name for a ship…”  
“She won’t have it for long, I have a better one in mind.” she said. 

“_Rhaelyanna._”  
Arya looked at both of her nieces, sitting in the Kinvara’s chambers on the uppermost lever of pyramid that served as temple of R’hllor in Meereen.  
She wanted to meet her nieces and Kinvara saw to it on occasion when their mother was attending a meeting with the city merchants.  
Arya knew that Daenerys blames her along with high priestess for that dangerous dragon flight so she steered clear from Targaryen woman.  
Unsullied guards were no problem for her to pass by, they were one of wonders of Essos, but Arya was trained to be another. Wonder of mystery and death. 

“_Rhaelyanna_, that is how my swan-ship will be named, after you two, my little water dancers.”  
Girls faces were now in wonder, their eyes going from Arya to Kinvara and back to Arya…  
“Truly, Arya, truly the ship will be called like that?” Rhae asked. “Have I ever lied to you, ñuha dōna?” 

Girl shook her head, smiling with content.  
“Can we come to port and see her, your new ship?” Lyanna asked.  
“Of course you can. If you promise that this time you will not get into another knife fight.” Arya said to her other niece through laughter  
“With the sword skills you have now, you’d cut your way through five grown men.”  
“Only if they get in my way.” Lya replied. 

Affairs in Meereen delayed Daenerys from leaving for Port Yhos. That was what Kinvara told Arya.  
Mayhaps it was true or mayhaps was last Targaryen born on Dragonstone lingering here to see how will last male Targaryen fare as leader of city host of this ancient and large city. Arya was no longer certain. 

“And how is City Guard progressing?” Arya asked between bites.  
“Truth be told very well… first company is already in mid-training. And the matter of their attire was finally solved.” Jon said with grin “It took some persuasion but I let you know that the City Guard of Meereen will be formally dressed in light brown linen boots, dark-blue or dark-green trousers, brown knee-cut tunic, leather jerkin and dun cloak with hood and a black scarf, so that when needed they can cover their heads and hide their faces…” 

Arya first chuckled, then start laughing:  
“You have dressed the Meereen guardsmen in what seems to be garments of House Reed and those of Night’s Watch rangers. It can’t be more Westerosi than that.”  
“Arya, people who sit on that Council of Citizens cannot agree on color of shite sometimes. I sometimes wonder how did they governed with this city for this long.  
If guardsmen were to wait for councilors to agree what they should be wearing, I’d be training five hundred naked men.” he said laughing.  
“Five hundred already?!” she was surprised.  
“Those are ones that were found able enough to join. I’d say that two dozens of possible recruits are taken in every day.  
In three sennights first thousand men will be under my command, if they’d continue to come in these numbers. Former slaves are even leaving the Second Sons to join the guard.”  
“Second Sons, men of that Daario Naharis” she said.  
“You know him?” Jon asked.  
“We’ve met.” Arya replied dryly “Not a company I would keep.”  
“And in course of last moon about score of once serjeants in the Golden Company have come to First Barracks to offer their services.”  
“First Barracks… What an inspiring name.” Arya noted.  
“One that will not cause another futile debate between once slaves and once masters.” Jon said. 

He explained her that former fighting pit was now called First Barracks, a simplest choice in naming, every other quarter where guardsmen will be stationed shall be given a name that will tell of the part of the city where it is found or by some hero of the old, one that is well received among former slaves and former slave masters.  
_A precious few barracks will bear names of ancient heroes_, Jon concluded, _Meereen is still city of two peoples, those who once served and those who once were served. They need days to agree upon simple matters… _

How the guardsmen shall be dressed was one of them. It lasted for days.  
In the end, Jon tricked the Meereenese councilors with his proposal of guard’s attire, based partially on the clothes that Crannogmen and rangers wore in the North.  
It ended the needless bickering and saved time needed for City Guard to do what they were intended, train and assume its duties.  
“A ragtag bunch, my lord, unworthy of greatness of Meereen.” Eraz lo Hazkar commented upon seeing first guardsmen on the streets. Jon replied:  
“Army that’s doing good on parades is usually doing poor at the battlefield.” 

When Arya asked him of Daenerys, Jon had nothing new to say.  
“Only four moons ago when I met her in Port Yhos, her hatred for you was such that I was sure she’d kill you the very moment you two meet. Yet, she did not.”  
“She has a good heart, Arya. I stabbed that good heart. To my everlasting shame and dishonor.” he said, with absent gaze.  
“You had to stop her.”  
“With dagger? It was wrong. I knew that the moment I did it. She died in my arms with such hurt and disillusion in her eyes… I dreamt of it for ten years.  
I should have talked with her more. I should have been with her when she was sinking into darkness.”  
“Why didn’t you?” Arya asked “After that feast in Winterfell, I was riding south to King’s Landing. I still don’t know all what happened.”  
“You never asked.” Jon said.  
“Cersei, Jon, all I thought about in those days was killing her. So, I am asking you now. Why weren’t you with her?”  
“I was torn apart, Arya. When I learned that she is my aunt…”  
Arya looked at him with frown:  
“For fuck sake, Jon… that was troubling you? Her being your aunt?! Our grandparents were first cousins, Cregan Stark married his two nephews with his granddaughters,  
uncles with half-nieces that is. We’re not strangers to kinfolk marriages, us Starks. And, you two loved each other before knowing what you are to each other.  
Also, don’t forget… without you bedding your aunt, I would not have been an aunt.” she smiled at him.  
“I fucked up, didn’t I?” Jon said.  
“She and you both.” Arya said “But, you’re mending things. Your daughters took you in their hearts right away.”  
“Aye, they have…” Jon agreed “…their father now must make a mend for all those years he was absent.”  
Arya shrugged: “They would now be Princesses of Seven Kingdoms if path of events were different.” 

Jon said nothing, he was not willing to ponder of stolen future. 

Arya was silent for a while, then exclaimed loudly: “Ha! How I never thought of that before…!”  
“Of what?” her brother asked.  
“My father was Ned Stark. Your mother was Lyanna Stark. If line of Ned Stark produces no heirs and what we now know is that Bran cannot father children,  
that Sansa is still unwed and that I have chosen not to be someone’s lady wife… if there would be no grandchildren of Ned Stark, the line of Lyanna Stark inherits.  
Your daughters are at the moment heirs of Winterfell and the Northern crown…” 

Arya laughed: “Imagine look on Sansa’s face if she’d knew her successor’s name could be Lyanna of House Targaryen, First of her name, Queen in the North.”  
Jon laughed too: “Now, that thought alone would give her many sleepless nights.”  
“She is not sleeping well these days as it is…” came from Arya.  
“What do you mean by that?” he asked.  
“Jon, when I was in Volantis, there were ships from Westeros, from Gulltown and Lannisport, men from both ships told the same account. North is at war again.”  
Jon frowned: “How?! With whom?!”  
“With wildlings… Free Folk. Sansa made a royal decree which proclaimed all the lands of the Gift and those beyond the Wall as part of the Kingdom of the North. Night’s Watch has only Castle Black now, they are at Sansa’s mercy, but Free Folk resisted…”  
Jon was angry now: “Has Sansa gone mad? She broke all the treaties and pacts that were upheld for thousands of years. Is land so important to her?  
As North does not have it in abundance. And you told me once she is the smartest person you’ve ever known.” 

Arya shrugged: “She was, but smart people can become very arrogant and power hungry. I saw that when I served as cupbearer of Tywin Lannister.  
Old lion was smart, very smart. But all he wanted was Lannisters ruling over everyone… and our sister spent many years among the lions, Jon. He has a southern mind.  
Free Folk mean nothing to her. Still, it appears she is losing the war against them. Captain from Gulltown said that three weeks ago Northern force was destroyed at Hardhome.” 

Jon sighed: “Sansa… seven hells…”  
Arya was silent for a whle, then asked: “Jon, who were the people you’ve learned the most after you went to the Wall?  
“Jeor Mormont, maester Aemon, uncle Benjen though he disappeared shortly after I came to the Wall… I’ve learned a lot from Mance Ryder as well.”  
“And Sansa learned from Baelish, Olenna Tyrell, even from Cersei. She knows more of the game of ruling than anyone I know.”  
“Still, I would never expect she is so foolish to start a war over a damn land, land she doesn’t even have people to farm it. She could ruin the North with this.”  
Jon said angrily and then remained silent, as he was contemplating something. 

“Jon, what’s on your mind?”  
Arya was now afraid of him doing something rash and truly stupid, like returning to Westeros, to the North to try to save it once more.  
“Nothing…” he replied “…Sansa will have to taste whatever stew she has cooked.”  
Arya nodded: “She is my sister, I love her, but this new war she brought on herself. She is a Queen; she does not need me or you to win her battles anymore.”  
Jon sighed: “Wars of Westeros are behind me… my life and future is here now.” 

Arya bid good night to Jon and walked down the stairway, leaving temple pyramid, when on first level she was greeted by Kinvara:  
“Lady Arya…”  
“Oh… do you people preach this late as well? I thought the night is dark and full of terrors…” she said to the priestess.  
“Mock me as you like, my lady, but all that I’ve said to you has come to be. And some other things will come to be.”  
“Pray, tell me one at least…” Arya asked with scoffing tone.  
"A sellsword…” Kinvara replied, her tone of voice same as ever.  
“… A sellsword, a septon and a maester enter a brothel... that is how japes begin…” Arya mocked again.  
“A sellsword sent by Lord of Darkness is after your nieces. Lord of Darkness wants their blood. He wants them dead. He wants blood of a dragon removed of this world.  
Will this stop your mockery, Arya Stark of Winterfell?” 


	21. BRIENNE

_King’s Landing, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest_

**BRIENNE**

“Due to misfortunate unravelling of the events, the Crown now is in tight spot, we could be making that jump from frying pan into the fire.  
No matter what move we decide on, it will be the wrong one.” Tyrion Lannister spoke with his known tone when he wanted to depict the direness of situation  
“If we’re to show more than declaratory condemning of the Iron Islands for their partaking in the war between North and wildlings, that will cause the Dorne to rebel again. If we’re to stay only on condemning the Ironborn with no action, the Vale of Arryn could leave the Six Kingdoms and unite with the Kingdom of the North since the Realm in their eyes has failed to end the Ironborn aggression.” 

She has served as Lady Commander of the Kingsguard of King Bran, one called the Broken for eleven years now.  
Eleven years wearing the armour with the emblem of a raven, out of respect for Bran being the Three Eyed Raven.  
She was never much of politics, into games and schemes. Her late father was.  
As it was expected to be as the lord of Evenfall Hall and island of Tarth.  
He never said it, but Brienne was certain that her father was saddened with the knowledge that his House will die with Brienne.  
She was his only living child, she chose a man’s calling, bearing armour and sword and riding into battles, she was knighted and become the commander of sworn brotherhood of knights that renounced holding lands and having wives and children. Or in her case, having a husband. 

When she was younger, he tried. Her father successfully found three men willing to betroth her, though all the betrothals fell through. Or not even having a husband, that would have also pleased Selwyn Tarth, just having a child so that family name can live on.  
Her childbearing years were passing, slowly but surely, she already has counted seven and thirty namedays.  
The only man she was willing to have a child with was long dead, he died here, at the Red Keep of King’s Landing, killed by the rubble, by stones and bricks.  
That was the only man she ever lay with. 

She knew her father was disappointed, not in her, never in her, but with the notion that House Tarth will die out and some other noble house will be given their Sapphire Isle by the Lord Paramount of Stormlands, that someone not of their blood will enjoy the lakes, waterfalls, soaring mountains, high meadows and shadowed vales of their island home. Brienne could not help her father in that matter.  
She spent most of her life as someone to scorn, to shun and to pity, the latter was the best case. She did try to dress and act like a proper lady when she was a young girl, but it made things only worse, she was met with mockery and disdain for her non comely appearance and lack of highborn lady’s social graces.  
When she decided that calling of man at arms is more suited to her talents, Brienne received only contempt and resentment for being a woman who wields the sword, despite her considerable skill. That was long ago, she did not even count twenty years of life when they ceased to mock her.  
And now, most of those who have mocked her were either dead or maimed, old and forgotten. 

Selwyn respected her, but she knew he did not go happily off this world.  
That made her sad as her thoughts wandered back home, back to Tarth from which she returned to the royal court barely two sennights ago, after she laid her father to his final rest. Before that, she spent moon and a half with him, to make up for all those years being away from home. 

She returned to a Realm which was crumbling from within. 

Small Council had a meeting and she fought to stay focused, not letting her mind to dwell upon the matters of Tarth and who will be island’s new lord.  
With her, there were Tyrion Lannister, the Hand of the King, Samwell Tarly, the archmaester, Andrew Estermont, the Master of Laws…. and newly appointed Master of Ships, Monterys of House Velaryon who succeeded Ser Davos Seaworth. He was a young man, of five and twenty years, but a lord of this ancient house since his eight nameday. 

House Velaryon was an old house, with the blood of old Valyria in its veins.  
If their family histories can be trusted, the Velaryons had come to Westeros even before the Targaryens whose oldest and closest allies they have been for centuries. Under Targaryen kings the Velaryons served as master of ships so often that at times the office had seemed hereditary and provided much of the Iron Throne's royal fleet. Lord of the Tides was a title traditionally claimed by the heads of House Velaryon and Monterys had been claiming it since he was a little boy. Since the fall of Mad King, Aerys Targaryen, Second of his name, Velaryons were sworn to House Baratheon. 

Being of Valyrian descent, Velaryons often had Valyrian features, silver hair, purple eyes, and pale skin. Monterys’ eyes were not purple but green, but he had the hair of silver colour. _He is thin but comely_, Brienne thought. She will miss Davos, his smallfolk wisdoms and patience, patience most of all. 

Surely, she was not missing Bronn, that man disappeared not only from the Small Council but from the face of this earth it seemed.  
Samwell was troubled, she could tell the first day she came back from Tarth. But she knew Tarly would not talk about it and she’d never question him. 

King was ill, that matter had troubled her the most. Bran the Broken would seldom leave his chambers, it lasted almost as long as this year.  
Though king’s mind was not affected, at least when with the Kingsguard, he seemed to be slowly fading away.  
_Do these powers drain the man’s strength in such measure,_ she oft asked herself. In ill hour has Bran became ill.  
The Realm was in a state as this one long ago, when war of the five kings were to begin.

“To seriously counter the fleet of Iron Islands, my Lord Hand, we would need the whole royal fleet, Redwyne fleet from Arbor and fleet from Lannisport…” young Velaryon said “…and yet victory could not be guaranteed. Too few of royal warships were built under old Master of Ships, Crown simply did not have enough funds, priority being to return the debt to Iron Bank of Braavos.”  
Tyrion nodded with sigh: “I am aware of it, lord Monterys. Though deployment of the royal fleet is not an option, not at this moment. Sadly, no matter what move we decide upon, one part of the Realm will be gone.”  
“Not necessarily, my lord.” Velaryon replied. “Ironborn and Vale are warring in the North, each for his own allies, the Eyrie for Winterfell and Pyke for… whatever place wildlings consider their capital. We cannot force Ironborn nor the knights of the Vale to withdraw from that war, but mayhaps we can be a mediator between North and the wildlings.  
If that brings end to this unfortunate war, the Greyjoy and the Arryn will have nothing to do in the North. This war started with Queen Sansa’s desires to rule with new, larger territory. If she can be persuaded to halt her expansion…” 

Tyrion shrugged: “My young lord Velaryon, I commend your political insight, but you yet have to cross paths with Sansa Stark. When her mind is set on something, she hardly abandons that goal. True, easiest way out of this fuckery would be for North and the wildlings to stop butchering each other.” 

Then he paused and looked straight at the Lady Commander of the Kingsguard:  
“Ser Brienne, I know that you have just recently returned to King’s Landing and I am sorry for the loss of your lord father on my behalf and on behalf of all present here. Unfortunately, I have to ask of you to take a long road as envoy of our King… to travel to Winterfell with written proposal to Queen Sansa. Of all of us here, she will listen to you the most.”  
“What sort of proposal, my lord?” she asked.  
“One that will advise ending of the war with the wildlings for certain period of time, enough for all the involved parties from Six Kingdoms to return home.  
Will you go and represent the King and the Realm?” “I will, my lord.” she replied. 

When meeting was adjourned, Samwell went straight away from the Hand’s chamber returning to the part of the Red Keep where office of Grand maester were.  
Sam was not named Grand maester, he remained archmaester but held the office of his predecessors, some of which were men of treachery and schemes.  
Brienne followed him and soon was able to place a hand on his shoulder which made Tarly to stop and turn around:  
“Oh...Ser Brienne…? Back to Winterfell, I see…give my best to the North…" he blabbed with his usual shaky voice.  
“Samwell, you know I never pry, but I’ve been watching you for a fortnight now and I see your distress. If there is a way in which I can help, you can count on me. You only have to ask.”  
“I know. I thank you, Ser Brienne, but some burdens man has to carry by himself. One day, mayhaps, I will tell you of which burden I am talking about. You are a true knight, Ser, I wish more of your kind walked these halls.” 

She frowned at first but then nodded and shook hands with Samwell.  
As she walked to the White Sword Tower, she couldn’t not to remember the first moons of the Small Council, when Bran was newly elected king.  
It was an air of change, a promise of better days.  
Now it all seemed as an illusion, a curtain of expensive fabric behind which old demons were hidden and waited for their time to come again.

White Sword Tower. Home of the Kingsguard. It was a slender building with four floors placed on an angle of the castle wall that overlooked the Blackwater Bay.  
The first floor contained the common room for the Kingsguard, called the Round Room in a shape of a circle.  
White wool hangings decorated its whitewashed stone walls with white shield and two crossed longswords mounted over the hearth.  
The room contained a large weirwood table carved in the shape of a shield supported by three white stallions and three knights sit on each side.  
The chair of the Lady Commander, old black oak with blanched cowhide cushions, sits at the top of the shield.  
In the common room there was also the White Book as it was usually called though its true name were The Book of the Brothers. In it the deeds of every member who has ever served in the three centuries of history of the Kingsguard were recorded. It was she who made an entry about Ser Jamie of House Lannister. 

She climbed the stairs to the topmost floor which contained her chambers and begun to pack for the long journey northwards, to Winterfell.  
It was eleven years since she last saw the castle of House Stark. Now, it was not a castle of a Warden of the North anymore. It was the capital of an independent kingdom.  
Kingdom whose ambitions threatened to ruin the other kingdom, one she was sworn to serve and defend.

_Winterfell, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest_

She missed Podrick. Had he been still among living he’d surely come with her, to make the same journey two of them have made three and ten years ago.  
Ser Podrick of House Payne died in year three hundred and twelve after Conquest, from a fever that swept over King’s Landing in less than a moon and claimed hundreds of lives. He who survived Battle of the Blackwater and the Battle of Winterfell, died of fever.  
She felt both sorry and angry for it. He should have died of old age or by the sword. Not by such illness. 

She had travelling companions. The City Watch of King’s Landing, twenty men strong escort, rode beside her up to the Neck, to the border of the Kingdom of the North.  
There she was met by the men of House Reed who escorted her to the boundary of their lands and lands of House Manderly whose guards were her new escort and stayed with her during the remainder of the ride to Winterfell. 

They rode in the castle of House Stark through the East Gate, gate that leads to the Kingsroad. The Kingsroad Gate was oft another name for this entrance.

Since crossing the border between Six Kingdoms and the Kingdom of the North she hadn’t noticed many changes from the last time she has passed through the North.  
Hills were the same, forests were the same, fields were the same, people were the same though sometimes that was not praiseworthy.  
Only proof of endurance of the Northerners, both their good and their bad sides. She knew both, all too well.

It was only when she reached Winterfell, that she saw the change.  
Winter Town, a settlement outside the castle walls was called that because in the past during summer was mostly deserted.  
Smallfolk gathered there in winter.  
Now, it was a proper town, still small in comparison with White Harbour or Gulltown, let alone with Lannisport or King’s Landing but it was a town.  
Four times the size when Brienne saw it last.  
There were still houses made of logs and undressed stone and muddy streets but also there were paved streets and squares and proper stone buildings… warehouses, inns, granaries, homes. Two and twenty thousand people lived here now and she could tell Winter Town is growing still. 

Winterfell has changed as well. Broken Tower was renewed. The First Keep standing next to the Broken Tower was now in use, the oldest part of Winterfell no longer being abandoned. Castle was crowded with people, some wearing the Stark direwolf, though their attire was different than Brienne remembered it, others wore sigils or colours of Northern houses… Dustin, Cerwyn, Tallhart, Ryswell, but what Brienne saw most was the white sunburst on black field, the sigil of House Karstark.  
“Her Grace will receive you at Queen’s Chamber in the Great Keep, my lady.” said one of her escorts sworn to House Manderly, Tohrren Lightfoot, after exchanging words with one of the guards. “I am not a lady, I am Ser. I’ve told you that when we first met.” she responded.  
"A woman knight is something to be admired, Ser. Though, as you may well know, knighthood goes hand in hand with the new gods, the faith of the Seven and north of the Neck only a handful of men prays to new gods. House Manderly does, for their forefathers were of the Reach… other Northerners do not know knighthood as South does.  
I’ll bid you farewell, now, Ser Brienne of Tarth. Queen’s men will guard you from now onwards.” 

The Great Keep is the innermost castle and stronghold of whole Winterfell.  
It was built over natural hot springs to keep the building warm. Its walls were made of granite with a covered bridge that joined the keep with the armoury.  
It was here that Sansa placed her Queen’s Chamber.

Brienne bent the knee before the Queen in the North.  
Sansa was sitting at the table, wearing ankle-cut grey dress and sleeveless leather jerkin of same coating over a white shirt with Stark pin on the left side of her chest. 

Next to her stood a man wearing his dark-brown gambeson with white sunburst engraved on it and black breeches.  
He was younger than Sansa, Brienne concluded, but his face, framed with brown hair and trimmed beard of same color, was already hardened with ruling and fighting.  
She could tell this Northerner is looking at her to get every detail. Brienne was tall, muscular, flat-chested with shoulder-length hair, colour of straw.  
Not many in Westeros would say she was comely in any way. Same thought this man next to Sansa, that much Brienne could read from his face.  
“Ser Brienne of Tarth, Lady Commander of Kingsguard to King Bran of the Six Kingdoms… lord Elric of House Karstark, lord of Karhold, commander of the Northern host.” Sansa decided to present them to each other, then continued:  
“I hope your journey was not too rough, Ser Brienne. It takes nearly twenty days to ride from King’s Landing to here when one is kind to her horse…  
It would be a shorter travel by the sea, but old enemy of the North made sure that no ships can sail close to our shores.”  
“I have travelled good, Your Grace.” she replied.  
“I am happy to see you again, Ser, after all these years. I am sorry for the loss of your father, lord Selwyn.”  
Sansa said. “Thank you, Your Grace. I am also happy to be here; eleven years has passed.”  
“You have come here with a mission, Ser Brienne, a mission for King Bran.” Elric Karstark said to her.  
“Yes, my lord, I have.” 

Sansa frowned: “I wonder why would my brother sent the commander of his Kingsguard on such a long journey when he can talk with me directly using his Three Eyed Raven powers. We have weirwood tree in Winterfell, as does he in his Godswood in the Red Keep.”  
“His Grace is seldom using his powers in the last weeks, he’s been ill for that time. I am here in King’s name but my coming here was a task given to me by Hand of the King.” “Tyrion?” Sansa was slightly surprised “It must be an important task if he has sent you, Ser Brienne, you sit on the Small Council.”  
“Yes, Your Grace, I am to deliver this to you.” she said and pulled out a paper scroll from the inner pocket of her coat.  
Karstark man stepped forward and took in his hand, then pass it to Sansa.  
Queen in the North broke the wax seal on the scroll and begun to read. Tyrion’s message was quite long, describing in details what Hand of the King of Six Kingdoms proposes to the Queen in the North. Sansa has read it thoroughly giving it her full attention. After finishing, she gave the scroll to Elric Karstark.  
His face changed while he was reading, sighing when he finished.

“Eleven years ago, I’ve told Tyrion that I used to think he was the cleverest man alive. I see with passing of time, he’s even less clever than he was then.” Sansa said with disappointed tone “Hand of the King Bran of Six Kingdoms, wants the Kingdom of the North to halt our war against the wildlings… so that Ironborn and the Vale men can return home…”  
She looked at Elric Karstark and both chuckled, then Sansa continued: “North has for last eleven years been an independent kingdom, Tyrion seems to forget that. He cannot truly expect from us to yield before the wildlings and their Ironborn allies so that he can then persuade Pyke and the Eyrie to return to the peaceful ways.”  
“Everyone wins, only North loses.” Elric’s tone was bitter “This kind of peace we cannot accept.”  
“Nor shall we…” red-haired Stark woman said to him “…Ser Brienne, you will take written reply to lord Tyrion Lannister. Reply which will say that Kingdom of the North is not responsible for this war, we have not drawn the first blood, the wildlings did. And then they called the Ironborn to join them. Surely Tyrion had not hoped for North to be his tools in making peace among Eyrie and Pyke.”  
Brienne did not reply. She did not know what Tyrion had hoped for, only that it was a fool’s hope. Sansa will never humiliate herself or her kingdom so that rest of Westeros can make its compromises.  
“I wanted to bring road to the land beyond the Wall, Ser Brienne, to make wildlings closer to the rest of people in the North with the way of their living, for Hardhome to be a port as White Harbor is… but wildlings wanted to stay backward same as their fathers were and they went at war with us.” Sansa told with tone of anger. 

Karstark man added: “We were driven out from Hardhome, already then were Ironbon amidst the so-called Free Folk, they have butchered dozens of our soldiers.  
Then they tried to take Eastwatch from us, but we were ready and we had our friends from the Vale with us… we have remained at the Wal Last week they tried to take Mole’s Town.  
Had they been successful, our men at Eastwatch would have lost the only land way that joins them with rest of the North, we would not be able to supply the garrison by land and Iron Fleet would ruin every attempt to send aid by the sea. We have pushed them back but they will come after Mole’s Town again.  
And we will repel them again. They took Hardhome from us, but Eastwatch will not, nor any other place.  
Should our Queen sue for peace now, Ser Brienne, both of our enemies will see that as sign of weakness…”  
“…and I cannot allow that to happen. Least of all for purposes of other country which Realm now is to us. Tyrion should try to find another solution for this war between Pyke and Eyrie.  
Time had not only weakened his wit, but he seems to lack the strength and the ruthlessness to hold the office of the Hand. Tyrion from five and ten years ago would solve this issue without sending you to Winterfell.” said Sansa.  
Then she added: “We cannot allow rotten truces or peace accords to ruin our future. And I’ll see to it that North has a future.”  
Brienne said nothing, just nodded.  
She was only a messenger in the end, a highborn knighted messenger, but messenger nonetheless. It was not hers to question Sansa’s reasoning.  
It was clear that red-haired Stark queen and this young Karstark, commander of her army, will walk further on the path of war.  
_Their making of greater North, can truly unmake the Six Kingdoms, _ came to her mind. 

Brienne thanked Sansa for the reception, bowed and stepped out from Queen’s Chamber.  
When she was out in the courtyard, she went to the kitchens which were on the other side of the castle.  
There one of the cooks recognised her, she was a short, large woman with watery eyes, two chins, a huge bosom and blonde hair.  
She served Brienne with three fried duck’s eggs, a strip of bacon, two sausages, a blood pudding and half a loaf of bread still warm from the oven.  
Brienne didn’t feel much hunger at that moment, but she ate it all knowing of a long ride which was before her.  
Next cooked meal she will have at Moat Cailin, many leagues and a few days southwards. She thanked and bid farewell to the cook and soon was at the courtyard again. 

She went to the stables which were placed at the right side of the kitchens to saddle her horse and prepare to leave Winterfell.  
Sansa found Brienne tending her palfrey horse. Brienne had another horse, a charger, more fitting for riding into battle or tourney. For long riding journeys palfrey was a more comfortable mount. She bought this one from a renowned horse breeder from the Reach and payed a price worthy of a destrier.  
_Destriers are trained to kick and bite. In war they are a weapon, like the men who ride them; _she thought when buying this mount, _but destrier is not meant to carry a rider for hundreds of leagues, palfrey is._

“Your Grace…” Brienne bowed.  
“Ser Brienne, I didn’t want us to part ways too formally…not before I ask you to give my love to Bran. I wish him speed recovery. He is the only family I have left…” Sansa said. “I will, Your Grace, but forgive me for saying so, you have another sister and a brother.”  
Sansa sighed: “I haven’t seen or heard from Arya in eleven years, I know her ship came close to Northern shores six years ago, but she did not send a word of any kind to me, later some reports came of her dying at the sea, some claim she was seen in Asshai… My other brother is lost too, beyond the Wall, hiding from this world, mayhaps he’s gone mad up there in wilderness.”  
Brienne nodded, sensing sadness in Sansa’s words.  
“Yet, no matter how I love Bran, my duty is to the Kingdom of the North. My brother Robb was King in the North, he failed due to his love for a woman, love that made him broke an oath which in the end cost him his life. Jon did even worse, he gave up the Northern crown for a woman who was a mad tyrant.  
I learn from their mistakes; my sisterly love will not blind me into threatening the interests and welfare of my people and my land.” said the Queen in the North and after a heartbeat continued:  
“Bran deserves a better Hand than Tyrion Lannister is; he is smart and was kindest among Lannisters; still that does not make him smartest and kindest among all of men.  
North will not be pawn in his schemes.”  
Sansa walked out of the stables, not before saying: “It was good seeing you again, Ser Brienne, I wish you safe journey.” 

One hour later, escorted by dozen men of castle garrison, Brienne of Tarth, rode out from Winterfell, not sure if she’ll ever see it again.


	22. SELLSWORD

_Meereen, Essos, year 316 After Conquest_

**SELLSWORD**

_All rulers are either butchers or meat._  
He told her that once. She did not listen then. And she lived to be the both.

She butchered King’s Landing. He’s heard of that many times, almost from every single Westerosi he encountered in last ten years.  
Be that man of Cobbler’s Square or the Hook whose half of kinfolk perished that day when ringing of the bells meant nothing to silver-haired woman on dragon’s back or was the man just retelling  
the story he heard half-drunk in a tavern from another drunk who heard it many moons ago from a third drunk and all three of them had as much in common with King’s Landing as did the fisherman from the Lesser Moraq Isle. 

Accounts all agreed in one: Dragon Queen burned the city in one day.  
She burned Visenya’s Hill, she burned the Muddy Way, the Fishmonger’s Square, the Street of Seeds.  
And the Red Keep, dragon flame cut the red castle in half.  
She burned scores of hundreds of people, soldiers and civilians alike, even some of her own men, dragon fire does not differ men by the colors of their shields or the banners they carry.  
That day she was a butcher, indeed.  
Far greater butcher that he could ever imagine her to be.  
He approved of it. 

_A Dragon Queen with no dragons, is not a Queen._  
He told her that too, once. 

She was not a ruler for long, there across the Narrow Sea.  
The same day she conquered the city, brought the Red Keep down on the head of Lannister queen someone has killed her. Stories differed on that part.  
Some claimed it was the dwarf himself, Tyrion Lannister, avenging his brother and sister.  
_Horseshit, _he said to all telling him that, he knew dwarf rather well. _Big mouth, man quick on a tongue, not on a sword. _  
Others said it was some man from the smallfolk of King’s Landing, avenging his burned family.  
He heard one Westerosi saying the Iron Throne itself killed her as she impaled on its many swords, same as it happened to her ancestor, Maegor the Cruel, hundreds of years ago. 

Most of the accounts told that she was stabbed by a man she trusted, one of her allies in the war. Some of such accounts claimed of that man to have bedded her.  
She died. In Westeros. In the throne room of the Red Keep, the royal castle of her family, built by her ancestors. Ruined by her.  
She died in the land she wanted to rule at any cost. 

They brought her back, here in Meereen. The priests of R’hllor, Lord of the Light, the Red God as people of Westeros use to say. 

Sometimes the power of their magic or sorcery could do that.  
To raise the dead, those who have not been dead for long. He wasn’t in great wonder that red priests have made her live again.  
He saw her once, coming out of the flames, out of burning temple of Dosh Khaleen, untouched by the fire. 

Two moons have passed of her new life when they have met, for the first time since she has sailed westwards across the Narrow Sea.  
She went there with a large fleet, thousands of the Unsullied, tens of thousands of the Dothraki. With three dragons. With Grey Worm, Missandei, Varys and Tyrion. 

She came back as dead body in talons of her last dragon, the largest one, Drogon. Other two were killed across the sea.  
Missandei was gone, so was Varys, Tyrion serves the new Westerosi king, he has heard of that sometime later. Then he heard that many thousands of the Dothraki fell fighting for her and not many horselords remained and that the Unsullied are not coming to Essos.  
She was alone now. No armies, no advisers, only one dragon left.  
A defeated woman. And she was with child. He saw her belly. 

_She bedded some Westerosi and now is left with his bastards, _ he thought.  
Even knowing that, he hoped for him and her to go back to what they have when she was Queen of Meereen and he shared her bed on many nights.  
He was the last living ally she had.  
He didn’t get to say that, to make that proposition, he would have advised her to retake the throne of Meereen, recuperate and return to Westeros with new army to lay waste of revenge on them all. 

The woman he knew once, one which displayed her nakedness raising from the bath when he sneaked into her tent to pledge himself and the Second Sons to her cause on the field before Yunkai,  
one that nailed dozens of slave masters on mileposts and burned Dothraki khals… that woman would listen to him, she would have done that, that woman would have reconquered Westeros,  
free of shackles of honor and fool’s desire to be loved and not feared. 

With only eight and ten years old, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen was a formidable conqueror. That is how he got to know her.  
At four and twenty she was neither conqueror nor formidable.  
A pregnant woman of broken dreams. She refused him. True, she thanked the Second Sons for the service they gave to city of Meereen in time of her absence.  
And that was that. 

He wanted a queen. A conqueror. Surely he did not want what she has become.  
True, later she has found her new calling among merchants, on trade routes, her wealth grew with every passing moon.  
She left Meereen and settled in Port Yhos, among the Qartheen, leaving the city to be ruled by the council of inept people, former slave masters and former slaves alike,  
_gathering of cunts and cocksuckers, _he used to call them.  
This kind of ruling in Meereen disgusted him. 

It was weak and foolish and him and Second Sons still have to serve it.  
He pledged himself and his men to Dragon Queen, not to the Council of Citizens. Not to that old crone Galazza Galare.  
But they had the support of the former queen of Meereen.  
And she had a dragon. One but large enough to break anyone who would counter her plans for the Bay of Dragons.  
And those plans were to have councils of former slaves and former masters ruling in Yunkai and Astapor as well. Soon, it was done so. 

In last moons of second year of her return to the east, Unsullied were in Meereen again, not in thousands as before, in hundreds but just as loyal to her as they were when she freed them on Plaza of Pride in Astapor. The Dothraki were oft seen outside of the city, following their Khaleesi.  
In only short passing of time, she had her former armies again, serving her in different manner. 

Save the Second Sons and him. She did not need him near her.  
He had no trouble with that.  
_I am not into mothers of any sort, least of all mothers of Westerosi bastards, _he thought upon hearing that she gave birth to twin daughters in Vaes Dothrak. 

He saw the children when they were five or six years old, one girl resembled Daenerys, other was of dark hair and pale face… _she takes after the father of these twin bastards_… he concluded…_some perfumed nobleman or fancy knight from Seven Kingdoms who got to ride the dragon._

He did not care. Once he loved or lusted for Mother of Dragons, young girl with will that could move the mountains. He had no wish for mother of bastards. 

Place of the Second Sons and his own remained the same in the Bay of Dragons until Council of Citizens of Meereen decided to form a guard that will watch over the city.  
That was a message to him and his men they’re no longer welcome or needed, after all these years they’ve been keeping their arses safe from return of the slavery.  
Essos was such a place where sellsword company will always find something to do for a good payment, but Second Sons got used to over ten years of peace and living off the Meereenese gold. Now, that gold was to be given to someone else. 

He was pleased that councilors were quarreling among themselves and the forming of the City Guard dragged for many years, remaining only empty words on paper.  
Some of the councillors, those from ranks of former slave masters, hated the very notion of the guard which will be made mostly of former slaves.  
He used those men, used their voices in the Council to undermine the labor on the founding of City Guard.  
Matters got worse in last half a year. 

Kinfolk of Daenerys’ daughters appeared in Meereen.  
First the wolf bitch, she came by the sea, with her ship.  
Arya of House Stark, she called herself the aunt of twin bastards and he had no trouble believing it.  
The dark-haired girl and Arya were very much lookalike.  
That northern Westerosi look, of grey eyes and pale skin, he knew somewhat of the Starks. They were now the rulers across the Narrow Sea.  
_No wonder here, _he thought, _she bedded one of the wolf family, for the lust or for the alliance and he left her with his bastards. _

Later he has learned that one of the wolf family who likely sired the twin girls were a bastard himself. It amused him to think he was succeeded by a bastard. 

_Not much of an improvement, to exchange a sellsword, son of a whore, with a baseborn Westerosi, _he laughed at this notion.

Then, one who fathered the bastards came to Meereen as well.  
Few days later, the R’hllor priestess arranged him to meet with the councillors, those who followed the Lord of Light, all former slaves, on the matter of founding the City Guard. Northerner was offered to lead the future guardsmen. And he accepted it. 

“Nyke rudhy ao Jon hen Targārien Lentor.” said to him Galazza Galare, head of the Council of Citizens.  
She brought the newcomer from Westeros to the pyramid of Yherizan where most of Second Sons have made their residence.  
Former owners of this pyramid in Meereen were House of Yherizan, now living only in memory as they were wiped out being supporters or members of Sons of the Harpy. (_I present you Jon of House Targaryen. _) 

“Nyke Daario Naharis hen Tȳni Trēsi.” he replied, looking at the man (_I am Daario Naharis of the Second Sons_) __

_ __ _

His hair was cut short, face shaved clean, eyes grey.  
Features he saw on dark-haired twin and her aunt. He wore black trousers and sleeveless tunic of same color over a dark-red shirt.  
A red sash was tied around his waist, covered with leather belt on which a scabbard was hung with Valyrian steel sword whose pommel was in a shape of wolf’s head.  
Westerosi man was younger than him, few years over thirty while he was few years less than forty.  
Man nodded without saying a word. 

“Naejot skoros gaomagon nyke enkagon se kirimves hen bisa zentyssy?” he asked. (_To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?_)  
“Ao gīmigon Jentyssy jaelagon naejot mazverdis nykeā Oktion Azantyr.” (_You are familiar with Council’s wish to form a City Guard. _) Galazza replied.  
“Ry tolī sȳrī.” he said with tone of indifference (_All too well. _) 

Westerosi man spoke for the first time:  
“Mirri hen aōha vali issi hen Meereen, istin buzdari, pōnta kostagon jaelagon isse imazumbagon se Oktion Azantyr.”  
(_Some of your men are of Meereen, former slaves, they may want to join the City Guard. _) 

Daario smirked, man spoke the purest form of High Valyrian,  
_it is good to be a bastard in highborn family in Westeros, it seems, they school you regardless, _, came to his mind. 

“I have invested in those men.” he replied in Common Tongue “I’ll be at loss if I allow them to leave."  
“City pays you, does it not?” man spoke with Northern accent “Any invest you have made to equip or train them has been repaid to you, twofold or threefold by now.”  
“I assure you that not being the case.” 

Galazza Galare grinned, she could understand the Common Tongue fairly enough, though she never spoke it, mayhaps willingly as a proud Ghiscari:  
“Oh, Daario Naharis, Meereen emagon addemmagon ao.”  
She reminded him how city has repaid him. 

_That is what you say, old hag. _

“They are my men. Second Sons have been serving Meereen for four and ten years now, many of those who were with me since then are gone, some died in battle, some of illness, some became too old to fight, a sellsword company which does not bring new blood is doomed. I cannot lose the Meereenese who joined Second Sons without some compensation done.”  
Dark-haired man replied: “That sounds a lot as selling of men, in somewhat changed form than slave trade, but selling of men nonetheless.” “Sellswords do sell their swords, my lord...”  
“True, so let them sell their swords. To the city of Meereen and its new guard.” 

_An ordering tone… I’ve heard such before, though mouth from which it came were on a face of silver-haired queen, not on Northerner, _he mulled over for a short while. 

“You don’t strike me as a Targaryen…” he said to the man “…shouldn’t your hair be lighter and eyes of different color?”  
“Not all Targaryens had Valyrian features. I take after my mother; she was a Stark.”  
“I was told that Northern bastards go under name of Snow.” Daario sad with a grin. Man replied calmly:  
“Indeed they do. But you should address that matter with some Northern bastard.” 

He had no choice but to look how most of the Meereenese which in past few years have joined the ranks of the Second Sons now leave to serve this mummer army that Council is forming with this bastard of wolf and dragon as commander.

Two days after he first saw a man who called himself Jon Targaryen a message came from the west; from a man he last saw three and ten years ago.  
Message to come to Myr.  
He decided to answer the call. If for naught, he’ll visit the Myrish brothel or two.  
That travel to Myr was fruitful. He had a new goal in life now.  
He will now be the conqueror and the king. 

He was sitting with three men in a back-alley tavern, away from the main squares of Meereen.  
Even without their bright silk tokars and the jewelry, his companions acted like noblemen and once masters, by their posture and the way they talked. 

“Naharis, you sell your sword. How are we to trust that you will thrust it in the dragon whore? You were her faithful servant all these years.” first man asked.  
He was fat with soft hands and greasy hair. One could tell he had never work hard in his life.  
Daario grinned: “I have no love left for her. She is nothing to me now, she robbed me of many things and continues to rob me.  
She, the councillors she’s protecting, her Westerosi bastard lover. I will kill the bitch; can I expect your support afterwards?”  
“Support to take over the city from the Council?” one of them asked.  
“A short time measure, I assure you.” he replied. 

_I am lying to you, fat fuck, but of that you’ll learn the hard way. _

“Later, masters as you three once were can retake the city and rule how they bloody like."  
“Assurances of that kind will mean little if you fail to get close to the Dragon Queen.” the fat man said.  
“She trusts me. I can come close enough to slice her throat.” he replied. 

“What of her whelps?” asked the second man, he was lean with crooked nose and a scar on his chin “Is killing them a must be… or could you consider other options…?”  
“What options?” Daario asked.  
“Keeping them alive and selling them to be trained at pleasure houses. One with Valyrian traits will fetch a good price on the market, the other not so much but still.  
There is good twenty years of serving men or women ahead of them… and the brothel owners will give them potions to clear their memories of past life and of their dragon whore mother. Dwell on that, Naharis, for the world they’ll be same as dead, you’ll earn more gold coins and not have babe blood on your hands.”  
“You are a true jackal…”sellsword grinned “I will dwell on it.” 

“What are we to do when time to strike comes?” asked third one sitting with Daario, an aging man of broad, weathered face, brown skin with grey-white hair and beard.  
Only for him could Naharis tell of once being a soldier.  
“When the time comes, you will cause unrest in the city, unrest so large they will have to deploy all of this new City Guard and the Unsullied to quench it.  
That way, Dragon Queen will have only few guards left. I will come with my most loyal Second Sons as to her protection, but in truth it will be her doom.” 

Three men looked at each other and nodded.  
“Very well, Daario Naharis, you will have our support. Send the word when you’re ready to make the blow and Meereen will have chaos unseen since the days when Sons of the Harpy ruled the streets.” the one with crooked nose said.  
Daario grinned at this:  
“You mean when you three and your friends ruled the streets?”  
Then they all laughed.  
After finishing another round of drink to seal this arrangement all four slowly walked out of the tavern and parted ways, each going on the other side of the narrow alleys. 

The lean man with crooked nose walked into a small square, he was far from his part of the town, being a former slave master.  
This was a settlement of former slaves and he wondered looking at them did some of them or their parents belonged to him or his parents.  
He despised the Meereen as it were now, city where masters and slaves were equal in rights before the law. 

_How can a merchandise be of equal right as the owner…the dragon whore brought all that on us when she invaded this city and destroyed its traditions; traditions that were kept for thousands of years._

Around him peddlers were selling dog sausages, roast onions and unborn puppies on a stick.  
Also, there were for sale flagons of chilled wine and sweet water, figs, dates, melons, and pomegranates, with pecans and peppers. 

He saw a girl with a big bowl of honeyed locusts:  
“Locusts! Honeyed locusts!” she yelled standing at the far side of the square.  
He got a sudden craving for this delicacy.  
“Those are very tasty,” girl said in broken Low Valyrian. 

_Another ignorant slave spawn, _ he thought, while grabbing into a bowl. 

“Try a few, your radiance. Them were rolled in spice before the honey, them are sweet and hot at once…” girl babbled as he crunched the handful of dead insects.  
“Indeed you weren’t lying, wench…” he said and grabbed more from the bowl.  
“What will this cost me? A copper or two…” man talked with his mouth full.  
“Even less, your radiance…” girl replied dryly “…only your life which is not worth half a copper…”  
He barely swallowed the locusts hearing this:  
“What did you say?” 

Then a searing pain burst from his throat down to his bowels, it felt as he was about to retch but he could not, pain threw him on his knees and he fought to get a breath of air. His eyes rolled as he fell face down in the dust.  
Soon his corpse and the locusts-seller were both gone in the darkness of a side alley. 

Sometime later only one returned to the square. 

Arya Stark of Winterfell. 


	23. HONORABLE MAN

_Meereen, Essos, year 316 After Conquest_

**HONORABLE MAN**

The courtyard of the First Barracks rang with clatter of wood, steel and voices.  
As it did every morning since this place served City Guard of Meereen.

Half a dozen recruits were slicing the wooden pell with training swords, with dull blades, others were thrusting short spears against a straw figure representing man.  
First days of training were just that, fighting the pole and the straw, to get strength in sword or spear arm and proper moves before going further with training, man to man. Such was done at the other side of the yard. 

Abandoned fighting pit once owned by Yunkish nobleman, Yezzan zo Qaggaz, was in short span of time turned into a place where first company of City Guard of Meereen will be stationed. 

The southern wall, made of grey bricks and fifteen feet in height was repaired with sharpened iron spikes added along the top.  
On the northern side, one looking at the Skahazadhan river stonemasons were replacing the wooden palisade with the wall of grey coated bricks that was intended to be as high as one on the south. 

Pine and cypress trees growing closest to the future wall were cut down to create the clearing which would make it harder on the attackers and easier on the defense of this first garrison of the City Guard. 

As he rode in the First Barracks with, Jon looked at that side.  
One of the recruits was stumbling as he tried to defend himself with clumsiness from the other man who sliced at the back of his left leg.  
The first tried to return the courtesy with sword aimed at the side of the second recruit, but he only got the tip of a sword in his chest, a thrust so strong it made him sat down in the dust. 

_In Castle Black you’d sit in the mud and snow, _he thought as memories came.  
Memories of a boy of six and ten who put on the black, believing he is joining the knightly order of men.  
Instead he found a brotherhood of those which Realm had rejected or punished. 

Now, as a man of five and thirty, he had a duty to establish something that should resemble a knightly order. 

_I will not have thieves, cutthroats or rapers in the City Guard. Only men wiling to serve. Valar dohaeris. All men must serve, they say.  
Not all men, only those who want and are ready to._

He walked to the arched entrance in the southern wall.  
When this was still a fighting pit, in that long passage fighters were held.  
Now, there was storage, armory, kitchen and pantry and a gaol with four cells.  
Place had more daylight now as new holes for windows were made in the wall. 

Jon was about to walk to the chamber of the barrack’s commander, when a member of City Guard came before him.  
Tumco Lho, man in his mid-twenties, former slave boy who has been trained for the fighting pits of Meereen, now served as one of first officers of the new guard.  
Native of Basilisk Isles in the Summer Sea, he was of dark skin.  
Jon right away saw his good acquaintance with sword and battle-axe and also much promise as a leader of men at arms. 

Tumco wore the clothes of the guard; brown linen boots, dark-blue trousers, brown tunic and a hooded dun cloak.  
He had black linen scarf around his neck. He was armed with a slightly curved scimitar and a short sword. 

He bowed and spoke in Common Tongue with pitch accent:  
“My lord, apologies for disturbing you.”  
“It’s all right, lieutenant Lho. What is it?” Jon said.  
“This morning we have arrested a Westerosi man and commander Nakhmaz believed you should be informed of it.”  
“What did the man do?”  
“He was making inquiries around the port, in taverns and inns which captains frequent, about our former queen and about your sister.  
He spoke only with men from Bay of Dragons, not with men from the Free Cities.  
Our patrol has followed him, keeping distance, and they saw that he shunned the men from ships of lady Arya Stark when passing by.  
A Westerosi hiding from his countrymen… that was suspicious so we arrested him in the next inn he entered.”  
“On what charges? You can’t hold a man without charging him for something, breaking the city laws…”  
“He wasn’t charged with anything yet, my lord, commander Nakhmaz wanted you to see him first… a strange man that Westerosi is.  
He is old, I say he’d past his seventieth nameday and on one hand all his fingers are half cut…” Tumco said. 

Jon frowned.  
_It can’t be him, can he? _ she said to himself _ He wasn’t seventy years old. But neither is he young enough to travel this far from home. _  
“Lieutenant, I am going with you to see that man right away.” 

Nakhmaz, commander of the First Barracks, soon appeared.  
“My lord…” he made a slight bow while greeting them in Low Valyrian, one that is spoken in Meereen  
“…I am glad you could join us here. I wanted you to see the foreigner we have arrested.”  
“Have you learned anything from him?” Jon asked.  
“No, my lord, he does not speak any sort of Valyrian, not even Braavosi dialect which some of our men know.  
And Tumco who speaks the tongue of Sunset Kingdoms was not here when we brought him.”  
“Perhaps he is pretending.” Jon said.  
“He does not, my lord, to his face I have paired his all ancestors, women and men alike, with dogs and camels and he didn’t react.”  
Tumco laughed. 

They went in and from the direction of the gaol, on the far side of the passage sounds came: “Can I get some water, it’s bloody hot in here…”  
said voice of an older man followed by voice a girl:  
“Tepagon nyke se iēdarñelly.” (_Give me the waterskin._) 

One of the guards passed the requested to a dark-haired girl, dressed in light-brown tunic and black trousers with leather belt around her waist.  
She gave it to the man through the bars of the cell he was sitting in.  
“Thank you, you’re a kind child.”  
“I am not a child, Ser.” she replied.  
“Seven be thanked, finally someone who speaks Common Tongue. Apologies, my lady, for calling you a child.”  
“It has nothing to do with Seven, you only have to study a tongue to know it.”  
“I guess you’re right, my lady.” man replied between two drinks of water  
“I’ve never been much of a learner myself.”  
Girl frowned: “Why is that? Were you lazy?”  
Older man chuckled hearing this: “Ha, you might say I was… lazy to learn, not so lazy for other things.  
Things that got me in cells as this one and far worse than this one, many times.”  
“That means you were a criminal.” girl said with serious voice.  
“Aye, I was sometimes. But innocent men are also thrown in dungeons just as guilty ones.”  
“What sort of criminal were you?” she asked making paces in front of cell door.  
“A smuggler. One of the best in Seven Kingdoms.” man said.  
“Is that why they’ve cut your fingers?”  
Man looked at his left hand and fingers missing the first joint.  
“Yes, they have. I was punished and rewarded at the same time.”  
Girl asked: “How can that be?”  
“I’ve saved a lord and his family and his men from starving and for that he knighted me, but he also cut my fingers for past crimes. 

Dark-haired girl was silent for a heartbeat:  
“That was wrong of him to do. The right thing would be to knight you for saving him. And to cut off your whole hand if you would have done the crime again.”

Tumco, Nakhmaz and Jon stood in the passage, listening to this conversation.  
Nakhmaz whispered to him: “Lady Lyanna is very smart.”  
“What is lady Lyanna doing here?!” Jon whispered back.  
“She came alone an hour ago and told us that you have ordered her to wait for you here.”  
Jon made a deep sigh knowing that was a lie.

“I see that young lady would administer harsh justice.”  
“Isn’t that what justice is supposed to be?” girl replied.  
Old man in the cell shook his head and smiled:  
“You’re wise beyond your age. I have known such a girl once; she was not much older than you when she became the Lady of her House…”  
“Is she still the Lady of her House?”  
“No, she died… she died a hero’s death in the Great War.” he said with saddened voice.  
“What was she called?” girl asked.  
“Lyanna… Lyanna of House Mormont…” he said and girl continued:  
“…of Bear Island. I know of her. She killed a dead giant.”  
Man looked at her, surprised: “How do you know this?”  
“I’ve learned history of Sunset Kingdoms, events from a long ago and those from not so long ago... And of what house are you, Ser?”  
“My name is Davos. Davos of House Seaworth.” 

Jon upon hearing this walked to the cell.  
Nakhmaz and Tumco fell behind few paces.  
When she saw him coming, raven-haired girl turned to him and made a formal curtsy:  
“Kepa…” (_Father... _)  
He knew Lya was partly doing it for a jest, but still returned the formality by slightly bowing his head to her:  
“Ñuha riña.” (_My lady._)  
Then he turned to the guards, not even looking at the man inside the cell:  
“Maghagon bisa vala naejot udrāzmio tistālion.”  
(_Bring this man to commander’s chamber. _)  
“Hae ao udrāzma.” they replied ( _As you order. _)

“Māzigon, ñuha tala. Jēda syt ao naejot jikagon lenton.” he said to Lya.  
(_Come, my daughter. Time for you to go home._)  
“Emagon nyke gaomagon sȳrī, kepa? Skori nyke ȳdragon naejot bona vala...” she asked  
(_Have I done well, father? When I spoke with that man…_)  
“Kessa, Līāna, emā gaomagon sȳrje.” Jon said to his dark-haired daughter contently  
(_Yes, Lyanna, you have done very well._)

When they were out on the courtyard he said:  
“How did you get here, Lya? I am certain that your mother knows nothing of it.”  
“I took a horse from the temple stables.” girl shrugged.  
“And you came here alone across half of Meereen?” Lya nodded.  
“You should not have done it. It is not safe to roam around the city alone.”  
“Papa… mother said that we’ll be leaving for Port Yhos in few days. I came to see you before…”  
Jon could see her eyes watering.  
He knelt down and embraced her saying: “No tears. What are we, tala?”  
“Dragons and direwolves.”  
“Do they ever cry?” She shook her head.  
“Then, we shall not cry either.”  
“Can I stay a bit longer, Papa?”  
“All right. Wait for me in the kitchen. I have to talk to that man you just spoke with and then I’ll take you to the temple pyramid. But Daenerys will be angry with you.”  
“Mama is oft angry with me…” raven-haired girl said with smile. 

He went to chamber belonging to the commander of the First Barracks, Nakhmaz, a former slave.  
Jon was not commander of this garrison, he was named commander-general.  
He did not like that title much, it reminded him of captain-general of the Golden Company.  
It was likely that Council of Citizens was led with that title when designing one bestowed upon him. 

_Commander-general of City Guard of Meereen, Jon of House Targaryen… a mouthful to describe a man leading a ragtag bunch… _  
he sometimes found himself poring over _…yet, even greatest hosts of men at arms of the known world started as ragtag bunch.  
And there is nothing ragtag in the hooded cloaks. This guard will be the pride of the city. Dreamlike to friends, nightmare to enemies. _

“Udrāzmio, se Vesteros vala iksis rȳ se remio.” one of his men reported (_Commander, the Westerosi man is here._)  
“Sȳz. Ivestragī zirȳla isse.” Jon said (_Good. Let him in. _)

As Davos stepped into to chamber, Jon could tell that he is surprised beyond his wits.  
Eyes of the former smuggler wandered from his sleeveless black gambeson Jon wore over dark-red shirt to the pommel of Longclaw.  
Davos’ look froze as he recognised Jon’s sword and was about to speak when first someone knocked hard on the door and then Arya nearly run in the room.  
Seaworth’s gaze went to the woman in white linen tunic over grey trousers.  
Arya, her features speaking of great distress, frowned upon seeing Davos.

“Seven hells, as if you’ve seen ghosts, Onion Knight!” she said. 

Only then, when he heard the name many in Westeros knew him by, did Davos managed to say:  
“Arya Stark… and Jon…Jon, are you truly here? I am not seeing things because of this bloody heat, am I?”  
“No, Ser Davos, we are truly here as are you.” Jon replied.  
Old man rushed to embrace him and then Arya:  
“I am a fortunate man, a fortunate man indeed…” he repeated few times.  
Arya gave him a dark look, one that bewildered Jon:  
“Careful, old man. I wouldn’t be so happy to see me. Not after what I’ve learned.”  
“What are you saying, Arya?” Jon said in wonder.  
Arya's eyes glinted as he gazed down at Davos and asked in cold voice:  
“What is Master of Ships to King of Six Kingdoms doing in Meereen?”

Davos sat down but still was looking at them, as he could not believe.  
“Lady Arya… you’re a woman now, pardon me for saying so… and Jon, I hardly recognised you.  
I’ve heard stories how Arya has perished in the Sunset Sea and how you have disappeared north of the Wall… and here you both are in Meereen…”  
“Answer my question, Davos.”  
Arya said in menacing tone that made Jon look more at her than at his once adviser whom he saw for the first time after over ten years.  
“I was Master of Ships till last year, then I retired, I had enough of councils and kings… but, your friend Samwell Tarly has found this task for me.”  
“Sam?! What sort of a task?” Jon asked.  
“Task of preventing innocent blood to be spilled.” Davos replied.  
Jon noticed Arya’s tension after hearing what Davos said.  
“Go on…” she said.  
“Assassination of mother and her children. By order of King Bran or whatever is he now… he ordered it and Tyrion is seeing it done.  
They will send killers after… after Daenerys Targaryen and her children…” Davos said, his voice shaky. 

“What?!” Jon jumped at his feet “They want Dany’s children dead?! My children dead!!”  
Davos looked at him: “…So it is true, she lives and she had your children…”  
“Aye, she did. And no harm will come upon them even if I have to kill half of Westeros to make sure of it.” Jon said loudly. 

Davos was taken aback with these words, but he saw them equally written on Arya’s face before she asked:  
“When have you learned of this? Of this plan to kill my nieces?”  
Arya’s voice had deadly tone.  
“I’ve met Samwell a moon ago and we agreed that I should sail straight to Meereen and try to find Daenerys to warn her.  
Good thing I was not late; for Tyrion had negotiated this assassination with someone in Myr.”  
“With whom?” Arya asked dryly.  
“I don’t know, neither does Sam… mayhaps even King himself does not know.”  
“The King…” Jon said with disgust “My own brother, one whom you have saved from certain death…” he said to Arya  
“…he orders the death of his own blood.”  
“Jon, who or what ordered Daenerys and children dead, that was not your brother.”  
Davos said “Your brother, what is left of him, told Sam of this plan because he knew Sam will do all that is possible to stop this madness…  
you must know that Bran Stark does not rule the Six Kingdoms; he never did.” 

“How did Bran or whatever creature rules over him learned that Daenerys lives and where is she?  
After all these years. You’re not here by lucky guess, Ser Davos.” Arya said.  
“He saw you north of the Wall; he saw you telling Jon that she is alive and that she gave birth to his children…” Seaworth replied.  
“Fuck…” Arya cursed “…the Three Eyed Raven…he saw me, not Bran.” 

Jon could feel his rage overtaking him.  
He barely heard half of the words other two were saying.  
_That cursed thing Bran has become cannot have my children, nor Dany; flashed in his mind; no matter what the cost…_  
He thought of what to be done, weighing it in his mind, unaware that both Arya and Davos are now looking at him.  
Arya shared his anger and was waiting for Jon to say something. 

Davos wondered how the young Northerner he once knew has changed, both in appearance and in temper, gone was the brooding silent wolf;  
Seaworth had yet to get to know this man who once was a boy of the Night’s Watch.  
And the Stark woman standing over him.

Arya finally spoke, in High Valyrian, knowing that Jon will understand:  
“Istin ȳdragon lēda ao. Mērī.” (_I must speak with you. Alone. _)  
“Kessa. Kesi jikagon henpaktot.”( _We will go outside._)

Davos’s face spoke of surprise when he heard Arya and Jon talking in this language.  
“Ser Davos, we’ll return shortly…” he said and left the chamber with his sister.  
They stood on the passage and she confirmed what old man said:  
“It is true. Tyrion has hired sellswords to kill you, Daenerys and the girls. Or to sold them to slavery, if possible.”  
Jon’s eyes burned with rage:  
“How do you know this?”  
“Kinvara saw something in those cursed flames of hers, not clear vision, only that some sellsword will be coming to kill your family.  
And I did my part… I’ve followed the main sellsword in Meereen around for days.”  
“That Naharis… of Second Sons…”  
Arya nodded: “That filth is the one who Tyrion hired to kill my nieces.  
I was told that he travelled to Myr last moon. He won’t get to hurt the girls, Jon.  
Last night I’ve already killed one of his associates.”  
“You should have killed him first. But, all the better, I will kill him before sundown of this day.”  
“He is gone into shadows; I was at that pyramid where Second Sons are. Naharis is not there.”  
“Then, soon he will make his move.”  
Arya nodded, then said after a heartbeat:  
“They’re waiting for the proper moment to strike, Jon. That means they are not in a great hurry… at least not yet.  
If they see that we know, it will make them act sooner.” 

Jon paused for a beat, but he felt as burning inside:  
“You will take Davos to _Nymeria_… no, to _Rhaelyanna_… the fewer people are to see him, the better.”  
Arya replied: “What will you do? We need more guards at the temple…”  
“I will go there right now. I must speak to Daenerys.”  
Then his face was marked with horror: “Gods, Lyanna rode across the whole damn city this morning…alone…” 

When they returned to the chamber he said to once smuggler:  
“Ser Davos, you’ll be a guest aboard my ship. It is the safest place for you. So, if you’ll please accompany her.”  
Davos nodded in agreement and rose from the chair, looking at Jon:  
“I regret this meeting was not in better terms, Jon, and in better mood.”  
He sighed, then replied: “Me as well, Ser Davos, me as well…  
I am grateful that you have traveled this far to save lives of my family.  
I will never forget that… I consider you to be my true friend.”  
“I am, lad, I am…be sure of that.” said Onion Knight as he walked away with Arya.

He was alone and breathing heavily, his thoughts flooded with anger and rage and impulse to lay waste on all who would harm his loved ones.  
His Lya, his Rhae and his Dany.  
_Fire and blood, that is what I’ll give them, _ thundered in his mind,  
_and then I’ll give them more fire and more blood. Not even ash will remain…_

When he came to the third platform of R’hllor temple pyramid with Lyanna it was close to midday.  
Unsullied guards, a dozen of them, looked at him with disdain, but he cared not.  
“Skoriot iksis Daenērys Jelmāzmo? Istin ȳdragon naejot zirȳla rȳ istin.”  
(_Where is Daenerys Stormborn? I must speak with her at once. _)

She walked out on the terrace, wearing sleeveless black ankle-cut dress with high neckline and red sash tied around her waist.  
Necklace with round pendant with three headed dragon sigil adorned her neck. Her hair fell loose on her shoulder and back.  
_Gods, she is more beautiful than ever… _flashed in his mind. 

Then she spoke: “Well. I am here, so speak. Though, before you should explain why is my daughter missing from her chambers since early morrow?  
Another of your little games of stealing my children from me?”  
Her voice was cold and stabbing. Lyanna’s eyes went from Dany to Jon, then she said:  
“I went to see Papa in the barracks of City Guard, Muña. I did it on my own. Not even Rhae knew where I was going.”  
“Go to your chambers, Lyanna Targaryen. We shall speak of your wandering around Meereen later.” 

Girl nodded, but before leaving her arms were once more around Jon’s waist: “Geros ilas, Papa.”  
He kissed her forehead: “Till soon, ñuha tala.” 

Jon caught a glimpse of softness in Dany’s eyes at that moment, but it was soon gone.  
“I am not going to thank you for her safe return as you are the very reason for her leaving.” she said  
“Lyanna once again went alone in the great city for her curiousness about Starks…bringing herself in danger…”  
“I am not Stark...”  
“That is what you came to tell me?” she brushed him off.  
“There is a far greater danger over all of us, Daenerys. Assassins are after you and our children. And me. Probably even Arya.”  
Her eyes widened: “Who sent them?”  
He let out a deep breath: “Bran… the raven. And Tyrion.” 

An hour later, they were sitting at the terrace, alone.  
Her guards moved away, all of the Unsullied she had in Meereen were now patrolling through entire pyramid.  
Jon had a cup of chilled sweet water in his hand, he still struggled to accustom with Essosi heat. 

“Thank you for coming to warn me. And for bringing Lya home.”  
“Not bad for bastard and a kinslayer.” he replied.  
“Don’t… We can talk without saying such words to each other, I know we can.”  
“We could once. Now I am not so sure.”  
“Girls ask of you every day.” she said in soft voice.  
“I thought that they’re not supposed to be interested in killer of the unborn.”  
“You are their father. They want to be with you.”  
“And you’ll approve?”  
She sighed: “I do not approve. But, since they were born, I did all I could to make them happy. It seems that you make them happy as well.”  
“And you? What would make you happy? Your Unsullied throwing me off this temple pyramid?”  
She shook her head: “I don’t want you any harm, Jon. I have never spoken ill of you to the girls. Not now, not before.”  
“Nor did I of you, Daenerys. If there is poison between us, we don’t have to pour it on them.”  
“Don’t worry, I haven’t poisoned your drink.” she said smiling.  
“Good, because I am truly thirsty.” He nearly emptied the cup. 

“It’s odd… last Westerosi whom I shared drink with here in Meereen was Tyrion Lannister.”  
“Mayhaps it would have been better if you hadn’t met him at all.” Jon said “Knowing what we do now.”  
“He had his moments.” she replied “Good and bad.”  
“As did we all.”  
“You’ve stabbed me after consulting with him…” came from her with accusing tone.  
“Who told you that?” Jon asked frowning.  
“Grey Worm. Don’t deny it.”  
“I won’t. I spoke with him before coming to you. He did not make my decisions.”  
“No, he just steered them in right direction.”  
Her tone was filled with disillusion. 

He replied with voice of both anger and pain:  
“You were beyond saving; you’ve become just as same as those you fought against…  
I came to you then, to see if you are still the same Dany who risked her life, her dragons to help others.  
But I saw someone willing to wage war on all who didn’t fit in her vision of that new, good world…”  
“I believed in that good world with all my heart, Jon. I hoped you did too.” her voice, just as his, was now both sad and angry.

“It is a noble notion… to make a good world… but how? What makes the world? People, Daenerys, world in the end comes to people.  
To us all, with all our virtues and flaws, courage and cowardice… our goodness and our villainy.  
To make a new world, a world you think it will be good, asks of you to remake the people and that is an impossible task.  
Then you have to replace people… which is an evil deed.  
Did you hear that one on the Council who spoke how Dothraki should be wiped out from the face of the earth?  
For him, world without them would be a good world. And then… in that good world, someone would sooner or later become a new menace,  
instead of the Dothraki, and you’d have to wipe them out too, until you don’t run out of the people.  
And for whom were you making that good world in the first place?” 

Her gaze was lowered now: “I know… I lost my way when I burned the King’s Landing. To this day I don’t know what came over me.”  
“Pain, Dany… pain for all those you’ve lost led you to doubt, doubt to fear, fear to hate. Hate to murder. Of a city you came to free.”  
He leaned towards and wrapped his hands around hers:  
“But that was not true you. Never was, never will be. You came as a shooting star, glowing bright and fast but the darkness in the end has swallowed you.” 

She slowly pulled her hands out of his:  
“You killed me, Jon. I stand before you alive because of Kinvara and of whatever power Lord of Light has. But if it were up to you, I’d be white bones now, left by Drogon on some mountain top.  
My girls would not be even that… I have done a terrible crime in King’s Landing, but so have you. A crime of kinslaying.”  
Her voice was accusing again. 

Jon sighed, then broke the cup in his hand, blood from his left palm and shards of glass fell on terrace floor:  
“I did it, yes! I did it! I killed you! I killed a woman whom I loved, with whom I wanted to live the rest of my days, whose eyes were to be the last thing I see laying on my deathbed… instead, I watched life leaving those loving eyes.  
That was the woman I killed. And yes, gods curse the kinslayers.  
They have cursed me with ten years of living hell, only gods know why I haven’t killed myself, ridden with guilt for taking life of a woman who saved mine more than once…  
What do you want of me, Daenerys, to throw myself on a dagger here before you? I will not. I’ve done my penance. That Jon is no more. “ 

She was breathing heavily: “Good. But I don’t trust this new Jon either. I don’t know how you’re suddenly able to speak High Valyrian, what sorcery gave you this vocabulary and eloquence… I don’t trust you, Jon…” 

Daenerys turned his gaze away from him:  
“You are a brave man, an honest man, you don’t have a shred of duplicity in you… but your loyalty…  
I’ve never had it. Not as your ally, least of all as someone you claim to love.  
I can’t risk the welfare of my girls with such a father.”  
“I would die for my daughters!” he shouted “And you know that.”  
“Mayhaps you should. They’ve once already died because of you.  
You and your damn shield that guards the realm of men.”  
“I did not know that you were with child, how many times do I have to say that… until your ears bleed?” 

Her eyes were set at him again: “All right, Jon of House Targaryen, son of Rhaegar, father of Lyanna and Rhaella, out of ignorance you have condemn our daughters to die.  
Our daughters, Jon. Lord of Light have brought them back and I gave them everything I could.  
Are you ready to do the same for them?”  
“Of course I am! How can you even question that?” 

“Are you, are you truly? If Sansa one day were to ask of you to choose between hers and yours precious North and our children, what would you choose? Tell me, Jon who claims to be a Targaryen…” 

Jon felt as if blood was rushing into his head, as he’s boiling inside.  
His gaze was stuck on Daenerys’ face; two dragons danced and spat fire at each other. Then he saw a piece of broken cup on the table.  
He grabbed the shard and sliced the palm of his right hand with it:  
“I swear it on my blood as a Targaryen, on my blood as a Stark, that my only loyalty in this world lies with my children, Lyanna and Rhaella of House Targaryen.  
And with you, Daenerys of House Targaryen, the woman I love.  
And this I swear from this day till my last day.” 

“The woman you love…” she shook her head “…the woman you could not look at when you found out we are related.  
Since this new Jon seems to be filled with knowledge, what kind of love between kinfolk is cursed by gods, old and new, in Westeros? Tell me…”  
“Gods curse when father lays with daughter, mother lays with son…or brother to sister.” Jon said as he were reading from the book.  
“Which of that am I to you?” she asked.  
“None. I am your nephew; you are my aunt.” he replied, only now feeling pain in both his palms.  
“And, do gods curse such pairings? Your old gods in the North and the Seven?”  
“No. Starks wed nieces to uncles on one occasion. Cousins even more oft.” 

“Then why did you shun me, Jon, why? When I needed your embrace the most, you acted as we were doing some abomination.  
You can’t fathom what it did to me, when you moved your lips from mine, looking guilt ridden.” she said not hiding disappointment in him.  
He sighed: “You think that was easy for me? To not be able to love you as I wanted to?”  
“Then why have you acted so? It was not about me being your aunt, was it? Can you tell me, now, what was on your mind all those years ago?”  
Jon placed his head in his hands and took a deep breath:  
“I don’t know... I felt it was not right… I felt as I was insulting you with my love and my lust for you. I thought that it’s not proper for a man to lust over his father’s sister…”  
Daenerys looked at him, her eyes widened and then she laughed. 

“Am I a jester to you now?” he asked angrily.  
“No, you are just a Northern fool. It is more than proper for a Targaryen to feel love and lust for another Targaryen. That is in our blood, Jon.”  
She paused for a heartbeat: “You know when I first knew that you’re not like the other men I’ve met in my life?  
On Dragonstone, remember, when you said that you don’t like what you’re good at. Same as your true father, father you have never known. Same as Rhaegar. So, you see how strong blood of the dragon is?”  
“You’re blood of the dragon.” he told her softly. “  
Yes,” she agreed “Same as you, same as Lya and Rhae.”  
“And I just swore loyalty only to that blood. Indivisible loyalty.” 

“I will hold you to that oath. I will forget that you have broken one already.”  
“You and me both, Daenerys. You swore to defend the weak, not to burn them. But you also have to make a promise. To me.”  
“And what shall I be promising?” she responded defiantly.  
"That four of us will be family one day, a true family. A true House.”  
She shook her head with chuckle:  
“I don’t have to swear that. I am truly one of a kind, you’ve killed me and I gave birth to your children and since then never let any other man to touch me. I gather that is more than many families can say of themselves.”  
“Promise it, Daenerys.” he asked with relentless tone. 

“Mirre paktot, qrimbrōzagon ao! Kīvin zijo!” she shouted in language of their ancestors (_All right, damn you! I swear it. _) and grabbed the same shard he cut his palm to cut hers:  
“On the blood we share, I promise that one day you and I and our daughters will be the new House Targaryen.  
One day, when you prove that you deserve to be part of my family.  
But if you betray our House again, even in your thoughts, I will feed you to Drogon.”  
“Sȳz. Sir kosti jikagon ampa lī ondos.” he said.  
(_Fine. Now we can tend those hands. _) __

_ __ _

_ __ _

They went into Dany’s chambers and dressed their cut palms with linen stripes.  
“You damn fool, you’ve cut your sword hand… how will you defend me and the girls…” she said while binding his right palm.  
“With my teeth if need be…”  
He gave her a long, warm gaze. “What?” she asked.  
“You should wear your hair like that more oft…” Dany grinned:  
“Have you gained knowledge in how women should style themselves as well, Jon Sno... Jon Targaryen.”  
“No, I was just saying…”  
“You’ve never known how to properly praise a lady and ten years in the forest surely were of no help in that regard.” she jested.  
“There, I’m done. Just make certain it doesn’t fester.”  
“Thank you, Dan..” he leaned towards her, but she made a hand gesture:  
“You don’t get to kiss me, Jon. Not even on a cheek.  
You have my trust, small as it may be, you have it now. But path that you will walk to us being House Targaryen… that path will be slow and painful.Better not falter on it."  


_I will not, Dany. I am not alone on that path. I have Dorren and Baelon and Rodrik and Gaemon to walk at my side. All my forefathers walk with me._

He nodded, “As you say. I’ll better be going now. We shall meet on Arya’s ship tonight. I’ll bring you the guardsmen clothes. Naharis surely has spies around this pyramid, watching your every step.”  
She gave a slight nod. 

As he was at the door, Daenerys asked: “Have you eaten today, Jon?”  
“No. I usually break fast at First Barracks, but with all that happened this morning food was last on my mind.”  
“Then I am inviting you to dine with girls and me.” she said in formal voice, then he heard her mocking: “As aunt I feel obliged to have my nephew well fed.”  
“As my lady aunt wishes.” Jon replied. 


	24. ELRIC

_Mole's Town, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest_

**ELRIC**

It was not a town. It was a village. Even to call it village was a praise.

Half a league south of the Wall at Kingsroad this place lies. 

Its smallfolk were called moles. If one wanted to know why, he’d quickly find an answer in the knowledge that three quarters of this village lies beneath the ground in deep damp warm cellars and vaults connected by a warren of tunnels. 

Buildings above ground included a smithy, a stable and a small number of hovels with shuttered windows and wooden slats.  
Even brothel was located in the cellars, with nothing more than a shack, no bigger than a privy on the surface.  
It had a red lantern hung over the door. It was said that brothers of the Night's Watch went to Mole's Town to dig for _buried treasure_ when they would go to seek the company of whores. On one such occasion, _crows_ were slaughtered by wildling raiders. 

_That will not happen to my men, _Elric Karstak said touring the defence positions around Mole’s Town, _there is no brothel here anymore. _

Place was now fortified, ten and five feet tall wooden wall surrounded the whole village, before it a ditch was dug and rainfall, common for summer this far north, filled it with muddy water. And before ditch, a thick forest of wooden spikes was planted by the Northern garrison which hold the village, making sure that travelers, coming from the Kingsroad and wanting to journey further North by the newly built Queensroad would do so safely.  
It was possible now to go as far as Eastwatch, another Northern garrison that resisted the attacks of the wildlings and the Ironborn.

Mole’s Town was even more of value to the Northerners than Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.  
Losing this village would mean that there is no safe pass from Kingsroad to Queensroad and Eastwatch would soon have to be abandoned, as Hardhome were two moons and a fortnight ago. Eastwatch was intended to be a place of rest for those who were coming to Hardhome by land. 

Riding or traveling on a cart or wagon would take nearly three weeks from here to Hardhome.  
Without this village and the place for which North hoped of becoming Queensport, there was no reason in keeping men at Eastwatch.  
Same as for the Kingdom of the North this village, once on the edge of the world, was important to their enemy. If not more.  
Mole’s Town became a notion of death and horror for many Northern families.  
And some families in the Vale of Arryn.

Last attack was a bloodbath, if Elric ever could contemplate one.  
He was just a boy when men of House Karstark were dying on the field before the walls of Winterfell in the Battle of the Bastards, thousands died that day. Here death came for hundreds, but it was gruesome still. 

“Scorpion!” shouted one of his men upon seeing the flaming large bolt coming from the nearby hill, aimed at the walls.  
Ironborn brought these weapons from their ships in Bay of Ice and transported it by land from Westwatch-by-the-Bridge, westernmost and abandoned castle of Night’s Watch to Queensgate, another abandoned castle of the _crows_, which was now occupied by the Ironborn and the wildlings.

Some of the enemy named Mole’s Town as Whore’s Gate which meant to insult Sansa Stark, the Queen in the North. 

What was left of the Night’s Watch, it being a mummer show for last eleven years, remained in Castle Black, until the fighting at Mole’s Town made their position unbearable and they had to move eastwards, to Woodswatch-by-the-Pool. Elric did not care for Night’s Watch, to him all of them were wildling lovers and spies. 

Walls sustained a direct blow and some of its wooden poles were shattered.  
Though burning itself, the bolt from the ballista did not set the palisade ablaze this time, as poles were wet from the rain earlier that day.  
There was a catapult as well, but it could not do damage to the village walls as those manning it were struck down by arrows every time when they dared to move weapon closer.  
Catapult was used to aim at spikes that were sticking out from the ground before the ditch. First stone landed among it, leaving many broken and some torn out from the ground. Next stone followed soon after causing the same and breach in the spike wall, in the first line of defense, was becoming visible. 

_Soon they will charge again. Kraken and Thenn, pairing made in one of seven hells of Andal faith, _  
Elric mused watching how catapults shoot stones which mowed the wooden poles with sharpened tips like grass.  
Enemy has made a breach.  
“Archers, get ready! They’ll be upon us soon! Pass the word!” he shouted to his men at the palisade.  
Elric expected a rain of arrows next, wildling bowmen would line up behind the wooden shields, almost as tall as man, and aimed at the defenders. 

Not many arrows would hit a Northern soldier, but those that did would add the number of dead or wounded, weakening the garrison.  
This time it was not so. There were no enemy archers taking place north and west of the village, instead he saw them coming, in two columns.  
One of wildlings, other of Ironborn, both keeping tight square formation, shields were covering the front row of men, those on the sides while men in the middle of this formation were holding shields above their heads.  
It reminded him of a turtle and of hedgehog in the same time, with spears sticking between dozens of shields.  
Foes advanced in slow pace, keeping order and he knew they will soon be in the range of arrows. 

“Archers, take positions!” Elric ordered and men with bows and quivers or bags with arrows rushed to climb the walls and aim at the incoming enemy. 

About two scores of his bowmen were waiting with nocked arrows while two shielded columns of foes sloughed across the field through the breach between the spikes.  
He was about to shout _Loose_ when Rodrik Locke, commander of the archers, called his attention: “My lord, look! The western wall!”  
Elric’s eyes went as Rodrik told him…  
_Damn iron whores! _ curse flashed in his mind before he yelled at his men on the walls: “Get low! Get low!”  
Those closer to him managed to kneel or crouch down, before two bolts came from the scorpions, both shot at once.  
Bolts flew one foot over the edges of the palisade poles where western wall connected with the northern side.  
Elric could see how bolts slam into his archers, projectile passed through one man and stopped in the chest of another, both of them fell down from the wall.  
Other bolt slashed the neck of one archer while flying by, forced the other to jump off the wall and ended in the side of third man, spilling his entrails on the rampart.  
Elric was first one standing again and he bellowed orders: “Archers on the west wall, aim at those scorpions, loose at will! North wall, rain fire on those fuckers…!”  
Half a dozen of his bowmen was killed or wounded by two bolts, but others were more than eager to avenge their fallen companions. 

On the west side, arrows have soon driven away the Ironborn and their scorpion wagons, killing fair share of them, palisade was now out of the weapons range.  
On the north side, clay jars and flagons filled with oil were thrown at two shielded columns of the enemy which was now getting ready to cross the ditch. 

Elric saw just a glimpse of ladder in the Ironborn _shield turtle_…  
_They will lay the ladders over the ditch and then use it to climb the walls. We must stop them before._

“Rodrik, gather all the men and all the shields you can from the south and east side…we’re meeting Kraken and Thenn head on… I want them to drown in that ditch.”  
_The Kraken and the Thenn_, that saying has become a common name among the Northern soldiers for this alliance of Ironborn and wildlings, even if it were not right, while all the Ironborn were indeed krakens, that was their sigil, only a handful of wildlings were Thenn, those clever enough to come on the south side of the Wall four and ten years ago.

First rows of both Ironborn and wildling _turtle_ were now in disorder for the fire that caught shields and men alike and were pushed forward by those behind them; some managed to move aside, some fell into the ditch that was deep and wide nearly twice as palisade was tall.  
Two of the Free Folk came from under the _shield turtle_ with ladder, they ran to the ditch and placed the ladder over it as a makeshift bridge, ladder on each end was three feet longer than ditch was wide.  
Elric knew that shield covered formation of the enemy will break apart as soon as they begin to charge over the ladder and that was the spot where he would meet them, on the very edge of the ditch.  
Three quarter of an hour later, two shield walls collided with a crack of iron and wood, Elric held his shield high and felt the impact of a spear point snap against the wooden frame and he felt the weight of men pushing in from the front as well as at his back, curses and screams and metal raking against wood and the crunching of flesh, and he saw the feet of his enemies digging into the earth, and overhead, he heard the whooshing of spears being thrown into the deeper ranks of the wildling lines. 

Sound of bodies falling into water were now more oft than when it all started, that small portion of ground between palisade and the ditch was turned into slippery mud and two lines of men tried to break each other, one to have their enemies pinned to the walls, other to push their enemies into brown colored nine feet deep water. 

Elric felt the enemy wall falter as the fighting shifted to the left, and he saw a break in the line and lunged forward with his shield, the impact sending a burst of pain up his left arm, but the pain disappeared quickly, and he stabbed to his left with the point of his short sword, and the steel tip ripped into flesh and bone, and a soldier fell to the ground at his feet.  
He stepped over the fallen body and attacked the next man who tried to fill the gap, and stabbing over his shield, his blade caught the man in the throat, spraying blood, a fine mist, warm and bright red, and the man grabbed at the steel edge stuck in his neck.  
Young Karstark ripped the sword free, another gush of blood, the man’s face pale and eyes wide, hands grasping at the wound as he fell to his knees choking and gurgling on his own blood.

“Push them back! They’re breaking! Push them back!!!” he shouted.  
The Northern shield wall took half of the ground between ditch and the walls, making impossible for more Ironborn and wildlings to run across the makeshift ladder bridge and join their brothers in fight, there was no room for more men without falling into the water. Catapults and scorpions now could not be used, not if one did not want to kill its own men as well as the enemy. His archers that were shooting at the enemy on the other side of the ditch from the top of the palisade and from the gate on the northern side, now have turned on those making the other shield wall, one that was slowly but surely giving in to Elric and his shields and swords. 

“Come on! Come on, men! The Kingdom of the North!” he yelled and smashed the face of one strayed Ironborn with the hilt of his sword.  
“The Kingdom of the North!!!” scores of voices replied.  
Mole’s Town was defended once more. 

Elric walked along the outer side of the walls, Rodrik Locke was with him.  
“How many did we lose?”  
“Five and forty dead, two and twenty wounded.”  
“Curse their whore mothers, Kraken and Thenn are getting better and better in killing us than in maiming us.  
I’ll send raven to Winterfell, we need more men here, our Queen gaze is only on the Eastwatch while Mole’s Town is the key of victory in this war.  
We must make this such a stronghold that they’ll never try to attack us again.” 

Bodies of dead wildlings and of some Ironborn were floating in the ditch,  
he saw a crow plucking on the face that was half missing.  
Stench of the water was awful, it reeked of death, bladders and bowels.  
“Ah, for fuck sake, send a message to them to come and collect their own dead… we’ll be up to our necks in flies and maggots if these poor fuckers stay afloat here.”  
He sent a messenger, one of wounded wildlings that has yielded and was spared by his men. 

That same man returned on the horseback under the peace banner.  
“Lord Karstark!” he yelled when he halted the horse before the ditch “Lord Karstark!” Elric stepped on the palisade:  
“I don’t see that you’ve brought men to take those corpses away.” “  
They come ‘ere in less than a ‘our. But, the Ironborn commander like to ‘ave a parlay with you.”  
“Does he now?” he replied “Tell him I accept. Two miles south of here, on the Kingsroad. Three hours from now.”  
“Aye…I tell ‘im.” man said and rode away.

“Elric of House Karstark.” said a man of brown hair and beard of same color, neatly trimmed, dressed in black breeches and black surcoat under which he had chainmail hauberk “I’ve heard you’re young but… you were surely suckling your mother’s teat when I was cutting down your Northerners in the battle on the Green Fork.” 

They were standing next to their horses on the Kingsroad, two miles southwards of Mole’s Town, their escort keeping the distance from them and from each other.  
“With what you’ve just said, my doubts were confirmed. You’re neither a wildling nor an Ironborn.” Elric replied.  
Man laughed loudly:  
“Ha-ha, my lord, I will tell you this, if I were a damn wildling, I’d let you kill me right now, but if I were a fucking Ironborn I’d kill myself.” “A Southron. I can tell by your accent. Are you a sellsword?”  
“I was once. Long ago. Not anymore.”  
“So, not being from the Free Folk or the Iron Islands and not getting paid, what makes you fight in this war?” he asked the man in his late forties.  
“Same what makes you… power and lands. Though power and lands that I want are far more valuable than this shithole we’ve been slaughtering each other for.”  
Elric grinned: “And fighting for the Ironborn will get you that land and power?”  
“It will get me closer to getting it, aye. The longer I fight here, the closer I am.”  
“That would mean you do not prefer a fast victory over us, when such a thing would even be possible?” he asked. 

Man laughed again:  
“Now, young lord Karstark, do you truly believe that your Northern host made of toothless old men and boys who don’t even have hair between their legs could resist the onslaught of such butchers as Ironborn and wildlings are?”  
“Do not underestimate my men.”  
“I have seen their value or lack of it at Hardhome. And those were your finest.”  
“Why have you called this parlay?” Elric said with annoyed tone.  
“To see if we can make an arrangement.”  
“I do not make arrangements with my enemies.” young Karstark said. 

“Then you’re a fool… last moon, Brienne of Tarth came to Winterfell.  
With message from the Imp. Begging of your ginger queen to end this war because if it lasts, the Six Kingdoms will fall apart. Don’t bother to deny it.  
My side has spies at both courts… and my side would like this war in the far North to last for many moons… years if need be.” man in dark clothes told him.  
“Your side wants for Six Kingdoms to fell apart? Why?”  
“…and why not? Does only North have a right to leave the Realm?” man asked.  
“I would say all kingdoms are free to choose. As North did.” Elric replied.  
Man nodded: “And your North could benefit greatly if Six Kingdoms are not there anymore.” 

Young Karstark made a slight frown: “Care to explain further?”  
Former sellsword grinned: “Ah…a man who wants to know more… that is good.  
Well, my lord Elric, the Vale of Arryn is ruled by a young weakling who is cousin of your queen. Riverlands are ruled by an old weakling who is uncle of your queen.  
To whom will those two kingdoms rally one day when King’s Landing is no more their capital…? To Winterfell.  
And who is bedding the Queen in the North?”  
“Mind your tongue…” Elric said.  
“I am sure you do not when Sansa’s twat is in question.” man mocked as he was mounting his horse and then he said with seriousness:  
“Think it over, young lord, is it better for Riverrun to be ruled from the North or from the Iron Islands.  
And they do dream of returning to the age of Kings of the Isles and the Rivers…” 

“You fight with the Ironborn, yet you plot against them… that is treason and dishonesty but also a way how game is played.”  
“I hope you will prove yourself as a player as well, lord Karstark.”  
“We shall see; I will take your words into consideration.”  
“Good. As a token of good will, I can tell you that our next attack will be on Eastwatch six days from today. Mayhaps we’ll take that damn ruin this time.”  
“You’re welcome to try, lord… Ser…” Elric did not know how to address the man. 

“Bronn. Just Bronn will do.” man said as he was riding away.


	25. ARYA

_Meereen, Essos, year 316 After Conquest_

**ARYA**

“I am giving it to you only for the safekeeping.” she said to her two nieces standing on the deck of _Rhaelyanna_ at the ship’s bow, who were on the edge of bursting into tears “And with that I mean for you to keep each other safe.” 

She pulled the small sword with thin blade from her belt and gave it to Lyanna: “The Needle is for you, wolf child. It was forged in Winterfell, your father had it made for me when I was your age and now, I give it to you.”  
Raven-haired girl had tears rolling down her cheeks: “I don’t want your sword, Arya, I want you to stay here, we are your family… why are you leaving us?”  
She embraced Lyanna and then wiped girl’s tears: “You will always be my family. Till my last day you’ll be my sweet nieces no matter how big and strong you will grow.  
You will be strong women one day. But I cannot stay, Lya, ships are made for sailing. And I am a wandering wolf.”  
Lyanna looked at Needle, tears still coming down her face. 

She then turned to her other niece, a silver-haired girl who was sobbing and then she wrapped her arms around Arya’s neck: “Don’t go, Arya, please…”  
Arya also hugged the girl and when they parted their embrace gave her the richly adorned dagger which she took off her belt:  
“I give the Catspaw to you, ñuha dōna, a Valyrian steel for a Valyrian girl…” she smiled and then said to Rhaella:  
“You look like your mother, but you have Stark temper, sweet niece, you remind me of my father, he was called the quiet wolf. And you are the quiet dragonwolf.”  
She embraced the girl again and whispered to her ear: “Promise me you’ll keep Lyanna from getting into trouble.”  
Girl nodded, saying through tears: “I promise.” 

Arya then placed her hands on both girls’ shoulders: “And I promise that I’ll write to you about all the places I will see on my voyage to Nefer. I will send my letters by other ships that will be sailing for Meereen. And I have one more promise… for your four and ten nameday, I will come here or at Port Yhos and you two will go on the voyage with me, aboard _Rhaelyanna._”  
Their eyes, red of tears, widened. “Where shall we go?” Lya asked.  
“We can go east to Yi Ti or west to Free Cities. Hells, we can go as far as Dorne, to pick blood oranges…you will choose.”  
“I’d like to go Braavos, mama lived there when she was a little girl…” Rhae said. “Then we’ll go to Braavos after Dorne…” Arya smiled “…but now you have to return to your mother.” 

She embraced the girls once again and then all three walked across the deck of the swan-ship to go ashore when Davos Seaworth came from astern.  
“Farewell, old Ser…” Lyanna greeted him while Rhaella politely bowed her head.  
Arya saw that girls were safely placed into carriage that will take them to the temple pyramid and then she came back aboard _Rhaelyanna_.

Davos was leaned on ship’s main mast and gave her an approving smile:  
“I must have done it hundred times in my life, such partings, and hundred times they’ve scarred my heart…  
You leave a boy or a girl child home and you come back to a young man or a woman whom you barely recognise…  
They are lovely children, Jon’s girls. Truly.”  
Arya sighed… “Yes, they are. I’ve never thought that I would grow to love them this much... and I did. Almost as if they were my own daughters.”  
Davos said pensively: “Heirs of both Dragonstone and Winterfell.”  
“And now, the man who is to them the same kin as I am wants them dead.”  
“Not him but the thing that has infested his body and mind.  
I wonder if Bran Stark is even among the living anymore, maybe only empty shell is left while his spirit has gone and he is no more alive than Rickon Stark is.” 

Arya shrugged: “Mayhaps… still, we have a lot of lives to protect and lot of killers to kill… we are leaving the port, Ser Davos, tomorrow past noon both _Nymeria_ and _Rhaelyanna_ will set sail south and west, whom ever is spying on us, and be sure that they do, must be made to believe we’re headed to the Summer Sea, leaving the Bay of Dragons.”  
“And where are we truly headed?”  
“Ships are to lay anchor at the cove of Yaros Isle, south of Yunkai. But some of us will disembark sooner, no more than twenty miles south of Meereen we will lower the boat in the water and row ashore, Dothraki will be will be waiting us with fresh horses and we will ride back to the city.”  
“So, the assassins will strike soon, you think?”  
Arya nodded: “Aye, they will. That sellsword had surely noted how his companions that once were Sons of the Harpy are nowhere to be found.” 

She killed them. All three.  
First the one who wanted her nieces to serve in brothels.  
She fed him with poisoned locusts and took his face, leaving the corpse for the stray dogs.  
Arya knew of which sellsword Kinvara was telling her about when she saw her at the temple. She followed him to a tavern in one of the poorer quarters of Meereen.  
She wore the face of a drunk vagrant who died of a sunstroke on the street of that same quarter. With that face she entered the tavern and pretended to be sleeping on the chair, with pissed breeches, only few feet away from the table where Daario Naharis and three Meereenese nobles were talking, making plans of bringing havoc to the city and in that havoc to kill the _dragon whore_ as they called the mother of her nieces which were to be killed or sold as pleasure slaves. 

Next she killed the fat one, that had greasy curled hair.  
He came at the bath close to his manse, bath where he enjoyed the company of servant boys massaging his soft, obese nakedness.  
This time it was woman’s hands that gently touched him on his shoulders only to be closed around his neck squeezing the life out of him.  
She pushed him into the pool of warm water, to make it seem as he drowned. 

Third one, brown-skinned with grey-white hair died on his very doorstep.  
She came to his house wearing the face of the first she killed, one of crooked nose and a scarred chin, telling the man as he opened the door that Naharis plans to trick them and then she stabbed him, as common thief would do, many times and messy. She stole his money purse and left him to die.  
_There will be no chaos in the city now, _she thought. 

That same evening she was to meet Jon and Daenerys aboard _Rhaelyanna. _  
She feared what reaction could come from Daenerys.  
_Knowing the Dragon Queen, she could jump on Drogon and fly to the Red Keep to burn it down again, this time to the very foundation stone.  
But she is a mother. Free to choose how to deal with this threat on her life and the lives of her daughters. _

“Arya, one man dressed in black and red wants to come aboard. And one soldier of City Guard is with him.” Willard Stout called.  
She kept only the skeleton crew on her second ship. Artos Costayne and not more than dozen men with him, including her new healer Illeo Maegyr. “Let them come aboard and sent them to my cabin.” she replied. 

At her cabin, four of them were seated at the table.  
Arya wearing her Braavosi jacket and grey trousers, Ser Davos in his leather jerkin and brown breeches, Jon wearing colors of dragonlords, black surcoat with red borders  
and a guardsman of smaller stature in brown tunic and dun cloak with hood pulled overhead and black scarf that covered whole face save the eyes. 

“I gather there is no need for such concealed look.” Jon said.  
“Kessa.” guardsman replied removing the hood and the scarf in the same time.  
Davos’ jaw dropped when he saw Daenerys Targaryen sitting in front of him.  
He managed only to mumble: “Your… Your Grace…”  
“I am nobody’s queen anymore, Ser Davos, you don’t need to address me with that title.  
As a mother, for your coming here to warn us of the grave danger for my children, I owe you a great debt.” Daenerys replied. “You owe me nothing, Your… my lady. Mayhaps I was not among shiniest of knights of Seven Kingdoms but my title would not be worth a shite if I hadn’t sailed to Meereen.” Davos said to her to which she nodded with hint of smile. “

Arya, this must be a short gathering.” Jon said “Our daughters are alone now.”  
“Alone with score and half of the Unsullied. They are safe same as they were here with us.” she replied  
“I know what enemy intends to do, Jon. We know who enemy is.”  
“Then, who is it?” Davos asked.  
“Daario Naharis. And the Second Sons. Or some of them at least.” Arya replied dryly.  
She could see the anger and disillusion on silver-haired woman’s face.  
“He was loyal to me for all these years. And now he wants me and my family dead.”  
“He was loyal to the Queen of Meereen, to Mother of Dragons… one he hoped to be very close with…”  
Arya could tell by Jon’s face it was better not to go further with that  
“…now you’re just an obstacle. This sellsword has ambitions and one woman, mother of twin girls who’s grown tired of ruling is of no use to him.  
He is the man Tyrion has made a pact with to kill you, Rhae and Lya, most likely Jon as well.  
He even met with former Sons of the Harpy to arrange a huge unrest in the city at the time when you’re to be assassinated.” 

Jon raised from the table that instant:  
“Enough of the empty talk. We should get Drogon to burn the pyramid of Yherizan to the very ground it was built upon. Let none one of those sellsword rats to get out alive.”  
Davos frowned at this, so did Arya.  
She knew her brother now fully adopted his Targaryen heritage, but it was unlike him to have such outbursts, something she would expect from Daenerys. 

And she made Arya and Davos to frown again: “No, Jon, you will do no such thing. Pyramid of Yherizan is surrounded with dozens of houses where hundreds of people live. You can’t bring the pyramid down on their heads. Drogon will never again be used to cause the death of innocents. There must be a better way…”  
Then she turned to Arya: “…what do you propose?” Arya looked at her, then at her brother:  
“…I am not an expert in planning battles, you two are. And this will be a battle, no matter how small. Daario will storm the R’hllor temple to get to you.”  
Davos asked: “How many of those Second Sons are there?”  
“When he pledged his sword to me, Daario commanded some two thousand men. Now, so many years later, he has fewer.  
They’ve been serving as keepers of peace and order in Bay of Dragons for all these years and many who preferred a life of sellswords have left him and in last moons many of Meereenese left him to be part of City Guard. In Meereen there are no more than five hundred Second Sons left.  
Rest of them are in Yunkai and Astapor, but it will take them days to come here if Daario were to call their aid.” Daenerys said.  
“Those you can get rid of easily, your Dothraki can attack them on their march to Meereen or you can do that with Drogon…” Arya told her. 

“What if…” Jon finally spoke again “…what if we’re to make Second Sons to leave the city… to lure them out.”  
“What do you mean, lad?” Davos asked.  
“They want to kill Daenerys… and from what I’ve seen there is no reason to doubt that Naharis would be happy to kill me too. Why not give him that chance in the open field…” “Jon, speak so that we all can understand." came from Daenerys.  
“We must force him to chase us outside Meereen, Daenerys, there we can unleash Drogon on him. And the Dothraki.”  
“There’s quarter of thousand Dothraki at Khyzai Pass at this very moment.” Daenerys said “Still, we must figure how to draw our enemies outside the city walls.” “I’ll leave to you Targaryens to devise something…” Arya said “…on my part a false departure will take place. That will encourage Naharis even more.  
Both of my ships will act as leaving this side of the world for a long while. But not before we agree on course of action.” 

Their meeting ended; Jon went out on the deck while Daenerys remained to hide her face again.  
She noticed Seaworth is looking at her:  
“What is on your mind, Ser Davos?”  
“My lady, when Samwell told me you were brought back to life, I did not like it, not one bit… then after coming here I spoke with Arya and Jon and from what I see…  
I am glad you’ve got this second life, Daenerys Stormborn.…”  
She looked at him, slightly surprised: “I thank you for being honest with me, Ser Davos.”  
“Stannis Baratheon once told me that good act does not wash out the bad, nor a bad the good. You did one bad act and many good ones.  
You were a just woman before you burned King’s Landing.”  
She shook her head: “There’s no justification for what I did to the place you were born in, Ser Davos. And I’ve utterly failed as a just woman then.”  
“Aye, you did. Which does not mean you deserve to be killed once again. Or that your daughters should be butchered for being a Targaryen.”  
She made a slight nod to him and said before leaving: “I thank you again, for your sincerity, Ser.” 

Willard Stout blew the large horn three times from the stern as both _Nymeria_ and _Rhaelyanna_ left the port of Meereen the day after Arya bid farewell to her nieces.  
She knew it was a ruse for Daario’s spies lurking around her ships, but Lya and Rhae did not and parting from Arya saddened them greatly.  
Arya knew that once, not so far from today, a true parting from the twins will take place and she knew she’ll be crying on that day too. 

_Before that day comes, I have a lot to do, _Arya thought, as ships sailed out on the open sea and went in direction of south and west.  
One-masted boat, whose crew seemed to be fishermen, was also sailing south and west, keeping distance of couple of miles, but not changing course.  
Arya cursed knowing those were Daario’s spies making certain her ships were indeed leaving Bay of Dragons.

In late hours after noon, when Meereen was out of sight, _Nymeria_ proceeded in same direction while _Rhaelyanna _ came closer to coastline with  
Elston Mudd from Saltpans on the lookout point, standing in a crow's nest on the main mast.  
Fishing boat was nowhere to be seen. _Fuckers have turned back, to report Naharis that I have truly left._

Sun was slowly setting when ship passed seventieth mile south of Meereen. Three quarters of an hour later, with last traces of day, Mudd shouted:  
“Signal light ashore! Signal light ashore!” Arya grabbed the brass and leather telescope and took a long look at the coastline.  
Then she saw it. Signal fire was lit at the small rocky beach. “Lower the boat!” she yelled.  
A small band of Dothraki rode along the coast for most of the day, following _Rhaelyanna _ and searching most fitting place for boats to come ashore. 

“Artos, I need four men to row the boat ashore, when they return to ship you sail her to Yaros.” she said to the captain of _Rhaelyanna_.  
“And where do you intend to go, lord Maegyr?” she asked her Volantene healer as he approached her with wooden box whose strap was over his shoulder.  
“Kesā jorrāelagon iā giēñatī, Āria, skoriot ao sagon jāre. Gaomagon daor gūrogon nyke syt iā mittys.” he said to her in High Valyrian  
(_You will need a healer, Arya, where you're going. Do not take me for a fool. _)  
“Iksan tolī isse se jorrāelagon hen iā vīlībāzmio, Illeo.” she replied to him  
(_I am more in the need of a warrior._)  
“Nyke māzigon hen se qogron hen banēre, Āria. Eman gūrēntan naejot nektogon vali olvie gō pār nyke gūrēntan skorkydoso naejot giēñagon.”  
(_I come from the line of tigers, Arya. I have learned to cut men long before I learned how to stitch them._) 

She smirked: “Egros iā egrio?” (_Sword or spear? _)  
“Egrio se sumby. Īlen gūrēntan naejot gaomagon zirȳ ondoso iā Dorniot.”  
(_Spear and shield. I was taught how to use them by a Dornishman._) 

Arya donned her leather boots, black trousers and grey linen surcoat underneath the brown leather jerkin.  
She placed scabbard of her Rhoynar sword across the shoulder.  
At the beach a band of ten Dothraki awaited them. Arya and Illeo were given horses and they began the hard ride back to Meereen.  
It was already night and she knew that Daario’s men will attack the R’hllor temple to get Lyanna and Rhaella, to capture them if possible or to kill them if not.  
She was uneasy for her ship was made to sail further away from Meereen than Arya planned, she cursed those false fishermen for the entirety of her ride back.

Temple was defended by thirty of the Unsullied and two dozens of Fiery Hand soldiers that came from Volantis at Kinvara’s request.  
Fiery Hand had a thousand soldiers, never more and never less; all of them being servants of R'hllor.  
They wore ornate armour over their red robes, and wield spears with points in shape of writhing flames.  
Arya knew little of fighting worth of these men but was sure that they cannot last for too long against sellswords. 

Last hour before midnight had begun when Arya charged her horse up the stairway of the pyramid in which Lord of Light was worshiped, followed by the Dothraki and Illeo, one rider next to other. Second Sons have already attacked, she saw them and the Fiery Hand battling at the first platform and the wall of shields and spears of the Unsullied on the stairs leading to second platform, wall into which some two score of attackers were hurling.  
Corpses piled under the feet of eunuch soldiers, until the sheer strength of numbers of the Second Sons managed to broke through the Unsullied line,  
but only long enough for ten or so of them to run up the stairway. 

Arya and eleven other riders descended upon the sellswords from the back, her Rhoynar sword and arakhs were slicing left and right while Illeo impaled and cut with the spear Dothraki gave him, even horses were biting and kicking at the foes and many them were falling of the stairs into certain death beneath the steep pyramid.  
Others that have turned about to face the riders were now getting speared in the back by the Unsullied. 

Arya was able to cut through Second Sons all the way up to the shield wall.  
“Ivestragī nyke rēbagon! Ivestragī nyke rēbagon!” she yelled to the Unsullied demanding to let her pass and they did move so she could ride by them. 

Soon she caught up with seven sellswords that were climbing the stairway to get to third platform where her nieces were right now.  
One was thrown off the pyramid as her horse rode pass him and she run her sword though back of the neck of the other.  
She dismounted as the rest of them were facing her now. 

Six swords moved through the night, each one gleaming, each one gory.  
A grey bearded, scarred man lunged from the fray; his scimitar held high.  
He wore the Tyroshi clothes though she did not know nor cared for his garments, soon her Rhoynar blade sliced through his breastplate as if it were butter and the man fell. Already bloodied lieutenant of Second Sons stumbled into the path of Arya’s sword, sparks flew as the blades collided. He took quick steps back as she rained down on him, blow after blow, instead of growing tired Arya felt more alive, more awake than she had in years.  
This was the part of her she wanted to bury, part that loved the song of steel and scent of blood.  
Lieutenant’s body soon tumbled down the stairs. 

Arya felt another behind her and she swung around to meet her foe.  
An Astapori man stood, terrified in the dark as his blade shattered, only the hilt left in his quivering hand.  
He stared at Arya, a mixture of fear and anger in his hollowed eyes.  
Astapori drew another sword from a sheath, throwing his broken blade behind him but as soon he stopped in his tracks, a guttural scream poured from his mouth and from the back of his throat the point of a sword appeared, bloody with the insides of his neck.  
He stared pleadingly at Arya until she mercifully withdrew her curved Valyrian sword and the man died. 

Fourth sellsword charged forward, Arya met him and his fury for his fallen brothers.  
She collided with him, blade on blade, he stumbled backwards but still stood his ground, she could feel the pain in her left arm as man’s blade kissed her.  
As he charged at her again, in the same swift movement she evaded his blow and cut the sellsword from behind, separating his head from the shoulders.  
His steel helm rolled noisily across the hard ground, his head clattering wetly inside. 

She saw the smallest of the five, a man of Summer Isles barely five foot in size, wearing no helm nor plate, only thick boiled leather covered him and a long double pronged spear was held in one slender hand. A sharp ringing followed as Arya batted away this sellsword’s spear.  
He danced away from her reach as if he were the wind itself.  
His feet trod lightly on the stone ground and he spun circles around her. The spear cut her, finding skin to slice at her shoulder and she gritted her teeth against the bite. 

_Has he coated the spear tip with poison like Dornish sometimes do_, she wondered, _I’d know it soon enough... _

They danced for what seemed hours to her, small dark-skinned man tested her patience, but Arya was no stranger to a spear and she soon caught his face, slicing across it before the man could scamper away, slowing him enough for her blade to cut the spear in two, both pieces blown from man’s hands.  
Next was her sword tip bore through sellsword’s ribs. He fell on his knees, spitting blood…  
"What sort of creature are you…?” he said in a low clouded whisper.  
"Does it matter?” she asked, blood trickling from her two wounds.  
He shook his head… “It…doesn’t… finish it. I won’t plead… for mercy.”  
“I would give it to you had you wronged me alone. But you have wronged the blood of my blood. That I cannot pardon.”  
Man nodded and closed his eyes as he heard the sword swoop through the air, a steel beast with wings.

Below, the swords had stopped clanging and she knew the fight was over.  
She could tell even by the dim light of the torches on the stairs and platforms of this pyramid that men of City Guard have flooded the temple from all sides quelling the last hope of the attackers.  
She charged up the stairway, there were about half a dozen dead men, both Second Sons and the Unsullied scattered on the terrace floor; as she reached the chambers she kicked the door swung open and inside the room, their backs to the wall stood two girls. One with dark-hair held a small sword whose thin blade was reddened by blood and another with silver-hair who held a Dothraki bow was bleeding from the wound on her belly, Arya could see the pain on her face but girl kept her posture. On the room’s floor, two men were lying dead, one had arrow nested in his head.

“Arya… it’s Arya…” shouted the dark-haired girl with both surprise and relief.  
She ran to the girls and kneeled hugging the one with a thin sword first: "Lya, are you all right? Tell me…”  
Girl nodded: “I am, we killed them both, but they have cut Rhae…”  
Arya’s eyes went to other girl and upon seeing her wound, she felt as something was choking her…“Rhaella, I am here… I am here, ñuha dōna…”  
She gently embraced the girl and kissed her cheeks.  
“My belly hurts, Arya…it bleeds…” girl said, only now starting to cry.  
Arya’s eyes watered as well, she could tell her niece’s belly had a gash and it frightened her…  
“Oh, Rhaella, I know it hurts, I know, but you must be brave now…”  
Girl cried: “I want to be, but I can’t…”  
“You can, you’re the bravest girl I have ever known, my sweet, sweet niece.” 

Two of the Unsullied followed by the four men from the City Guard all came charging into the room and soon after them came the priestess of Lord of Light, Kinvara and Illeo Maegyr, Volantene healer armed with broken spear whose tip was dripping blood. His robes were also covered with crimson stains.

Arya looked at the guardsmen and asked in Valyrian: “Is the temple secured?”  
“Yes, my lady.” they replied. “Good. Take lady Lyanna to saftey… and get someone to clean this sellsword filth from this room.”  
“As you order.” they replied. 

When guards left with Lyanna, Arya helped Rhaella to lay on the bed, then she walked to Kinvara and Illeo, both standing at bedside.  
She said whispering: “Use all the skills you possess to save her; I beg this from both of you…I don’t beg oft, but I do now. She means a world to me.”  
“I will Arya, I swear it.” Illeo said and he went over to Rhaella, gently slicing girls’ clothes with small knife to reveal the wound. 

Arya stepped out on the terrace, taking a breath of fresh air.  
A loud, wild cry of rage, pain and fear came out of her mouth as she kicked the corpse of a sellsword who slashed Rhaella’s belly.  
She was worried for her sweet Rhaella, she knew that such wound can claim one’s life, herself had such wound once. 

“She will not perish, your niece.” Kinvara’s voice in ever calm tone came from behind.  
“Please, do not tell me that flames have told you that.” Arya brushed her off without turning towards her “I do not want to hear it. I warn you.”  
“No, not the flames. The hope in the eyes of your healer has. It could be for Rhaella to live to tell her granddaughter about you, Hero of Winterfell. And of Meereen.”  
She now turned to see the priestess:  
“I hope you’re right this time. I can’t say that I like you much, nor that I act politeness towards you, but I respect you. I want you to know that.”  
“Oh, I know that very well, lady Stark.” Kinvara replied. 

Then priestess walked to the edge of the terrace to watch how City Guard and the Unsullied throw the corpses of the Second Sons on a pile, right there on the street before the pyramid that was the temple of R’hllor of Meereen. 

“So, this is how it ends.” Kinvara said.  
“No.” Arya replied regretfully. “This is how it begins.”

A large shadow covered the pyramid and loud shriek came from the sky.


	26. DAENERYS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of this chapter takes place in the same time as part of the previous chapter (fight with Second Sons on two locations in same time).
> 
> The Jon-Daario duel has some similar elements as one described in the awesome work "An Empire of Ice and Fire", this was a nod to that author.

_Meereen, Essos, year 316 After Conquest_

**DAENERYS **

She was leaned on the door frame of the chamber where her twins were sleeping. Or were supposed to sleep.  
They have just been told by their father that their Stark aunt will leave Meereen before this week passes.  
Now their eyes were full of tears. 

Eight moons have passed since Arya saved Lyanna from being beaten or stabbed to death by some Braavosi sailors in that quay in port of Qarth.  
In those eight moons, Arya became a family member to Daenerys’ daughters.  
It took some time but she could tell that her relation with Arya grew from uneasy truce to reciprocal respect and even liking to some extent.  
Arya’s flight on Drogon from Meereen to north of the Wall and back with Rhaella and Lyanna to bring Jon to Essos did not win Arya much favour with Daenerys.  
Yet as days have passed her terror with the notion of what might have happened on such a long journey gave room to all the benefits which came from that dragon ride across half of the world.

Greatest of those benefits, father of her twins, was now comforting them as they were still saddened with learning of Arya’s soon departure. 

“You know that aunt Arya loves you both, but she is a seafarer now, her place is on the waves. We can’t expect from her to stay in Meereen forever.  
Arya wants to roam across the world, girls, and no matter how much we all love her, we must respect that.”  
Jon said to his daughters who were sitting on the bed in their nightgowns. “She told us she is a wandering wolf.” Rhaella added.  
“She is, Rhae, she always was. That does not mean she doesn’t care greatly for you or that she will forget you. She has something which will make her think of her dōna lēkiatala, of her sweet nieces every day. Her swan-ship. Rhaelyanna.” 

Girls were now smiling.  
“So, are my little dragonwolves ready for their night rest?”  
“Papa…” Rhaella asked “…will you come with us to Port Yhos?”  
“You would like that, Rhae, right…” Jon smiled and placed his finger on silver-haired girl’s nose which made her giggle.  
“He can’t go, Rhaella, Papa is Commander-general of the City Guard of Meereen.” Lyanna said proudly.  
“But you will come and visit?” other girl insisted.  
“Yes, Rhae, I will. Whenever I can.” Jon said with sad determination.  
“It takes fortnight from here to Port Yhos by ship, Papa. And more than a moon by land…” his daughter with Valyrian looks was disheartened.  
“And only a few hours on a dragon.” Lyanna said hopefully.  
“Father is not a dragonrider. Only Muña is.” Rhaella replied.  
“I’ve lost my dragon, tala.” 

Daenerys’ eyes widened upon hearing this. _What is he going to tell them?_

Twins gazed at Jon now with awe.  
“You had a dragon, father?” Lya asked.  
“He was your mother’s dragon, but I was his rider for a while. Rhaegal...” “…was killed by Euron Greyjoy. With those huge arrows…”  
“Yes. That is right, Rhae. He rests now under the Narrow Sea. But before that, I flew Rhaegal against the Night King, together with your mother, she flew Drogon.”  
“You fought in the sky?” Lyanna asked, her eyes wide.  
“Yes, Lya, for the Night King rode wight dragon. We fought him over Winterfell.”  
Both girls nodded: “Viserion. Night King killed him. Arya told us of it.”  
“Once, Muña and I rode Drogon and Rhaegal over North and landed at this waterfall… it was beautiful place, my sweets.” Jon said half-absently.

This brought tears to her eyes and she stepped away from the door, for them not to see her. A treasured memory came to her mind.  
_ It’s cold up here for southern girl… So keep your Queen warm. _  
She remembered those words as they were told moment ago.  
_We made a miracle that day, Jon, those girls you talk with now. _

“Father, but I’ve heard from the Dothraki that King in the North rode Rhaegal…”  
“Yes, that was me, Rhaella.” Lyanna almost shouted: “Papa, you were King in the North?! How? His name was Snow, that is what Dothraki told Rhae.”  
Jon caressed her cheek: “That was my name, yes. Jon Snow.”  
“How can your name be Snow when you’re a Targaryen like us?” Lya frowned.  
He sighed before answering: “My mother, your grandmama whose name you bear asked of her brother Eddard to keep me safe. And he only could do that by giving me a false name. Some men wanted all Targaryens dead.  
They wanted your mother dead as well. And they tried to kill her many times.”  
Rhaella asked: “Why did they want all Targaryens dead?”  
“Fear, hate and envy, tala. Some men feared us, some hated us and some envied us.” he told her.  
“It’s for we are dragonriders and others are not, right, Papa?” Lya asked.  
“Not for that. Maegor the Cruel was dragonrider and he was evil. Uncle Aemon had no dragon and he was the wisest man I have ever met. Dragons don’t make what you are, your actions do. I want you to remember that.”  
“We will, Papa.” silver-haired girl and her twin of Stark features were nodding in agreement.  
“Very well.” Jon said “And now… to sleep.” 

He put out the lamps that were giving light to the room and stepped out.  
She was leaned on the wall next to the chamber door and embraced him as he closed it placing kiss on his cheek.  
“With what did I deserve this?”  
“With being the perfect father to our girls. I had doubts of you being with them.  
Great doubts. Now I see that one could raise half a dozen babes with man like you, Jon.”  
His face had a broad smile: “Is that a figure of speech or…?”  
“That was praise. I shall praise you when praise is earned. And you’ve earned this one.” 

Dany was truly feeling content with Jon’s parenting.  
Such happy moments were rare since she has learned that those who were now ruling in King’s Landing want her and her children dead.  
That knowledge made her enraged and frightened in the same time.  
She was afraid for Rhae and Lya as never before in their lives and she was filled with fury.  
Desire to fly Drogon to the Red Keep and bring the castle down on the heads of Tyrion Lannister and the broken king he was now serving came to her many times since Jon told her the news he had learned from Davos Seaworth. 

_Tyrion... I should’ve killed him when he came to Meereen with Jorah, when he bragged how he killed his own father. Traitors to their own kin will have no issue betraying anyone else… now he is after me and my daughters.  
Serving whatever creature now rules the Westeros. Young man in a wheelchair or raven with three eyes, it matters not. And Tyrion has found the hand which will swing the sword.  
Daario Naharis. I have given that lowborn sellsword everything, I’ve let him in my bed all those years ago, he had control over Bay of Dragons all this time and still could have… but he wanted more and surely Tyrion promised him that more.  
Now they have woken the dragon… _

One thought after another came to her mind, making the fire of her rage to burn even more, with bright flames that spoke to her of delivering hell on all that would harm her family. Dragon was awake. But so was the dragonwolf.  
And that was something Daenerys never witnessed before. 

Part of her hated Jon for years. For killing her. Hated him for being oathbreaker and kinslayer. It was easy to hate him when he was on the other side of the world and only a painful memory to her, memory she wished to fade away as it has never been. 

The other part of her could see him every day in her daughters. His looks in Lyanna, his temper in Rhaella. That part loved him still. That was Dany, a girl who wanted a family, who dreamed of house with the red door and a lemon tree.

And then he came back to her life. Suddenly, unexpectedly.  
He was staying at the same place as she was, almost door to door. He came back as a changed man.  
He could speak the language of their Valyrian forefathers, he now talked in words as he were scholar or a maester of the Citadel. And he took the name and wore the colours of his true father’s family. Of her family.  
Jon won the hearts of her children with tenderness he gave them, with knowledge he shared with them, with kind words and good deeds that father can offer to his daughters. All that in short time of her absence, when she was at Vaes Dothrak. 

The part of her that hated him grew more and more silent as time passed, while her respect for him came again, when she listened to him presenting the plans for City Guard to the councillors of Meereen, when she learned how those new guards look at him. He was a leader of men once more. Leader who inspired his men.  
_Can it be I love him still? Despite the dagger he plunged in my heart, despite everything… _she asked herself that same day after he came to tell her of danger that looms over her and twins.  
They have said to each other what they think and how they feel. Harsh words were said, blood oaths were made. 

She learned from Kinvara that he was changed by Drogon’s flames, changed from a broken, deathlike Jon Snow into a Targaryen with strong mark of Starks of the old.  
Daenerys knew Jon inherited fiery temper of their ancestors and also the wolf blood of his mother, of his mother’s brother Brandon Stark and of a long line of warrior kings that once ruled the North.  
She could tell when dragon fire was heating the wolf blood. Him wanting to burn the Yherizan pyramid to the ground was such case. 

Many years ago, as Jon Snow, he was no stranger to haste decisions that have led him into peril. Now it was even more present.  
Notion that someone wants his little girls sold into slavery or murdered, made Jon’s dragonwolf temper to go in flaming rage.  
Daenerys on few occasions found herself startled with this side of him.  
She did not want for him to act foolishly out of anger and haste, to be dangerous to others and to himself. Daenerys knew how that was very well.  
She shared the dragon temper with him.  
And she knew that safety and future of their daughters will not come from the blind rage.

Dany sat with Jon in the room that mimicked the one she had in her manse in Port Yhos. Here she was conducting her affairs while staying in Meereen.  
He came from the lower level of the pyramid where his chambers were. Twins had no notion that Arya’s departure was a ruse and Jon knew they will be saddened with their aunt leaving. He was pensive and absent minded. 

Daenerys took a sip of wine from her cup and said: “Who can tell how coin will land for Rhae and Lya… Many in both Westeros and Essos would swear my did not land on greatness.”  
“Coin?” he frowned “Aha… that old saying how madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. And every time a new Targaryen is born the gods toss the coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land.”  
“Mock it as you like, Jon, that saying was not without meaning.” 

He looked straight at her eyes: “I am not mocking it. I call that saying a plain horseshit.” She chuckled while he said: “What is more, I have a better saying: fuck that coin.”  
“A much simpler saying indeed.” she agreed.  
“Utter it, since you like it so.” “Fuck that coin.” she said with both smile and resolve on her face.  
He talked more: “There were many sayings of our house. That one about coin makes us only a toy in the hands of gods. Another, claimed how Targaryens, as their dragons, answer to no one, not gods nor men.  
So, what are we? Puppets on a string whose life is set by flipping of a coin or the kind of men who answer to no one, as some halfgods.” 

Whenever he spoke of House Targaryen as his family, a sense of bonding came to her. She answered him, also looking at his eyes:  
“We are neither Jon.  
We’re not halfgods nor puppets. We ride dragons and that makes us extraordinary, but we are no strangers to flaws and shortcomings same as all men.  
And we have to bear with those flaws and shortcomings and overcome them. It’s very plain, indeed.”  
“We both got wiser with age, it seems.” he said.  
“If so, let us hope that trap which we shall lay for Daario and his cutthroats work.” 

Sennight has passed since they have met with Davos on Arya’s swan-ship.  
They had less than a week to plan how to make those who were about to kill them to come outside the city where all the advantages of a large dragon and horselords from Vaes Dothrak could be used to the fullest.  
Arya has thought of a make-belief departure of her ships from the Meereenese port, her role was to return to temple and keep the girls safe, while Jon and Daenerys had to create a ruse that would draw out the main of Second Sons in the open field. 

“A wedding? That is the plan? The plan how to draw the sellswords out of the city?” he frowned when she told him. “I am no stranger to jest in dire times but can we remain serious, Daenerys?”  
“I am not jesting, Jon… let me tell you how I see it.”  
“All right… tell me.” he said, still bit befuddled. 

“We’ll let everyone know that I am planning to attend a wedding of Gorro, the oldest son of khal Vhono. Dothraki weddings happen under open sky where bedding will also take place.”  
“I don’t see Naharis falling for that ruse. Dothraki bedding??”  
“Jon, you are forgetting that I am still the Khaleesi and as such it is expected of me to honor men like Vhono by attending his son’s wedding. Which indeed will take place soon. He has found a bride from town of Hesh for Gorro.”  
“Isn’t that Lhazareen town? Since when Dohtraki wed sheepherders?” he asked.  
“That marriage was arranged by me. For a purpose.” she cut him off.  
“Hm… from Hesh begins a trade route that ends here in Meereen and goes through the Khyzai Pass. Such marriage will make Hesh a Dothraki foothold, of sort. And that route will fall under their lasting sway. Was that a purpose?”  
She smirked: “Well noted. Mayhaps it was. And mayhaps I wished for a horselord to marry one of the Lamb People who will not be his slave wife. That also mark of a better world.” 

“I dare say it was both… so, once Naharis learns of this wedding?”  
“I shall let the word out that wedding will take place at Khyzai Pass on the same day Arya announces she is leaving Meereen. I will ride out of the city with a small Dothraki escort.  
Daario must be sure that we are ignorant of his plans. He will even be invited to the wedding as part of my entourage.”  
“What?!” Jon said loudly “You surely don’t…”  
“For years the Second Sons were part of my personal escort. Not to call them to that duty now would raise doubts and that is what we do not want.”  
“So, your plan is to be attacked on the road to Khyzai Pass.” 

“My plan is to have Second Sons vanquished on the road to the Pass. Daario will not be able to resist the chance to kill me far away from the city and later to accuse whom ever for doing it.”  
Then she chuckled: “Mayhaps he plans to accuse you…” 

He gave her a disapproving look: “None of this is a laughing matter, Daenerys. My brother Robb was killed at the wedding, his wife who was with child, his mother, hundreds of Northerners… he too was lured into a trap. By traitors.”  
“Jon, now we are setting a trap for the traitors. And I will show them no mercy.”  
“Neither will I…” he asked. “Jon, what I intend fits in your plan. Plan for us all to go separate ways. Daario will have to divide his men. Most will go after me.” 

At first, she was doubtful when Jon proposed that they should act as Free Folk used to when pursued by Night’s Watch. To scatter.  
Then she added to his plan.  
Arya was to leave with her ships, girls were to remain in the temple pyramid and Jon taking all his mounted guardsmen will ride north and west, for the foothills of Painted Mountains  
That was the very opposite direction of the Khyzai Pass where she intended to go. 

“How many of City Guard are skilled riders?” she asked him day after he told their twins that Arya was to leave Meereen.  
Jon shrugged: “Well… some three scores are being in the same time trained to be both light horse and spearmen when dismounted. They are eager to learn and under command of once Golden Company men. Sons of Westeros.”  
“You will remove yourself from Meereen three days before Arya leaves.” Dany told him.  
“Yes. I will take all of my cavalry and ride north and west, cross the Skahazadhan and pretend to be going for the plains beneath the easternmost slopes of Painted Mountains. That is perfect training ground for horsemen.”  
“Yet in truth…” she said and he continued: “…I will turn eastwards with sundown and ride through the night. I hope to cross the Skahazadhan on the morrow of that day when you’ll be leaving for that false wedding…  
we should rejoin some ten leagues before the Pass. And wait for Daario to come.”  
“He will. I am certain of it now.” Daenerys said. 

She held to a small, fool’s hope that Daario Naharis will not go that far to draw swords on her and her children.  
That small hope died that same day when, instead of him, one of his lieutenants brought word that he is not able to escort her to the Dothraki wedding for being in Astapor a sennight already.  
Dany knew that was a lie and that Daario is hidden somewhere in Meereen. 

On the morrow of his false ride to north and west with his mounted guardsmen, Jon came to see his twins.  
He came dressed in black leather boots, dark breeches, black overcoat with red lining under which he wore chainmail shirt, his hooded cloak was dark-grey.  
Around his waist was grey leather belt on which Longclaw hung.  
When she saw him leaving the girls’ chambers, Dany gave a formal nod: “My lord.”  
“My lady.” he replied “May I take my leave now?”  
“You have the leave.”  
She gestured towards Longclaw: “I assume you have not forgotten how to use it, being in the wilderness for so long.”  
He smiled: “To have Arya Stark as sister has many advantages. Lyanna is not the only one sparring in swordfight with her…”  
He made a slight bow and began to walk away, when she called him: “Jon… wait.”  
When he turned around, she gave him something wrapped in the cloth: “I had this made for you.”  
As he removed the wrapping, dagger was in his hand.  
Blade was curved and ornate to resemble reptilian scales with hilt of black color ending with pommel shaped as red dragon’s head.  
He looked at her and she could tell his discomfort: “Daen… I can’t…”  
“With one dagger you have shed your own blood. With this one, you shall defend it. There is no need to say more.”  
He bowed once more and left the pyramid.

It was sunset.  
She watched as a fiery red orb of light slowly sank beneath the horizon, and threads of light lingered in the sky, mingling with the rolling clouds.  
Skies were dyed first in orange, then red, then dark blue, until all that was left of the sunset was a chalky mauve, and then that melted away as darkness took over the sky. 

Beneath her, on the dry plain Dothraki horse archers sent a flurry of arrows and spears at the Second Sons from the left bank of Skahazadhan river and the bluffs overlooking it.  
Men toppled into the water with loud splashes, some dead, many more wounded. Blood began to transform the brown coated river with streaks of crimson red.

Watching from above, on Drogon’s back, Daenerys witnessed as two-hundred-fifty Dothraki under Vhono, one of her loyal warlords, charged along the river bank from the north, flanking Daario’s men who were now outnumbered.  
Dragon swiftly descended and was now flying ahead of the charging Dothraki.  
It reminded her of Blackwater Rush. 

“Dracarys!” she ordered as first lines of Second Sons came under Drogon’s shadow. Dragon released his flaming might, enough to destroy scores of men and horses. He let out a loud roar as he dove to the battlefield. 

Second Sons were burned and broken, all three hundred of them that came after her earlier that day.  
_Three hundred men to kill one woman_, she thought flying over now scattered Second Sons whose battle order fell apart when they saw Dothraki screamers approaching.  
Dragon flame took away the last notion of them being soldiers of any sort, now they were only a band of people trying to save their lives in any way possible.  
Some tried to whip their horses into the river in failed attempt to save themselves from Drogon and the Dothraki, some were dismounting and throwing themselves in the waters of Skahazadhan. 

Six days before, former Queen of Meereen announced to the members of Council of Citizens that she will attend a wedding in Dothraki tradition, it was the fastest and most certain way to spread the news.  
Daenerys has invited Daario Naharis to be her escort to the wedding with sending a written note by one of her servants to the pyramid of Yherizan where he and his closest sellswords have taken residence.  
A swift response came, within less than an hour.  
Arya played her part as well, making the departure on the very day of the wedding. 

Escorted by thirty Dothraki and mounted Unsullied, Daenerys was riding eastwards up the road that was centuries ago built alongside the left bank of Skahazadhan river.  
Second Sons fell for this ruse, it seemed so at least.  
Daario did not want to wait for too long, his cavalry rode out not even two hours later in the same direction.  
Four days before, Daenerys sent orders to the Dothraki which were encamped at Khyzai Pass to ride west, towards the city.  
And then Drogon came, he could feel that his rider needs him, he was awaiting her at the usual place, ten leagues outside the city. 

His presence came as utter shock for her foes. They have expected easy victory over score and a half of the Dothraki, Unsullied and one woman.  
Dragon burned their hopes before he burned their bodies.

She now looked for Jon, he insisted to stay on the ground with his cavalry.  
There he was, fighting against Daario’s men. Eighty men of City Guard stood their ground against the Second Sons who looked upon them as former slaves doing mockery of men at arms. How wrong they were.  
Jon wanted his men to be lancers and archers in the saddle and spearmen on the ground. And he got what he wanted, today by the Skahazadhan.  
His men surprised the enemy, charging down from the hills above the river at their left flank and breaking the sellsword cavalry column in half.  
That gave Daenerys and her escort enough time to ride up the hills.  
She soon came down that same hills. On a different mount. 

Jon’s horsemen dispersed while being chased by the enemy that outnumbered them nearly four to one.  
During that retreat, they rained arrows from their double-curved bows, once officers of the Golden Company’s cavalry were merciless trainers in these tactics.  
That paid off now as many sellsword was struck down while riding in pursuit after Meereenese guards. 

Daario’s men charged after the enemy that seemingly was running in disorder.  
That what in their minds should have been an easy victory over band of cowardly once slaves on horses turned into a disaster when they have heard the first battle scream.  
Then another and another. Tens of screams soon followed.  
Dothraki came in full gallop from direction to which Meereenese were retreating, but in truth making a turn and joining the horselords in their charge.  
Then black dragon came. And all was lost.

In the final moments of the battle by the Skahazadhan, Jon, now dismounted, searched the field for Daario Naharis.  
Most of the sellswords were dead, burned or have yielded. Some still fought, his leader among them.  
Jon slashed the Braavosi that threw his spear at him, spilling his entrails.  
Another man charged towards him with a curved blade, only to be struck down by Dothraki arrow that find its nest in sellswords’s neck. 

Then, his path in this melee crossed with Daario.  
Drogon has landed and Daenerys was watching it all from his back, once more fearing for the life of last male Targaryen. 

“Come, bastard, let’s dance!” she could hear Naharis shouting.  
And their swordfight started.  
Jon scrambled backward, checking each blow, stepping lithely over rock and root, his eyes never leaving his foe.  
He was quicker, Dany saw; Daario’s blade never came near to touching him, but Lonclaw hacked a notch from sellsword’s armor.

Targaryen came at him hard and fast, still moving left, aiming a two-handed cut at the Daario's unprotected right side.  
Naharis blocked, barely and took a half step back to brace himself.  
“And she chose you over me, you poor bastard?!” he yelled.  
“I am not a bastard…” Jon slammed the curved blade of Daario’s arakh aside and caught him across the chest  
“…you son of a cheap whore. I am Dragonstone! I am Winterfell!” 

Staggered, Naharis stepped backward, his head turning this way and that as he searched for his foe.  
“Behind you!” Jon shouted and brought his sword down with both hands, catching sellsword in the elbow of his sword arm.  
“That is for Rhaella!”  
Daario grunted, turning, wrenching his weapon up, but Jon slid around him, quick as a shadowcat. It seemed as Jon was getting stronger with every move.  
That angered the leader of Second Sons.  
One moment he was going backward,the next he charged, his sword arm was bloody from elbow down yet he still lurched after Jon using both hands to raise his sword.  
But man in black and red clothes jerked back and then sent Longclaw after Daario’s outstretched hands, hands that in one instant were cut off, falling to the ground, still grasping the hilt in the shape of wanton woman.  
“That is for Lyanna.”  
Daario Naharis of Second Sons fell to his knees.  
“And this… this is for Dany!”  
Longclaw kissed the sellswords neck with such deadly elegance that made Daario’s head roll on the ground. 

“Lēda Perzys se Ānogar, Jelmor rūnis!” Jon shouted towards the remaining Second Sons that were still fighting  
(_With fire and blood, the North remembers!_)

The sight of their commander lying headless and most of their companions reduced to nothing but burned corpses broke the will of the remaining Second Sons.  
All of them fell to their knees, pledging themselves to the mercy of Daenerys Stormborn.  
“So, now I am not a dragon whore?” she said standing before kneeling men.  
She wore black breeches and chainmail hauberk over which she donned knee-cut leather armor of black coating with sigil of her house across the chest.

“What shall we do with them?” she asked Jon, whose black overcoat was covered with blood.  
“They would spare the lives of our daughters by selling them into slavery. I say we show them the same courtesy.” he said with cold tone.  
She gave the sellswords to Dohtraki, to take them as slaves to Vaes Dothrak. 

They flew on Drogon, together, back to Meereen. It was almost midnight.  
Dragon of black and red scales landed on the flat top of temple pyramid, then she and Jon rushed down the stairway to the third platform where their daughters were.  
Pyramid was crowded with the Unsullied and City Guard men, all bowing their heads in greeting as they passed them by. 

She was the first to run across the terrace into the girls’ chamber.  
There she saw Arya standing at the bedside, an unknown healer sitting on the bed and her silver-haired daughter lying there, pale faced with bandages around her waist and crimson stain on her belly.  
“Rhae… ñuha tala…” she almost screamed as she went to her, kneeling at the bedside and caressing Rhaella’s head.  
“Mama…” girl replied, her voice sounded broken and tired “…I am hurt, Muña… but I’ll be fine…” tears rolled down girl’s cheeks.  
Daenerys felt as if she were stabbed through heart again.  
“You will be fine, my sweet, you will…”  
Jon came running inside, merely moments after her.  
“Rhae!” he yelled when he saw the blood-stained bandages on his daughter.  
“Papa…” she called him and he knelt next to Daenerys, kissing Rhaella’s forehead and whispering words of comfort to his silver-haired treasure.  
“Where is Lya?” she asked Arya. “She is all right, she’s with Kinvara.” 

“Issa āeksio, issa riñnykeā, Rhaella jorrāelagon jelmio.” said the man who was attending her daughter in High Valyrian  
(_My lord, my lady, Rhaella needs air._)  
”Qilōni issi ao?” she asked him with tone of agitation (_Who are you? _)  
“Brōzio ñuha iksis Illeo Maegyr hen Volantis, iksan iā giēñatī.”  
(_My name is Illeo Maegyr of Volantis, I am a healer._) 

“Come with me.” she grabbed his hand and pulled him on the other side of the room.  
She looked at the Volantene man with eyes that demanded the truth, no matter how ugly or fateful it may be and whispered in Common Tongue:  
“Will my daughter live?”  
“She will, my lady…” he replied in whisper “…no harm was done to her entrails… the blade that cut her did not go too deep.  
Thank the R’hllor in whose temple we stand.  
And thank the Tessarion, the goddess of Old Valyria who watch over her daughters. And she is one of them, as you are.”

Daenerys nodded.  
She knew that nobles of Volantis, city known as First Daughter of Valyrian Freehold, to this day keep the old gods of Valyria.  
Gods that House Targaryen cast aside even before Aegon’s Conquest.  
Balerion, Meraxes and Vhagar, dragons that Aegon, Rhaenys and Visenya rode to bring Westeros to heel were named after gods of Old Valyria. 

“I will stay at Rhaella’s side this night and tomorrow, my lady, to watch over first hours of her recovery. She is to lie down and rest and to take lot of liquids for she’s lost a lot of blood. I have stitched the wound but it will take time to wholly heal.”  
She grabbed his arm: “All that you need, you shall get. Heal my daughter and I shall greatly reward you.”  
“I ask no reward, my lady. Ābrar nyke rāelza issi ñuha rijes.” Illeo replied  
(_The life I save is my reward. _) 

She nodded again, then she turned to look at Rhaella.  
Jon was still kneeling next to her, holding her small hand in his and kissing it.  
Arya was standing at his side with her hand on his shoulder, her clothes were covered with crimson stains and trickle of blood was on both of her arms.  
The sword she gifted to Jon’s sister was now resting in the sheath on her back.  
Their eyes met and Arya could see “Thank you” on Daenerys’ lips. Raven-haired Stark nodded with slight smile. 

Jon then rose up, placed one more kiss on Rhaella’s forehead and marched out.  
Daenerys saw the look he had, the glint of his grey eyes and knew his mind so she rushed after him.  
He was outside, on the terrace walking to the upper stairway, he passed the Unsullied and the city guardsmen who were now watching over all corners of the pyramid.  
She could tell he was aiming to the top, where Drogon was still perched. 

“Jon… Jon, wait! Where do you intend to go?” she shouted after him.  
He turned around: “To finish what you have started ten years ago. To level the Red Keep with the ground it was built upon.” he replied.  
“You’re angry, so am I… but you must keep calm.” she said to him.  
“Keep calm?! They’ve butchered our babe, Dany, our Rhae… I will feed Tyrion to Drogon for this. Blood asks for blood.” he spoke loudly, fire burning in his eyes. 

_Dragonwolf has awoken,_ flashed in her mind as she came closer to Jon and grabbed his arm:  
“They did, they have hurt our daughter and they need to pay, but not like this.  
Not with you rushing to Westeros, half the world away on a dragon that will not even listen to you. I am his sole rider, Jon, he only suffers others to fly with him.”  
“Rhae flew with him from here to Antler River for me. Now, I’ll fly to the Red Keep for her.” he answered with tone of resolve. 

Daenerys looked him straight in the eyes: “I have forgiven you for what you did when I was pregnant with Rhaella. Or leastwise I try to…”  
She paused “…but if you leave me now, with her wounded so, to seek vengeance, I will never forgive you, Jon Targaryen.  
Nor will your daughters. They need you now… I need you.” 

He was breathing heavily: “So, you’re telling me to let this go unpunished.  
They have sent sellswords to kill our girls and we’re to do nothing in return?”  
“We shall.” she grabbed both his arms “We shall give them fire and blood.  
But, in the hour of our choosing, in the manner that will hurt them the most. This is not that hour.”  
She embraced him tightly.  
“Do not go to Westeros, Jon. On a dragon or on ship or on foot... Do not go.  
Be with your family. Be with me.” _There, I’ve said it. Again. _

He stayed. She allayed his rage, even if for a while.  
They went for Lyanna who was taken to temple hall whose yard was watched by the City Guard and the Unsullied while Fiery Hand stood inside the hall.  
She felt great relief to see her other daughter unharmed. 

Lya asked for nothing but to go to her twin. 

When she saw what tenderness Lyanna has for Rhaella, lying next to her wounded sister, Daenerys, for the first time that night, cried .


	27. ARIANNE

_Dragonstone, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest_

**ARIANNE**

She hated it. She hated this island.  
The cliffs, the grass, the colour of the sea and the chilliness of the air.  
Here at high noon it was colder than at midnight of coldest Dornish night. 

She hated the black stones and dragonlike statues which prey on every side of the citadel.  
Every other corner of Westeros save Dorne seemed strange and awkward to her and Dragonstone was the strangest and the most awkward of them all. 

Painted Table she did not hate; she found it as a lecture worth learning.  
Three-hundred and sixteen years ago Aegon Targaryen ordered this large table to be carved from a block of wood and painted in a form of detailed map of Westeros.  
He wanted all the landscapes and all the settlements of the continent to be shown in the table, but no borders between seven kingdoms of that time.  
Even with this piece of furniture did a man who was now known as Conqueror let know what he wants, what he plans and what are his ambitions. 

In one instant she felt urge to grab an axe and cut the Dorne off this table.  
_Aegon was not the one who conquered us, we have killed his sister-wife Rhaenys and her dragon…_ she recalled.

She misliked her allies, too. The folk from Iron Islands.  
Their pale, gaunt and hard faces, black and grey eyes, salt stained leather clothes.  
Small, ugly and noisy people from shit-stained rocks.  
Not much virtues could be found in them. Save them being stubborn, fearless and quarrelsome.  
Which made them worthy allies against any foe. 

For moons now, Ironborn were at war with Stark kingdom and the Vale. 

And they were doing well.  
Hardhome has long ago fallen and Gulltown has been sacked.  
North was fighting bitterly to keep its hold on Eastwatch-by-the-Sea but that was of little use to Queen Sansa.  
Garrison there was supplied only by land and that road was harassed by Free Folk on any given day.  
That forced Northerners to commit more men in keeping that road safe for supply trains which could never bring that many food, weapons and other goods as ships. And ships could not approach Eastwatch. 

Ironborn have imposed the blockade of Eastwatch that lasted almost as long as their involvement in this war.  
Manderly fleet was forced into the waters close to White Harbor and dared not to fare northwards as kraken sails were seen in The Bite and around Three Sisters islands. 

Coast of Vale was blocked as well. With Gulltown now being slightly more than a ruin, House Arryn could only look at the waves.  
Their sea ways to the rest of Westeros and to the Free Cities now cut off by the Iron Fleet. Their trade was now done through the port of King’s Landing as the closest great anchorage. It made it cost more since all the passengers and goods had to travel to the Vale by land. 

_Sweetrobin Arryn will rue the day when he answered the call of his royal cousin Sansa…_ Arianne Martell grinned at this thought as she paced around the Painted Table. 

“Something is amusing you?” Yara Greyjoy asked as she was standing next to the part of the table that featured Vale of Arryn.  
Next to her was Earl Harlaw, a tall man of long grey hair and beard that framed his scarred face, on his dark gambeson a sigil of silver scythe was stitched. 

Arianne could tell that his lust for her matches her disgust for him.  
“Starks. Northerners. For thousands of years they were the only kingdom that had shore on two seas, Sunset and the Narrow Sea.  
And for all that time they were not able to build more than one mention worthy port. Save the one that was founded by the exiles from the Reach, the Manderlys.  
Block the White Harbor and you have left North without seafaring abilities. Not a single ship to leave, not a single ship to come.”  
Dornish princess explained, then said: “I wonder how long can Sansa Stark keep her composure without doing something stupid.” 

“What would that stupid be?” Yara asked.  
“Sellsails. When she becomes tired enough with blockade of Eastwatch and White Harbor, she could resort to hiring pirates from Stepstones to fight your fleet at sea.” Earl Harlaw laughed:  
“No pirate cunt from Lys or Myr that hides at Stepstones is a match for the Ironborn. Wolf queen is free to empty their treasury in hiring them. She might just as well be throwing that gold into the sea.”  
“Indeed. And foreign pirates paid by the foreign queen coming close to the shores of Stormlands and Crownlands will rally more lords to our cause.” she replied  
“Cause of bringing the lords of Six Kingdoms to understand that they do not need the Six Kingdoms.”

“Fancy words.” Harlaw said “When will the Dorne act? You’re sitting out this war too?”  
“Dorne will raise spears the very day when Vale sends more of its knights to far North and that day is closer than you believe.”  
Arianne replied to the Ironborn man with the tone of voice that made clear she considers him unworthy of further talk. 

Earl Harlaw was true example of his people.  
Every non-Ironborn woman for him was just a possible fuck and this olive-skinned Princess of Dorne would be the single royal fuck he will ever have in his life. Arianne could read this on his face covered with scars. 

_He is free to try, I’ d give him a new scar, but not on his face, but between his legs…cockless men are of low esteem among the Ironborn,_ she pondered ever since he was introduced to her.

Yara finally spoke: “Dorne will, when that day comes, march its spears into Reach and Stormlands, then shall we know are their lords with us or not.  
If they were, King’s Landing then would be the only place in Westeros that broken king rules over. Him and the Imp.”  
Harlaw nodded, while Arianne pretended to be looking at some detail on the table.  
“Our sellsword _friend_ is doing decent work in the far North, bleeding the wolves both at Eastwatch and at Mole’s Town. Bleeding, but not striking the last blow.”  
Arriane said “He’s been keeping his part of the agreement ever since Ezzelyno tied him at that pole in Whitecourt. 

“That red priest of yours…” Yara asked “…you have brought him with you for what again?”  
“He said that time is right for a great reveal.” “A riddle. They always talk in riddles.” Ironborn woman concluded.  
“They do. But they serve the purpose. One which came to Dorne does.”  
“Priests of the red god only spread fear with their preaching and yearn to burn people… they do sorcery and blood magic.” Harlaw said. “Our god is the Drowned God, not some fire demon.”  


“Drowned God is our god and it will be so for centuries to come, but R’hllor priests have proven to be useful.”Yara rebuffed and gave Earl list of orders after which he left the Stone Drum tower.  
Princess of Dorne decided it is time for her rest and said so to the Queen of Salt and Rock, leaving her to her war plans.

Next evening Arianne brought Ezzelyno to the Sea Dragon Tower.  
This building was shaped in the likeness of a dragon gazing serenely out across the sea.  
The maester's chambers were located in this tower, below the rookery and it was there that she and priest of Lord of Light were headed, climbing the narrow and twisting stairs of the tower. The elderly priest of clean shaved head was wearing something in his hands, wrapped in a thick cloth. 

Yara was already there, Arianne could tell she was impatient and knew this impatience was not out of her wish to see the priest, but to make this encounter as short as it could be. 

Maester’s chamber was emptied of most of furniture, couple of plain wooden chairs remained and one damaged cabinet.  
Last maester was serving on Dragonstone over six and ten years ago, when Stannis Baratheon still resided here.  
As time passed this chamber was stripped of most of valuables. 

Yara sat on one of the chairs while looking at Ezzelyno. Arianne joined her and now both watched what was elderly man doing.  
Priest removed the cloth from the object he was carrying. It was a candle, about one foot and a half tall, dark green and twisted with edges that appeared sharp as if were blades. Glass candle. 

Arianne knew it right away, remembering the pictures she saw in the books in her father’s library. Yara didn’t know what it was.  
“Obsidian candle. Glass candle.” she said to Ironborn woman “Remnant of the Old Valyria. It was said that they weren’t burning for centuries.”  
“That was true twenty years ago, but no more.” priest told her in his accentuated Common Tongue “Now they burn.”  
“A candle that burns, how odd…” Yara said with mocking tone.  
“When this candle burns, one with the knowledge of its magic can see across the world, over the mountains, waves and sands.  
Candle can give men visions and let them see and speak with one another half a world apart...” Ezzelyno told her “…if one has mastered the magic of glass candle.”  
“Have you?” Dornishwoman asked. “Yes, Princess, I have.”  
“So, tonight the candle will be lit and what shall we be doing? Visions or seeing across the world.” Yara asked.  
“Speaking, lady Greyjoy, speaking with someone far away. As far as Meereen. I have conversed with them last night when this meeting was arranged.”  
“Meereen? Why Meereen?” she asked. Yara smirked, not believing this.  
“When I lit the candle, you will know.” priest said.

“Hen sȳndrorro, ōños, hen ñuqīr, perzys!” he repeated three times – and then candle was lit.  
Arianne first saw how all colors around became as set ablaze. Shadows of that old cabinet and chairs seemed as dark demonic beings, dancing across the walls.

Then, room in the Sea Dragon Tower vanished around her and she was no longer on Dragonstone.  
Different surroundings appeared, a hall bathed in dim light appeared, but she saw banners that bore flaming heart hanging from the walls and an altar in the middle of this hall. Arianne looked left and right, Yara was there as well and old red priest as well. 

Suddenly, in the far corner of this unknown hall, a woman appeared.  
Arianne has never seen her before. She was in her early thirties, silver tresses fall on her shoulders, her face was pale and eyes were violet.  
Woman wore ankle-cut loose dress of black linen, on her chest was embroidered red dragon with three heads.  
_Who is this?_  
“You cheap conjurer…” she heard Yara’s voice, yet not coming to her ears but ringing in her mind "you’re summoning ghosts? Is that what this candle is for?  
On Pyke you would lose your head for this kind of necromancy.” Arianne placed hand on her right temple, her head ached. 

“Yara Greyjoy of the Iron Islands, Queen of Salt and Rock, Daughter of the Sea Wind and Lady Reaper of Pyke…” unknown voice was now echoing in the mind of Dornish princess “… I assure you I am as alive as you and Princess Arianne are.”  
“Who are you?” Arianne asked while struggling to remain on her feet.  
“My name is Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen.”  
“That is impossible.” she replied “Daenerys was killed eleven years ago.”  
“This is just an apparition, one this old goat created from shadows…” Yara added. Arianne saw blood coming from the nose of Ironborn ruler. 

Silver-haired woman chuckled and that sounded as thunder in her mind:  
“Then I must truly be a singular ghost. I have aged and my hair is shorter. Should not ghosts be as they were in the moment of their death?”  
Yara now gave a long look to a woman who was there and was not.  
“It is me, my lady Greyjoy… I remember our first encounter in the Great Pyramid of Meereen. We discussed our fathers, your uncle and then our possible alliance.  
I remember you saying that you never demand, but are up for anything. You came with your brother, Theon.  
I saw him dead at funeral pyre before the gates of Winterfell. He came to fight for the living.” 

Arianne could tell from Yara’s face that she’s confused, blood from her nose kept trickling and he wiped it with back of her hand.  
“If you are who you claim to be, how can you still be living? It was said that you were killed by the bastard brother of Bran the Broken.” she said to the woman in black.  
“I was killed. By the power of Lord of Light, I was brought back to life.” came the reply. 

Yara was now bewildered and she turned to Ezzelyno with menacing voice:  
“Priest, you better speak the truth or I will cut your tongue. What is all this? How can a woman who got a knife in her heart be alive?  
Does your kind truly wield such power to raise the dead?”Arianne commanded: “Speak now.”  
“My kind, the priests of R’hllor serve only as vessels of his will. It was his will for Daenerys Stormborn to live again and she lives again. She is the champion of Lord of Light.”  
Arianne looked at Yara now: “Lord of Starfall, Edric of House Dayne have told stories about a lord from Dornish Marches who fought for Brotherhood without Banners.  
That man was slain six times and six times his red priest brought him back to life. Edric was his squire then. It seemed as nonsense to me.” 

“It was not a nonsense, Princess, I have known that man. And I know of another who was brought back like I was.” silver-haired woman said  
“A Targaryen as I am. Our name and our House live on in Meereen.”

Olive-skinned woman rubbed both of her temples while responding to this:  
“Even if you are living again, you were the last Targaryen. I do not like words of trickery.” “His name is Jon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.”  
“The Stark woman prince Rhaegar cast aside my father’s sister Elia for…” she said in disgust “she had a child…so you claim that your brother’s son is alive?”  
“He is father of my children.” woman in black said. “That is the Targaryen way, to bed your kinfolk.” Arianne said “Mayhaps you are who you claim to be.” 

“I have not asked for this meeting to dwell on the issues of the past.I wanted you to know that House Targaryen has been restored in Essos.  
And that you can count with our support in the war you have been fighting for many moons now. The war that has shaken the very foundations of the Realm.”  
Yara, still not certain that silver-haired woman is no illusion but truly living Daenerys, asked:  
“You were the Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men… how can shaking of the foundations of the Realm be in your interest?  
The Iron Throne is long gone, but the Realm is still here. If you had truly come back to life, why did you not bring new armies to conquer Westeros once again.” 

Woman replied with stern tone: “I have no interest in ruling Westeros, not even over a single street in Flea Bottom.  
Eleven years ago, I have said to you, lady Greyjoy, that I do not want to be queen of the ashes, right here on Dragonstone.  
I was that queen in the end. House Targaryen will rule over Westeros again only if Realm itself pleads for it. Not by a conquest.” 

Arianne asked as the voice of Targaryen woman ceased to sound in her head: “What do you want then?”  
“When I came back to Westeros all these years ago, I wanted to break the wheel. Now I want to burn the wheel.  
Rulers in King’s Landing have wronged me and my family greatly. For that I am going to ruin what they like the most. The Six Kingdoms.”  
“What do you mean?” Yara asked.  
“I will help you to get independence for Dorne and for the Iron Islands. And for every other in Six Kingdoms who wants it. For that to come to pass, Realm must fall.”  
Targaryen woman said with firm voice.

Arianne liked it, the notion of the Realm falling apart, as it were before Aegon, Visenya and Rhaenys.  
Before they have bound the once free kingdoms of Westeros into one, large Realm.  
“But your ancestors have made the Realm, and you want to end it.” she said to Targaryen woman.  
“Realm without proper ruler does not deserve to exist.” came the reply.  
“And proper ruler should be Targaryen?” Dornishwoman asked, not without goading tone.  
“A family name does not make good rulers, Princess Arianne. Those who ruled Dorne before you were Martell as well, weren’t they?  
Same as Iron Islands fared badly with Balon and Euron whose name was Greyjoy.” woman in black and red told her with calm voice.  
“I agree, Your Grace.” she said, now wholly certain that woman which spoke to her from a place thousands of leagues away was no ghost.   
“I am not your queen, Arianne of House Nymeros Martell. You have no king or queen to call him with that title.” 

Yara, finally giving room to a notion that once her queen might truly be alive, asked: “How shall we go forth from here, Daenerys Stormborn?”  
“In one moon from tonight we shall meet across the Narrow Sea, in Ghoyan Drohe, east of Pentos. Do you know of that place?” silver-haired woman asked.  
Yara nodded: “Aye, it’s on the banks of the Little Rhoyne, it’s a ruined city. I know of few Ironborn who have ventured there from Pentos.” 

Arianne grinned and said to silver-haired woman:  
“Ghoyan Drohe, a Rhoynar city destroyed by the dragons of Valyria. My forefathers of old fared badly under your forefathers of old.”  
“What better place for us, descendants, to forge an alliance, Princess.” woman replied. Arianne nodded in confirmation. 

Few moments later the light of glass candle was out and women rulers of Pyke and Sunspear were again in the chamber of Sea Dragon Tower.  
Yara collapsed on the floor while she could stay upright long enough to grab a chair.  
Glass candles were making of sorcerers of Old Valyria. Arianne mother was of Norvos, one of the Nine Free Cities, nine daughters of the Freehold. 

“Mayhaps is my Valyrian blood, no matter how watered down, cause that I have fared better while using that candle than you, Lady Reaper.”

_With one Daenerys, Dorne came into the Realm, with this Daenerys we could leave it, once and for all… as if destiny wanted it to be so, _  
Arianne mused next morning as she walked along the cliffs of Dragonstone, _ then again Dorne had always forged its own destiny.  
And dragon flame can do wonders in forging…_


	28. LAST OF THE TARGARYENS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter about renewal of House Targaryen in Essos.  
I don't write detailed sex scenes.
> 
> The wedding ceremony of R'hllor faith is taken from the GRRM book A Dance with Dragons   
(wedding of Alys Karstark with Sigorn of Thenns)

_Meereen, Essos, year 316 After Conquest_

**LAST OF THE TARGARYENS**

“Can’t you see it in my eyes?”

Their bodies tangled together, they rolled around on the bed in their passion. Jon kissed every inch of her nakedness… stopping only when he saw a scar under her left breast.  
It saddened him and his eyes met with Dany’s. Then he placed his lips on the mark where his dagger pierced her skin and he did it many times.  
Daenerys ran her fingers through his hair, gazing at him with eyes full of love. 

She made him a promise, he walked on a path regaining her trust. What he did along that path was to rekindle her love for him.  
And shatter her hate, resentment and mistrust in thousands of pieces. He was hers again. The only man she ever truly loved.  
Their bodies were glistening with sweat in the hot Meereenese night. 

It was fortnight after their daughter was wounded by sellswords who once served the Queen of Meereen and then ten and four years later became assassins in service of king on the other side of the world, king who wielded the magic of creatures that once lived in Westeros, children of the forest.  
His main adviser, who once also pledged himself to the same Queen, made arrangement to remove her and all who shared her blood from this world. Including two little girls. 

She came in the bedchamber of her daughters and she has found him there, sitting at the side of the bed where silver-haired girl slept.  
She was still weak and pale-faced, but girl’s healer, Volantene in service of her aunt, has proven to be skilful and Rhaella was recovering, slowly but surely.  
Illeo Maegyr was stern in setting the rules for her young patient and hours of rest were obligatory.  
“No getting up from the bed, no excitement of any kind, no talking more than needed. Only one visitor a day.” he said to the girl and to girl’s parents.  
Rhaella and her twin didn’t lke that, but Daenerys liked Illeo’s rules. 

Arya came every other day to see the girl, but Maegyr had no issue of sending her away when it became clear that child patient is becoming tired.  
Jon visited every day, no matter if his daughter was awake or sleeping.  
This was one such occasion, where Rhaella was fast asleep, but he sat there looking at her. Dany walked in, pacing slowly and sat next to him.  
“She sleeps so calmly…” he whispered “…let us hope she will never again dream of that night.”  
Girl’s mother nodded, knowing how Rhae was reliving how she was wounded in nightmares that came few times in last two weeks.

“Even as a babe, she was calmer and quieter than Lyanna.” Dany said.  
He sighed: “I missed it all, their first steps, their first words. All of it.”  
“You’re here now. That’s what matters to them… and to me.”  
“I won’t be with them for long… not with you leaving for Port Yhos.” Jon said.  
She smiled at him: “It troubles you greatly, me and girls leaving.”  
“It does. I will not be able to be with them oft. Mayhaps not even every moon.”  
“Jon… I am not returning to Port Yhos.” she told him with soft voice.  
His eyes widened as he frowned: “But… I thought… how this change came?”

She placed her hand on his cheek: “Can’t you see it in my eyes?”  
And he saw it. Eyes filled with love and hope and innocent trust, same as they were on that cursed day in the ruins of the throne room of Red Keep.  
His grey eyes reflected that what was in her violet eyes and his hand was now on her cheek: “I can... I love you, Dany. More than ever, I love you.”  
“And I love you, Jon Targaryen. I promised you us to be a true family. We shall. You deserve it. I deserve it. Girls deserve it. A true family. House of our own.”

Her face was a mere inch away from his. She could feel his warm breath on her face. She looked in his eyes, waiting for his response. It felt like a lifetime.  
Then she felt his lips light upon her own and the kiss deepened with intensity. All that they had felt was in that kiss. Fear. Hope. Trust. Loyalty. Love.  
His left arm wrapped around her waist, bringing her closer. He kissed as he never did, all those years ago.  
“Seven heavens, Dany” he mumbled as they kissed desperately. Two dragons danced holding each other. 

Two moons have passed since.  
Daenerys and twins remained in Meereen, most of her household and the Unsullied were called from Port Yhos to come to the largest city in the Bay of Dragons.  
Together with Jon they approached the Council of Citizens and presented all the advantages of pyramid of Yherizan, now vacant as Second Sons were all but wiped out from the city, as home of the Commander-general of the City Guard and home of the former Queen of Meereen.  
Pyramid of Yherizan, once home of slavers, became home of the woman who ended slavery in the now Bay of Dragons.  
On the apex of the pyramid which dominated over southern part of the city, black banner with three-headed red dragon was hoisted.  
House Targaryen came out of the shadows, in full sight of all, friends and foes.

Their supper was a simple meal of fruit and cheese and fry bread, with honeyed wine to wash it down.  
Afterwards Jon was leaned on the terrace wall of the uppermost level of his new home, looking at the night sky over the city.  
As every night, sounds of the quarter around the now Targaryen pyramid traveled on a breeze which came from the river. 

_Is this how peaceful life should be like…_ he contemplated _… she oft spoke of a house with red door and a lemon tree from her childhood…both of us are blood of kings, but give me that lemon tree… give me an orchard of lemons instead of thrones and games that go with them. _

“Jon…” she said coming next to him “…what are your thoughts?”  
“Nothing… I was thinking about the City Guard…and then about something else.”  
“Oh… and how is that progressing?”  
“Truth be told very well… All four barracks have been founded and fully garrisoned. It’s hard to believe that over two thousand men already serve as guardsmen. Our short work against the Second Sons only added to the appeal of being a member of Meeerenese city guard…”  
“Those are good news...” she said, absently.  
“Well, not all is so promising... councilors always find something to whine about.” he said laughing.  
She did not laugh.  
“Dany… what is troubling you? Your mind is far away the whole evening.”  
She touched his arm and he looked at her:  
“Jon, I haven’t had my moonblood… two moons have already passed…” 

He frowned “Are you saying you’re… with child?”  
“Yes... I’ve been retching last couple of weeks…I should call a healer or a midwife to see me to confirm it, but I know. I am pregnant.” she replied, calmly with even tone of voice.  
He unlike her was excited: “A child… a babe… I’ve never expected…”  
She chuckled: “Jon, for many weeks we’ve been doing things that would put to shame many pleasure houses… you do know how babes are made, don’t you?” 

He placed his hands at her cheeks and kissed her forehead.  
“This is marvelous news…one more child. And this one will have a father from his first breath. I will hear his first words, see his first steps…or hers.  
“His, I think it will be a boy.” “How can you tell?”  
“I have already carried a boy once…long time ago.” she said, and he noticed sadness.  
“This time child will come to this world, Dany, boy or a girl…”  
Then he gazed at her with eyes filled with hope: “The line of dragons will live on… we will not vanish from this world.”  
Hearing that, her eyes watered: “Jon, you may be a Stark by blood, but you are also a true Targaryen. I never hoped to see you become one. But you have.” 

“You do know what this pregnancy means? That I’ll have to make an honest woman of you.”  
“What? Am I dishonest woman now? Why do you say that?”  
“I am talking about marriage, Dany. If I am to bed close kin, I will do that as it is right in the eyes of gods and men.”  
Then he knelt before her:  
“Daenerys Stormborn, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” he said taking her right hand in his. She was silent for a heartbeat.  
Then, with both tears and smile on her face, she said. “Yes… Yes, I will…” 

As he was standing again, she looked him in the eyes:  
“Mayhaps I’ll never forgive you for stabbing me, but this life I have now is better than one of burning the old world to create a new one.”  
“I hope you’re not saying that just to make me feel right.”  
“Have I ever done that, Jon?” “No, never.”  
She smiled again: “We must think of a name for a new Targaryen.” He was pensive for a while, then said: “Cregan. Cregan if it’s a boy.”  
“Cregan Targaryen?!” she frowned “That is a Stark name… but I like it. Cregan of House Targaryen… a proper name for a… dragonwolf. But, what if it will be another girl?”  
Jon gave her a gentle kiss:“Oh, on that there cannot be a dispute. Daenysanne.”  
“Daenysanne… a proper name for a princess.” 

“Are you sure about that, brother? I mean, are you wholly sure?”  
Arya asked him while they were sitting at the trestle table in the shaded garden of Outlander’s Tavern, under persimmon tree, between sips of bittersweet ale.  
“Only eight moons ago when I met her in Port Yhos she hated you sincerely. And now, you’re about to marry her.  
Please tell me that you are doing this because you love her, not because you think that you must… because it is honorable?”  
“Arya, I am doing it for both love and honor. I love her, Arya. I always have. I will never again allow that her good heart sinks into darkness.  
She has a temper and I know that she will not be easiest of wives. But she is the only woman on this world for me, till I draw breath.  
As for honor part, I have sworn that I’ll never father a bastard.”  
“Hells, Jon, your children are not bastards, they have your family name.”  
“Given to them by their mother, not by me. It cannot stay like that.”  
“Luckily, both of you have the name Targaryen, it makes things simpler…As for temper Jon, well, I wish Daenerys all the luck with yours.”

Jon’s eyes widened: “Are you taking her side now? You?” He laughed.  
“No, I am only telling the truth. Your temper is oft very short.” “A She-wolf would know of that…” he said with chuckle.  
Arya nodded with smile before saying: “And now, one more niece or nephew is on the way… I figure I’ll get to meet him in a few years.”  
Jon sighed: “I could try to persuade you to stay in Meereen longer, but that is not you.”  
“No, that is not me…” she said “…after your wedding, my two ships sail for Free Cities and then for Ibben and Nefer.”  
“Nefer? That is so far away even for a dragon flight, let alone sea voyage.”  
“And where has my friend Drogon been lately? I haven’t seen him since he burned away the Second Sons…  
though last moon when I was sailing to New Ghis I saw a large shadow high in the sky… him, most likely.”  
“Hm…last sennihgt, Dany and I flew to Port Yhos with Drogon… then, half a moon ago we went to Lys on dragonback…”  
“Lys, ha? I don’t have to ask what Daenerys and you have explored there.This new nephew or niece answers that.”  
Arya said teasingly, then said with seriousness:  
“Jon, now I can finally continue my voyages. When I found Lyanna in Qarth, ten moons ago all I wanted was for you to be here with your family.  
I got what I wanted. And more. You lead an army that grows with every day.  
While Daenerys, well I dare to say that her riches from trade all over Essos have grown so in last ten years it would make Tyrells of Highgarden look like beggars.” 

Jon nodded, in the first moon of his stay in Meereen he has learned of Daenerys having sway over the vast portion of Essosi trade.  
It seemed to him she was content with her new life of wealthy merchant.  
And he wanted her to be content and at peace with herself and with the world. 

“They say that in Summer Isles, folk wed in their temples of love wearing their nameday suits. Families of husband and the bride, whole…”  
Davos said for a jape, between two sips of bittersweet ale, sitting at the terrace stone table on the third platform of R’hllor temple pyramid. 

Three moons have passed since Second Sons and their commander Daario Naharis tried to remove the Targaryen name from this world. 

“Gods forbid…” Arya chuckled “… what a fair of scars that would be if this family would have such wedding. Jon, Dany, Rhae, me… even this wolf child here has one or two…”  
Stark woman said poking her raven-haired niece’s ribs with her finger to annoy the girl which gave her aunt the same treatment.  
Davos laughed, seeing the likeness of Arya and Lyanna in both looks and conduct.  
Daenerys came out from the residence where she lived for past few weeks with Jon and the girls and said with smile: “  
Luckily for all of us, this wedding will take place here, by the rites of the Lord of Light and as far as I know his priests do not prefer nakedness in their temple.” 

Then she sat next to Davos Seaworth: “Ser Davos, ever since I have met you many years ago, we oft had different thoughts about many things and you’ve always spoke your mind; for that you’ve always had my respect… I’ve already said that for journeying here with a word of warning to my family I owe you a debt which can never be paid.  
Now I have to ask you one more favor.”  
Old seafarer gave a slight frown: “If I can help, my lady, I’ll be glad to.”  
Daenerys looked at him with seriousness: “I would like you to be the one who will give me away as a bride.”  
She could see the surprise on Davos’ face, his eyes widened and mouth left open:  
“My lady… I… surely there are those more suited for that role. We are not of kin and I was never that close to you.” he said.  
“True. We’re not of kin and you weren’t among my advisers, mayhaps it would have been better that you were, but you’re the only knight of Seven Kingdoms here in Meereen  
and as I was told, many years ago you were proposing the proposal…” Daenerys smiled at him  
“…as that proposal has taken place, I cannot think of a man better suited to give me away.”  
Davos returned the smile: “I accept this great honor you have given to me, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen.”

Her wedding gown was made of silver silk with embroidered red dragon which seemed as taken flight off her back and across the right shoulder, its head reaching her left chest. Girl servants from the temple have taken the taken the role of handmaidens and unbraided her hair, letting it fall in rich tresses down her back. 

Three moons after the failed assassination, they have gathered in the hall of the R’hllor temple.  
Jon was raised in the faith of Old gods, Daenerys in the faith of the Seven, though Targaryens were not much into it, save Baelor the Blessed who was a devout believer and built the Great Sept, one which Cersei Lannister blew up with wildfire. As there were no Godswoods nor septs in Meereen, temple of Lord of Light seemed the most fitting for the ceremony. Those who were about to be wed both came back to life by the magic of R’hllor priests. 

About three scores of people were at the temple.  
All the members of Council of Citizens, save Galazza Galare who as a high priestess of the Temple of the Graces was forbidden to enter places of worships of other gods,  
there was Nakhmaz in formal clothes of City Guard with his lieutenants and the commanders of the Unsullied.  
Arya came in her Volantene dress of grey silk with direwolf pendant on the necklace.  
Her companion was Artos Costayne. Costaynes were noble house from Three Towers in the Reach and Targaryen loyalists during Robert’s Rebellion, one could tell that Artos, though only a child when dragon kings ruled Westeros, was proud to attend this ceremony. At each side, Arya had her nieces both in black silk dresses with red borders and a red silk sash around the waist, colors of their house, but girls also donned silver direwolf pin at their left chest.  
Silver-haired girl was leaned on Arya; one could see the happiness on girl’s face.  
Rhaella’s wound has healed but girl was still recovering and Arya helped her with every pace. Raven-haired niece shone with pride.  
Behind Arya stood Illeo Maegyr in full attire of Volantene nobleman. 

“The night is dark and filled with terrors,” Kinvara sang. “Alone we are born and alone we die, but as we walk through this black vale, we draw strength from one another, and from you, our lord.” Her scarlet silks and satin gently moved with every move.  
“Two come forth today to join their lives, so they may face this world’s darkness together. Fill their hearts with fire, my lord, so they may walk your shining path hand in hand forever.”  
“Lord of Light, protect us,” said one of temple servants.  
Other voices echoed the response: “Lord of Light, bless your children.”

Kinvara’s back was to the Great Altar, on one side of groove in the floor where her fire burned. The couple to be joined faced her across it.  
Priestess raised her hands, and the fire in the groove leapt upward toward her fingers, like a wave of red and orange.  
“We thank you for the sun that warms us,” Kinvara chanted  
“We thank you for the stars that watch over us in the black of night. We thank you for our hearths and for our torches that keep the savage dark at bay.  
We thank you for our bright spirits, the fires in our loins and in our hearts.”  
Then she said, “Let them come forth, who would be joined.”  
The flames cast her shadow on the altar behind her, and her ruby gleamed against the paleness of her throat.

Jon stood waiting by the fire dressed in a fine black tunic with the Targaryen sigil embroidered in red across the chest.  
Sash of grey silk was around his waist adorned with direwolf head of House Stark, honoring his mother’s family.  
“Who brings this woman to be wed?” asked Kinvara  
“I do,” said Davos Seaworth, him dressed in dark blue tunic. “Now comes Daenerys of House Targaryen, a woman grown, of noble blood and birth.” 

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, bowed his head and stepped back to join the others. 

“Who comes forth to claim this woman?” priestess asked.  
“I am.” Jon said. “Jon of House Targaryen and of House Stark.”  
“Jon,” asked Kinvara “will you share your fire with Daenerys, and warm her when the night is dark and full of terrors?”  
“I swear it.” Jon exclaimed “I will warm her from this day till my last day.”  
“Daenerys, do you swear to share your fire with Jon, and warm him when the night is dark and full of terrors?”  
“Till his blood is boiling.” she replied.  
Kinvara’s eyes shone as bright as the ruby at her throat.  
“Then come to me and be as one.” 

As she beckoned, a wall of flames roared upward, licking the air with hot orange tongues.  
Daenerys Targaryen took her Jon by the hand. Side by side they leapt the groove.  
“Two went into the flames. One emerges.” Kinvara said with solemn but joyful tone:  
“What fire joins, none may put asunder.”  
“What fire joins, none may put asunder,” came the echo from all present at the temple. 

And thus, the first Targaryen couple after almost sixty years was wed.


	29. STORM OF AUTUMN

_Shipbreaker Bay, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest _

**ARYA**

She saw them passing in the distance two nights before. Unlike hers, their ships were bathed in light of lamps and torches. So certain they were of themselves. She was wary. Her two ships were kept in dark and in silence. Only shadows on the water.

Passing ships were smaller than the great war dromonds of Westeros but thrice the size of any common longship, with deep hulls and savage rams, fit to meet the king’s own fleet in battle.

Ships of the Iron Fleet on their way to their anchor at Dragonstone or to be raiding and burning on the shores of Vale and further north to block the White Harbor or mayhaps they were to sail all the way to the Bay of Seals in Shivering Sea, to shoot their prow trebuchets at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.

One moon has passed since _Nymeria_ and _Rhaelyanna_ have left Meereen. Her brother was wed to the woman he loved, a woman Arya grew to respect and even like. Her sweet niece has recovered, now having a matching scar on her belly with Arya’s, though she said to her healer from Volantis to use all his skills in making that scar as less striking as possible.

Girl was yet to become the maiden fair and having a large mark on her flesh was not something she would need. Though Rhaella will have her mother’s beauty and Stark fortitude of mind, scores of suitors will chase her. _Lyanna, she’s a bird of different feather, she’s more like me, I will not be surprised for her to be hidden under deck somewhere right now, wanting to journey with me…that one could be queen on her own right._

Arya said a fond farewell to Jon, to Daenerys and to their twin daughters. This time, unlike when she made a false departure, she cried holding her nieces in embrace.

She did not know when she would see them again, she was sure they will be more women than girls when her sails reach Bay of Dragons again.  
She left Needle and Catspaw to them. And promise of their voyage together. She-wolf and her dragonwolves. Her new pack. One she had to leave, but swore to return to.  
She also bid farewell to the High Priestess of the Red Temple of Volantis. Kinvara. One who made her play many roles in last eleven moons, since that day in Qarth.

In the Stepstones ships had taken on grain and game and fresh water, after the long voyage across the Summer Sea, making port only at Volantis to load a supply of salt cod and pickled herring. The food was a welcome addition to their stores.< News they first heard of at Volantis got more words and more details at Stepstones. This chain of islands between the southern Narrow sea and the north west of Summer Sea for tens of years has oft been raided by Ironborn reavers.

Davos Seaworth was with her aboard _Nymeria_, she was bringing him home and even after all these years he still had acquaintances among smugglers and pirates of the Stepstones. All agreed in one, that Ironborn have called all the ships that were afloat and all able-bodied men to the war against the Vale of Arryn and Kingdom of the North.

“They’ve made Dragonstone their war port, it seems, from there they go to plunder the coast of Vale, though it seems Valemen had bloodied them good and they’re not so bold anymore…” Davos told her

“…they have to make do with fishermen villages now, but previous they have sacked the Gulltown and it is not more than half abandoned ruin now, no ship can come close to the shore of Vale more than five leagues as Kraken rules the sea there.”

“And the North?” she asked.  
“Ironborn sail into the Shivering Sea, past the Grey Cliffs into the Bay of Seals where they take part in the attacking of Eastwatch. Some brag they’ve made Skagos to yield. That’s horseshit, my lady.” Davos said  
“Skagosi are not more than tribes of savages, a backward folk, some say they do human sacrifices to weirwoods and eat manflesh. Such lot will never bow to the Ironborn.”  
Arya sighed: “Ser Davos, I will bring you to your home at Cape Wrath… then my ships proceed north to Braavos and then to the isles of Ibbenese and to Nefer. As far as these sorrowful waters as I can.”

She parted way with Davos Seaworth when _Nymeria_ came to quarter of a mile off the Cape Wrath, on the northern shore of the Sea of Dorne, this coast was part of Stormlands.

He could see the towers of his holdfast over the shoreline, though all in blue and grey mist.  
“I wish you good fortune on your voyages, Arya Stark.” he said, his voice echoing with bit of sadness which only a man who gave most of his life to the waves can feel for another seafarer.

“I wish you peace and long life, Ser Davos. Mayhaps I shall come visiting with my nieces when I take them to the sea four years from now.”

“It will be my honour to host you.” Arya looked as boat was taking him ashore. Not many men she has met which had wisdom and honesty of Davos Seaworth. A smuggler.

On the third night after Cape Wrath, the sky became dark and low with ominous black clouds and the wind picked up, howling, crying, warning, baying like a wolf into the night. The first crack of lightening rent the air and within seconds the rolling boom of the thunder reverberated overhead. Soon the rain fell, slow to start, splattering the decks haphazardly. Then it fell as if from buckets, cascading like a waterfall from the heavens. It pounded on_ Nymeria_ and _Rhaelyanna_ as if it were demanding entrance. Lightning lit the skies in brilliant streaks.

On the Narrow Sea the sailors tried to prepare for sudden, violent storms, but they knew it was impossible. The worst happened tonight; with no warning, total darkness prevailed as clouds thickened and the sky was stricken, blotting out the moonlight and stars. The wind arose to push the still waters to choppy, which morphed into mountains of angry waves. The crew on both ships struggled to get the sails down, and to tie them off. They slipped on the rain-soaked decks. Many were frightened, most of all those which have never seen the Narrow Sea before. The wind slammed the rain into their faces like tiny stones and blew the coat hoods off their heads.

_Nymeria_ pressed, first up waves as she was aiming at the sky, and then crashed down jarring their bones.

At one point the waves spun the vessel sideways. They held tightly onto the mast, onto ropes, onto anything. It was difficult to hang on. A bolt of lightning struck near.  
The waves grew so large that the vessel was dwarfed, riding up and down the mighty swelling sea like a child's toy. Inside the ship there was no staying still unless one was anchored in place, for the floor was whatever the sailors were flung upon.  
Many gods were called for aid in many languages, Arya thought she would have prayed to R’hllor if it would do any good.

There was no mercy in this wind, no grace in the waves, only wrath and tempest. The air was thick with a briny mist, the deck awash with salty waves. The morning would see them bobbing on placid water or else several leagues down with the fishes.

She could hear Warrick Manderly’s shouts and Dalton Pyke’s curses, Devan Lantell was rolling across the flooded deck as a rag doll… she grabbed the rope of the main mast and was looking for _Rhaelyanna_, as waves were slapping her face with savage wet blows. As a haunting call of some sea beast, a feeble sound of horn came from port side and there was a flickering light that came and went from the darkness,

_t__here she is_… Arya thought while fighting to breathe through the salted mist… then a loud crack came from above.

The second mast was broken, giving under the assault of the waves and fell upon the slender crewman from Tyrosh. His whole body was crushed and his entrails crawled the deck to Arya’s feet.  
This time her belly lost strength and she was retching into her own hands. Her sticky palms made one last attempt to grab hold of any rope she could found.

On the eve of next day, two battered ships with direwolf heads on their sails, appeared in the calm waters beneath the castle with single tower, a colossal drum like fort crowned with formidable battlements which from afar made it look as a huge, spiked fist thrusting towards the sky. Castle of Storm’s End. It was known not a safe anchorage, but ships beaten by storm have no luxury of choosing. It did not take long for a third ship to come from the nearby cove. _New Fury_ was a triple-decked war galley of three hundred oars, the flagship of the fleet.

Above the oars were a deck covered completely with scorpion ballistae, fore and aft ship had catapults. Wind was caught with her sails of golden coating with the stag of House Baratheon painted on them.

“Ahoy, who goes there?” came from the prow of _New Fury_ :“You are in the waters of the Lord of Storm’s End.”

“Here goes _Nymeria_, ship of House Stark. And _Rhaelyanna_, ship of House Stark.” Arya shouted from the prow of her ship “We come in peace and seek permission to anchor at island of Tarth for repairs.”

“Ships of House Stark are welcome to the ports of Stormlands.” was the reply.

“And I would wish to give my gratitude to the Lord of Storm’s End, Gendry of House Baratheon in person.”

“He shall be informed of it. Who wishes to meet him?”

“Arya. Arya Stark of Winterfell.”

_Meereen, Essos, year 316 After Conquest_

**KINVARA**

Pyramid of Yherizan.

A great black construction once owned by slaver family of Yherizan, vanished together with the clandestine movement called the Sons of the Harpy.

Instead of harpy now a large black coated banner with red three-headed dragon fluttered on the pole at the very top of the pyramid, three hundred and fifty feet above the ground.

Pyramid was now the seat of House Targaryen of Meereen. Before that it served as lodging for the commanders of Second Sons, a sellsword company that helped Daenerys Stormborn to conquer Yunkai and Meereen five and ten years ago, but few moons ago turned coat and joined with her enemies. Second Sons suffered utter defeat and were disbanded.

Those in Meereen that have drawn swords against Targaryens ended as captives of the Dothraki, those in Yunkai and Astapor, few hundreds of them, were disbanded and given free passage away from the Bay of Dragons.

Black color of its stone blocks seemed as only proper choice for dragon family to take residence in.

Pyramid was seemingly larger than the one which hosted the temple of Lord of Light with terraces going all around the pyramid on two highest floors.

It was easier to defend from possible attacks, being built on a clearing that has encircled the tall building spreading two hundred yards on every side.

On the ground level of the pyramid were rooms for the guards, large enough to accommodate the crew of five scores of men and in case of need the floor above the ground level could be adapted to take in additional hundred men.

On the ground floor were also the stables. Due to its height pyramid, from lowest to highest floor, could comfortably contain the granary, armoury, kitchens, feast hall and lord's chambers.

A befitting home to the blood of Old Valyria, blood of the kings that were…

High Priestess Kinvara thought as she walked across the terrace on the highest floor.

From here, only construction that was higher than this pyramid, was the Great one, the seat of the power in Meereen. Or that was believed. _Daenerys Targaryen has a large dragon who will soon be as grown as Balerion the Black Dread, she has the loyalty of the Dothraki and the few hundreds of battle hardened Unsullied. _ _Jon Targaryen has made his own army, in four moons he has formed the City Guard, already over one thousand strong, a host of Westerosi appearance and training in this part of Essos and its growing larger by the day_… Kinvara pondered…_one cannot escape his or her heritage. Rulers are born, leaders are made, but oft leaders come from the line of rulers, as they have. _

“Sȳz tubis, Kinvara!” said Lyanna Targaryen loud as she speedily paced across the terrace, wearing the grey trousers, white shirt and sleeveless black linen surcoat with red dragon stitched across the chest.

Girl wore Stark direwolf pennant on a leather necklace and a thin sword hung from her waist. Needle. Blade forged in Winterfell.

“Good day to you too, lady Lyanna. Aōha arlie lenton gaomagon ao hae?” priestess asked “Do you like your new home?”

“Gaoman. Tolī tistālion syt egros lilagon!” Lyanna replied cheerfully and rushed away on the other side of the pyramid “( like it. More room for sword dance!)

Kinvara nodded with smile.

Then Lyanna’s mother came on the terrace, in slow dignified step, wearing loose sandsilk dress. She was four moons with child now but it did not affect the intensity of her daily chores.

“Eglio Vokto…” she greeted Kinvara (_High Priestess._)

“Ñuha riña.” Kinvara replied with same formal tone (_My lady_)

“Lyanna has went that way, has she not?” Daenerys asked.

“Yes, she did.”

“She lacked proper ladylike conduct before she met her aunt, now is tenfold worse.” mother of raven-haired Targaryen girl said “She’s only into water dance and swords.”

Kinvara shrugged and smiled.

“What? You find that entertaining? I respect, at times even admire Arya Stark but I would hate to see my daughter becoming like her.”

“Your Lyanna will be nothing like her aunt, well, she will have many of her traits but not the same life. Ziry kostagon va se dēmalion hen zirȳla egliar udēmagon.”

Daenerys frowned at this: “She could sit on the throne of her forefathers, you say. That throne is no more.”

“Not the Iron Throne. She has two lines of forefathers. A direwolf crown could rest on her head. Lyanna is as much Stark as she is Targaryen.”

“That is the last thing I want for her. I had my share of dealing with the Northerners, I do not want my daughter to suffer the same, their hate and disrespect.” Daenerys dismissed the notion.

“It is only one path among many which Lyanna could walk on. Past is written and when ink has dried nothing can unwrite it, but the future…future is not yet written, each of us is helping to write the story of tomorrow with our deeds of today.”

“I suppose you have something to tell me about my deeds of today.” Daenerys said with tone of curiosity.

Before Kinvara could answer, Daenerys’ other daughter came out on the terrace.

Rhaella recovered wholly from her belly wound and girl was again her old self, gentle and silent child but with strong will.

Her Valyrian hair was in single braid, she wore dark-blue trousers, shirt of same colour over which she donned a brown sleeveless tunic and a hooded dun cloak.

She had Dothraki bow and arrow bag across her back. At her waist, a Valyrian steel dagger hung with hilt adorned in dragonglass. Catspaw. Dagger that pierced the ice heart of the Night King.

“Jurnegon rȳ bisa Oktion Azantyrābra!” Kinvara greeted the girl (_Look at this City guardswoman!_)

Girl bowed politely: “Riña Kinvara, Muña…” (_Lady Kinvara, Mother..._)

“Rhaella Targaryen, are you directed somewhere in that attire?”

“Yes, mother, I am going with Papa to the Archery Range, next to mouth of Skahazadhan, to practice.”

“Hembar jēda kesā ivestragon hen bona aderī, Rhaella.” Daenerys said with slight anger in her voice: “Next time you will announce it earlier. Or you will not go. Make sure that you do not strain yourself more than it is needed.”

“Kessa, muña.” girl said and walked away.

“That was ladylike conduct, my lady, Rhaella is true Targaryen princess.”

“Silent and stubborn as her father… you were to tell me about my deeds?”

Kinvara nodded: “Yes, your meeting with Arianne Martell and Yara Greyjoy at Ghoyan Drohe, was nearly three moons ago, true?”

“You know that it was, you were at my side when I spoke with them using the glass candles or its spells.”

“You have met them without telling anything to your lord husband…” Kinvara noted “…what do you expect to accomplish with that?”

“My lord husband...” Daenerys chuckled saying those words “…is part dragon, part wolf. He may deny it as he pleases, but this war Sansa has started against the Free Folk troubles him. He loves the North and he loves the wildlings equally.

To know that I am meeting with the enemies of the North who are in the same time allies of House Targaryen… it is best for him to be ignorant of my meeting with Dorne and the Iron Islands.”

“A proper marriage, already with schemes and secrets.” priestess commented with grin.

“We are Targaryens, our marriages are not ones of boredom.” silver-haired woman replied.

“Truly they are not. You remain cautious with Jon. There’s still doubt in you.”

“I do not doubt in his love for me and our daughters and for the child who will be born five moons from now. There is no toil or sacrifice he would not endure for his family.” Daenerys said.

“What is it then that makes you hide truth from him?”

“Jon now has temper of dragon and of wild wolf. And I cannot lie and say I do not relish in him as he is now, but I saw how he acts when his anger overtakes him…and I know that our enemies will not quit from coming after us. I fear what he may do when they come again.”

“And so, you will make an alliance with Martells and Greyjoys to prevent it.”

“I will. I will do everything to prevent my daughters and my unborn child from having to live their childhood in fear from being killed as I have. Yara Greyjoy and Arianne Martell have common desire as I do now, after blood of my blood was spilt.

To free the world of the Six Kingdoms. As long as Realm exists, House Targaryen will have no peace.”

Kinvara nodded after hearing the determined tone of Daenerys Stormborn.

_The Realm is now in the hands of the Lord of Darkness. He feeds on chaos and conflict. Bran Stark as king would give every effort to bring peace back to Westeros… Kinvara thought…but he is locked in the fateful dueling between two foul creatures, the Three Eyed Raven and the Lord of Darkness,both using the broken body of one which once was Bran Stark. And the evil one, that once walked the earth in shape of blue eyed being made of ice, that one prevails now and binds the raven to its will. _ _Dragons cannot escape their destiny, to champion for the Lord of Light once again. No matter how they want a peaceful life. No matter how Westeros is of no matter to them now. _ _They were not brought back to life to be living as ordinary family._

_King’s Landing, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest _

**TYRION **

The boom rolled across the Blackwater Bay, announcing the start of what the brooding cloud layer had promised since dawn. The boughs of the trees swayed in the strengthening gust, surrendering their leaves without a fight. Then came the first icy balls of hail ringing as pebbles on the tile roofs as people of the city peeked through the closed shutters. Outside is dark, the dense grey cloud blocks out the evening light, bringing the premature night.

On Visenya’s Hill a lightning jagged across the night sky ripping it like paper. The thunder followed a heartbeat behind, always calling its warning too late.

It seemed to crack the air, as if the very heavens might split apart, declaring to all the raw power of nature and gave fair warning of the wrath that was to come. Thunder rolled overhead as the fury of the gods. It tumbled over the city through the darkened clouds, spreading out into the night, hailing the promise of rain to the land below. What began as some high winds and a smattering of rain has built into the worst storm in score and ten years.

The wind doesn't howl, it screams. The rain doesn't fall, it is driven, hard, merciless, torrential. The trees do not sway, they creak, bend and moan as their fine limbs are ripped away and their leaves become as bolts in the gale.

People of King’s Landing in their homes learned that those are no safe places of shelter as they would ordinarily be in adverse weather, but are vulnerable clusters of wood and stone. There is nothing they could do as the violence around them tears apart what has taken years to build. The old roofs were already splintered across the streets and squares.

It had been the fiercest storm that had ever hit the land in last thirty years.

Tyrion was watching it from the windows of his chamber, seeing the wind ripping through the air and hearing its high-pitched screams. He could hear thunder roaring violently and lightning tearing the sky apart, could see the waters of the Blackwater Bay stirring violently, black waves like enormous claws ready to swallow everything in their way. The sea that had once been a kind and gentle mother had become nothing but a savage consumed by wrath that night.

Suddenly lightning shreds though the sky as a spear thrown by a furious god, piercing and shattering the earth underneath, obliterating anything in its path. Again and again the lightning struck, shredding through trees and houses as it were paper, tearing apart the land as if in a crazed, blind senseless rage. Rain relentlessly plummeted from the skies, soaking the soil, forging streams and rivers through the streets as a tear stained face. Horrific howling gales ran rampant across the city.

As if possessed by evil spirits the trees waved and danced, some being ripped out of the ground only to be flooded by the ever-rising rain.

_I remember the storm like this one, old friend_. Varys was with him again, in his head… or it was only Tyrion arguing with himself.

“When was that?” _When the one you now aim to kill was born. Four and thirty years ago we had a storm like this. It marked the end of an era. __Mayhaps this one marks it too. _

“Nothing will end tonight, Varys, my king is still alive and people like him.” _W__hat people are those? Those of Vale who are being sacked and raped by the Ironborn? The Dornish who are massing in the Red Mountains? Your pig’s breakfast has gone stale and sour, it reeks._

“My pig’s breakfast shall endure, longer than some lemon cake.” _Oh, you silly Imp, you have sent an envoy to Winterfell to beg in your stead for North to give up on their dream of greatness. The Realm was never weaker. The Ironborn trample over the place where I was reduced to ashes. You and your king cannot throw them out from Dragonstone, you fear of what the Dorne will do. You fear of lords of the Reach; those you have insulted with making your sellsword bodyguard their Lord Paramount. And you do not trust the young Baratheon, one who was legitimised by Daenerys Targaryen._

“It did not occur to you that they may equally be afraid of me and my King?” _Ha…afraid of you? Of Six kingdoms how many do you truly rule? Your family’s lands in the West and Crownlands. Vale despises you and believe they’d be better off united with the Kingdom of the North, Iron Islands are in open rebellion, Dorne will follow suite any day now and that will pull the Reach and the Stormlands in this war as well, no matter on what side._

“That is your precious Realm, Varys, you were always saying how you serve the Realm, the people, not the rulers. Well, elaborate me how it has come to pass that Realm is destroying itself from within and the King of that Realm has done nothing to instigate this conflict.” _He has done nothing to prevent it either. He does not care. He is dead within._

“Admit it, eunuch, your love for that imaginary concept of the Realm has made you turn against every king you have ever served… yes, it was me who had betrayed you to Daenerys and got you burned alive, you wanted to poison her and supplant her with one who did not want to rule, just so you could do your service to the Realm… and all this time it was not the rulers who were mad, vicious or corrupted. It is your Realm, your people that are just as equally mad, vicious and corrupted.” _Yes, blame it on the people. On the smallfolk in their muddy huts or lesser lords who are nothing more than glorified farmers. They are to blame, not the inept Hand of the King which you have proven to be, repeatedly. Or the King himself._

“I will do what you were never able, Varys, I will continue to serve King Bran to the best of my ability. Because I believe in him.” _Liar. You believe in yourself. Defending Bran, you defend yourself. You have made that broken boy king, for you were not able to see that he lingers between the world of men and the world of shadows._

Tyrion was about to reply to what he thought it was Varys, when gale howled outside with the violence and raw power which made windows to rattle and the wind gusted down the chimney bringing its iciness to the room.

Suddenly it darkened, as if a huge shadow descended on the part of the Red Keep where Hand’s chamber was.

The whole chamber creaked and groaned, the shutters banged as if some tempestuous night spirit sort to destroy it utterly and he felt as he were trapped in a lion's roar. Then it was gone and light was back in the room, no matter how dim, it seemed as feast of light compared with pitch black from only a moment ago. Outside, a heavy downpour that came with the wind littered the streets of King’s Landing with all sorts of debris. Water gurgled down the stone pavements into already overloaded storm drains.

Through the thunder and howl, he was able to hear the knocking and the voice: “My lord Tyrion, my lord Tyrion!”

He quickly walked to the door. A guard of the King’s Landing City Watch, soaking wet from head to toe, his attire half covered in tree leaves, was breathing heavily…

“What is it?” “My lord, in the royal gardens, the weirwood tree is burning... I came to tell you this right away.”

“A lightning has struck it?” “There was no lightning when the tree was lit, my lord…”

“That is curious… we can’t do much with this storm raging. Hopefully, the rainfall will put out the fire.” Tyrion said “The King shall assess the damage when this storm blows over.”

“Guards in the gardens have told me that fire has caught the tree from ground to the top branches, in an instant.” “Mayhaps it was a lightning…”

Tyrion said absently as his gaze caught a wooden box lying on the ground, couple of feet from the doorstep “Did you placed it there?” he asked the guard, pointing at the box.

“No, my lord, I haven’t even see it coming here.”

“Hand it over to me.” “Aye, my lord.”

Tyrion dismissed the guard and placed the box on the table at which Small Council usually held its meetings. It was a plain wooden box with leather strap attached to it for carrying.

He could tell by the weight that it contains something so he cautiously opened it. A putrid smell came into his nostrils the very moment he lifted the lid. It almost made his bowels to return what he supped just an hour ago the same way it went in.

The source of the smell soon became apparent. There was something wrapped in the red cloth, something round shaped. Tyrion slowly removed the cloth with right hand while he covered his nose with the left.

Soon he saw a greyed flesh of a man’s severed head. His eyes were gone, eaten by the insects and what once were the cheeks show signs of signs of gnawing from rodents. The hair and the beard were still there, soiled with filth and dried blood.

Tyrion could still recognise who the man was once when this head was still on the shoulders. Daario Naharis. Urge to retch was now even stronger, but he managed to keep his composure. He was not new to the death and to corpses.

Then he saw a scroll of paper attached beneath the lid. He took it and unfold the paper. It was a message written in Common Tongue:

_To Lord Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King Bran the Broken; _

_You have tried and you have failed. The content of the box is a remainder of your failure. Do not try again. _

_For it will not be only the white tree with red leaves to burn. If you wish to preserve your Six Kingdoms you shall forget about us. As we have about you. _

_House Targaryen of Meereen. _

The lightning struck at one of the towers of the Red Keep. One, two, and the loud boom came, shaking the whole castle. He was oblivious to it as worst thunderstorm was now in his mind.

Next morning, Tyrion requested audience with the King. City was recovering from the last night’s storm. Servants in the Red Keep were brooming the floors, removing the thick cover of fallen leaves, broken roof tiles and mud.

The royal gardens suffered the most, wind has battered the rose bushes and the hedges alike and tore the branches of nearly every tree.

Weirwood tree was dead. Its spreading canopy of red leaves and trunk of white bark were now lifeless stick of charcoal, no more vibrant than the lamp-posts that stood on the entrance of gardens.

“Your Grace…” he said, still approaching to the King who sat in his wheelchair next to the scorched tree. The expression on his face was numb. “Dragon fire, lord Hand.” he said in even tone of voice.

“Yes, Your Grace. Retaliation of Daenerys Targaryen for failed attempt on her life.” Tyrion added. “It could never succeed. That attempt.”

“I think it had a fair chance…” Hand begun but never got to finish it for King said, devoid of emotion: “It was doomed to fail. They were warned, the Targaryens.”

“By whom? That is act of treason, Your Grace. Culprits must be punished.” “By Bran Stark himself…”

“Your Grace, if you have decided not to have Daenerys Targaryen assassinated, you should have only said the word and I would personally see to the calling off the killers.”

“I have decided no such thing, lord Hand, Bran Stark is not the King. I am.”

“I can’t say that I comprehend this, my King.” “Bran of House Stark is a young man that once lived in this body, some part of him still lingers on, enslaved with blood ties and concept of honor. He committed this treason for blood ties and honor.

He and some others, loyal to Bran and his bastard brother. The true King of Six kingdoms has lived for thousands of years. I do not know nor care of blood ties and honor.

That will not stop me for doing what is best for the Realm.” said the even voice with freezing coldness.

“Nor will it stop me, Your Grace.” Tyrion replied. “I know it will not, lord Hand.”

“How shall we proceed with the Targaryens?” he asked. “Dragons have come out in the open, that makes them exposed. We shall plan our next step accordingly. Now, I would like to be left alone.”

King said turning his eyes away from Tyrion. “Yes, Your Grace.”

Tyrion of House Lannister, Hand of the King walked out of the royal gardens. Had he a chance to stay next to his ruler few moments longer, he would have seen how eyes that once were Bran Stark’s rolled, becoming white and then turning into bright blue.


	30. REAVER

_Weeping Water, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest_

**REAVER**

_Sparrowhawk_ and _Iron Wing _went down the Weeping Water followed by _Kraken’s Kiss_, _Fingerdancer_ and _Forlorn Hope_.  
_Warrior Wench_ was last to leave the riverbank falling behind the _Red Jester_ for her own two lengths.

All were longships of the Ironborn, able to sail into the rivers of the green lands, as they called the mainland of Westeros, and go far up their streams to raid and plunder.  
And this night they plundered. Plundered a place which when mentioned left all living with eerie thoughts. 

Dreadfort. 

It was a strong fortress of thick stone walls and massive towers with high walls and triangular merlons that look like sharp stone teeth. In the winter time it was not possible to reach it by any kind of vessel, as Weeping Water froze over and it was good only for ice hole fishing. There were land paths to the castle, but far from any kind of proper road. Dreadfort was a castle of formidable walls that rose up against bleak hilly background and northern skies, walls made of dark stone. 

Dreadfort for centuries was ill omened, for it was said the Boltons kept their torture chambers and a special room where they hung the flayed skins of their enemies, including several Kings in the North, the Starks, their enemies ever since the Age of Heroes.  
The Boltons themselves were an ancient and powerful house of the North who once ruled as Red Kings from this place. Their land reached from the Last River and the White Knife to the Sheepshead Hills.  
As Red Kings, Boltons were bitter rivals of the Kings of Winter, the Starks of Winterfell. Some of Red Kings, as Royce the Second and Royce the Fourth were victorious against Starks, even burning Winterfell.  
The Boltons are said to have flayed the skins of several Stark lords and hung them in the Dreadfort. According to rumour, some Bolton lords wore the flayed skins of their enemies as cloaks. This practice has given the Boltons a sinister reputation. 

The last Red King, Rogar the Huntsman, submitted to Winterfell at the beginning of the Andal invasion of Westeros. King Theon Stark, the Hungry Wolf, and the Boltons defeated Argos Sevenstar and his Andals in the Battle of the Weeping Water.  
Even after that first knee bending to the Starks, Boltons rebelled against Winterfell on few occasions, all ending in their defeat.  
They have kept faith with Wardens of the North until War of the Five Kings when Roose Bolton betrayed Robb Stark, the newly proclaimed King in the North, and sided with Lannisters.

As reward, Boltons were given the North, to serve as Lord Paramounts loyal to king Joffrey and later to king Tommen. Being oathbreakers, the rest of the North hated them, though all being too weak or too afraid to act against the lords of Dreadfort who left their ancestral holdfast and took residence in Winterfell.  
Ramsay Snow, later legitimised as Bolton, killed his own father, his stepmother and his newly born babe half-brother, securing himself as ruler of the North, with support of Karstarks and Umbers who, each for their own reasons, allied their houses with Ramsay against the Starks led by Jon Snow and Sansa Stark. Bolton rule over the North lasted less than three years. When it was over, their house was over as well, wiped out for all eternity. 

Their lands were given to House Hornwood which has proven to be loyal to House Stark by royal decree of Queen in the North, Sansa, First of her name.  
Larence Hornwood, a bastard son of lord Halys Hornwood, legitimised by Sansa was now leading this family, Halys and his trueborn son have fallen fighting the Lannisters for king Robb Stark and lady Hornwood died as captive of Ramsay Bolton.  
Larence was closely of same age as Sansa and charged to rule over large portion of the Northern kingdom.

“For that one needs men and Hornwoods don’t have enough”, Earl Harlaw said to his Queen, Yara Greyjoy as the two, together with other Ironborn captains, stood by the Painted Table at Dragonstone.  
“Wolves are keeping their grip on both Mole’s Town and Eastwatch firmly… but their losses are piling up and they cannot respawn as flies.  
The first time I met with wildlings, I said to that lot we shall deliver blow to Sansa that will make her retch her supper. Now, I say it is time to kick the bitch in the teeth…” Yara spoke with determination  
“…we will attack on both shores of the Stark kingdom. Earl, you will take no more than ten longships and sail up the Weeping Water to put Dreadfort to torch… in that place was my brother tortured, flayed and gelded for sick pleasure of that Bolton bastard.  
I want that castle to burn…”  
Then she turned to Meldred Merlyn: “You will sail to Hardhome, disembark, ride hard westwards across the land north of the Wall and at Westwatch-by-the-Bridge embark on the flagship of our fleet in the Bay of Ice…  
you will lead our men in taking back the Bear Island, it was ours once, before Starks took it from us and gave it to Mormonts. They are gone now and island will be again of the Ironborn.  
That you will do with one part of your men, the other part will attack Deepwood Motte.”  
“That place is five leagues inland, my Queen, are we allowed to go that far from the coast?” Meldred asked “I say this for you are the first among us that favors not Ironborn going deep into enemy lands.”  
Yara nodded: “Aye, we must learn from mistakes of my father and his war against the North when our men were forced to keep castles and forts at mainland. Deepwood Motte was our last inland stronghold in that war and all our men died when Glovers took it back, but this time we shall not take it, we shall burn it down and retreat to our ships. House Glover has no true leader at this time, head of their house fell at Hardhome. They’re ripe for picking.”  
“Bear Island, Deepwood Motte, Dreadfort…” Earl Harlaw had an evil grin “…that is some kick in the teeth.”  
“Ginger bitch will whine of pain...” said Germund Botley, captain of the Silverfin.  
“Keep in mind, all these attacks must take place on te eve of same day.  
On the tenth sunset from today I expect your axes to come knocking on both sides of the wolf kingdom.” said the Queen of Salt and Rock.  
“What is dead may never die!” “What is dead may never die!!!” responded all the men around the Painted Table.

Earl Harlaw was at stern of _Forlorn Hope_ as oars took the longship down the river, towards the Shivering Sea. The night sky was clear, only few wind-driven clouds were moving in the south.  
He watched as the once great castle went up in flames. The sight was eerily beautiful, making the land around him to glow as in the predawn light. . .  
The flames leaped and danced as they consumed the wood and blackened the stone, radiantly beautiful in their destruction. Fresh embers jumped and spread ever higher until whole Dreadfort was engulfed in a blazing inferno.  
It seemed as the roof was making shrieking sounds as it, piece by piece, crumbled to the ground. A trail of smoke roared out of a gaping hole between the castle walls, hole which came to be after fire has devoured all that was not stone. 

When his men mated oil with torches all over the castle that has fallen before their axes and swords in less than an hour of fighting, fire licked all the wooden parts of Dreadfort, crackling, playful, gentle at first, fire flickered, flared, leapt, spat, shower of sparks like a fountain, plumes of black grey smoke, wound itself around the post like a great hungry serpent, devoured everything in its path, choking clouds of noxious smoke, blazing, out of control, ash floating to the ground like great dirty flakes of snow shower falling onto the ground.

Sky glows orange this night, Earl thought, they’ll see it in Hornwood and Karhold... and they’ll know kraken has visited them once again.

He turned to walk to the prow, his men were rowing slow down the river, there was no holdfast of settlement of any kind between them and the open sea, they were safe from Northern attack.  
He stopped only when he reached the mast. There three prisoners were tied up in chains, only surviving men of Dreadfort garrison.  
Two men and one boy, Earl concluded even at first glimpse, a boy too fancy dressed to be of smallfolk. 

“You, pup, on your feet!” he ordered. Boy got up, trying not to show fear, but failing at it.  
He was of light-brown hair, slender and tall for his age, he couldn’t have more than twelve namedays, dressed in dark-brown breeches and surcoat of same colour with orange coated shield with brown bull moose on his chest.  
The shield of House Hornwood.  
“Your name, boy.” Earl asked.  
“Hallis H… Snow.” boy replied with shaken voice.  
“Snow? A bastard? Are Hornwoods so rich that they put so pricey garments on their bastards?” he grinned at the prisoner, looking at the other two men in the same time, their faces told him that boy was lying.  
“Again… your name?”  
“Hallis Snow, m’lord.”  
Ironborn chuckled: “M’lord, ha? Well, boy if you insist on being a lowborn bastard so be it. Highborn prisoners we trade, sooner or later. You being a bastard…well, I don’t know yet…shall I toss all three of you overboard when we reach the sea or sell you to Essosi slavers. You’re young, you’ll make a good price on any slave market in Essos. So, are you still a Snow, boy?” 

“My name is Hallis Snow.” boy replied, now even more defiantly.


	31. IRON QUEEN

_Ghoyan Drohe, Essos, year 316 After Conquest_

**IRON QUEEN**

“We’re flanked…” Gareth Sand, man of House Warder of Whitecourt, sad to his Princess, Arianne Martell, as he looked right and left, but trying to keep pretence that his gaze is straight ahead “…they are riding alongside us, keeping behind those ridges but they are here.” “Pass the word to all men, no hastily moves and no foolishness. We ride forward as we did so far.”  
“Aye, Princess, there is half again as many of them than is us.” “How can he tell that without seeing them?” Yara asked.  
“Your people know of riding waves, Dornish know of cavalry.” Arianne replied.  
“I can tell you who they are, even if waves are my domain…” Greyjoy woman grinned “We’re flanked by the Dothraki. They are her cavalry. Soon they will face us.” “Good. I don’t like shy people.”

They were a column of fifty riders that disembarked from two ships who laid anchor at port of Pentos.  
One ship was of Ironborn, one of Dorne but none had figurehead or sail that would give away from whence she came. None of the raiders wore garb which could betray the man wearing it as spearmen of desert or son of kraken.  
All wore plain dark or grey breeches, shirts, jerkins and hooded cloaks; to most eyes they seemed as sellswords who tasted poverty for too long or as wanderers of some kind who are yet to become sellswords or end up as slaves.  
Two riders had hoods over their heads and faces covered with scarfs.  
They did not enter Pentos itself but rode out on the Valyrian road that went across the Flatlands to the ruins of Ghoyan Drohe.

_What halfwit called this a river_, Yara smirked watching the Little Rhoyne, Blackwater Rush is wider twice than this and runs swifter. It should’ve been named Little without adding Rhoyne only to make it what it is not; a proper river.  
The city caused the same sentiment in her eyes. And then she recalled the lessons of the Rhoynar that her father's maester taught her when she was a little girl.

At its best of times, Ghoyan Drohe has not been large, but still a place of canals and fountains, green and flowering. Small, but city nonetheless. Until the war. Until the dragons came.  
Once the Ghiscari wars had ended, the dragonlords of Valyria turned their gaze toward the west, where the growth of Valyrian power brought the Freehold and its colonies into fray with the peoples of the Rhoyne.  
The mightiest river in the world, the Rhoyne’s many tributaries stretched across much of western Essos.  
Along their banks had arisen a civilisation and culture as storied and ancient as the Old Empire of Ghis. The Rhoynar had grown rich off the bounty of their river; Mother Rhoyne, they named her.  
Fishers, traders, teachers, scholars, workers in wood and stone and metal, all raised their elegant towns and cities from the headwaters of the Rhoyne down to her mouth, each lovelier than the last.  
Ghoyan Drohe was in the Velvet Hills, with its groves and waterfalls; Ny Sar, the city of fountains, alive with song; Ar Noy on the Qhoyne, with its halls of green marble; pale Sar Mell of the flowers; sea-girt Sarhoy with its canals and saltwater gardens;  
and Chroyane, greatest of all, the festival city with its great Palace of Love.  
Art and music flourished in the cities of the Rhoyne, and it is said their people had their own magic, a water magic very different from the sorceries of Valyria, which were woven of blood and fire.  
Though united by blood and culture and the river that had given them birth, the Rhoynish cities were elsewise fiercely independent, each with its own prince or princess, for amongst these river folks, women were regarded as the equals of men.

For centuries the Rhoynar lived in peace. River folk showed little interest in expansion; the river was their home, their mother, and their god, and few of them wished to dwell beyond the sound of her eternal song.  
It was said the Mother Rhoyne herself whispered to her children of every threat, that the Rhoynar princes wielded strange, uncanny powers, that Rhoynish women fought as fiercely as Rhoynish men, and that their cities were protected by “watery walls” that would rise to drown any foe. When adventurers, exiles and traders from the Freehold of Valyria began to expand beyond the Lands of the Long Summer, the Rhoynish princes embraced them at first.__  
Their priests declared that all men were welcome to share the bounty of Mother Rhoyne.  
As those first Valyrian outposts grew into towns, and those towns into cities, however, some Rhoynar came to regret the forbearance of their fathers.  
Upon the lower river, enmities began, where the ancient city of Sar Mell and the walled Valyrian town Volon Therys faced each other across the waters and on the shores of the Summer Sea, where the Free City of Volantis soon rivalled the storied port of Sarhoy, each of them commanding one of Mother Rhoyne’s four mouths.  
Disputes between the citizens of the rival cities became ever more common, finally giving birth to a series of short but bloody wars. In these conflicts, the Valyrians emerged as victors more oft than not.  
The princes of the Rhoyne, fiercely proud of their independence, fought alone, whilst the Valyrian colonies aided one another, and when hard-pressed, called upon the power of the Freehold itself.  
These wars reached its bloody peak a thousand years ago in the Second Spice War, when three Valyrian dragonlords joined with their kin and cousins in Volantis to overwhelm, sack and destroy Sarhoy, the great Rhoynar port city upon the Summer Sea. The utter destruction of one of the richest and most beautiful of the cities of the Rhoyne, and the enslavement of her people, shocked and dismayed the remaining Rhoynar princes.  
“We shall all be slaves unless we join together to end this threat,” declared the greatest of them, Garin of Chroyane. This warrior prince called upon his fellows to join with him in a great alliance, to wash away every Valyrian city on the river. Only Princess Nymeria of Ny Sar spoke against him.  
“This is a war we cannot hope to win,” she warned, but the other princes shouted her down and pledged their swords to Garin. Even the warriors of her own Ny Sar were eager to fight, and Nymeria had no choice but to join the great alliance.

The largest army that Essos had ever seen soon assembled at Chroyane, under the command of Prince Garin, a quarter of a million strong. From the headwaters of the Rhoyne down to her many mouths, every man of fighting age took up sword and shield and made his way to the festival city to join this great campaign. So long as the army remained beside Mother Rhoyne, the prince declared, they need not fear the dragons of Valyria; their own water wizards would protect them against the fires of the Freehold.  
At Selhorys Prince Garin won his first battle, overwhelming a Valyrian army thirty thousand strong and taking the city by storm. Valysar met the same fate.  
At Volon Therys, Garin found himself facing a hundred thousand foes, a hundred war elephants, and three dragonlords.  
Here too he prevailed, though at great cost. Thousands burned, but thousands more sheltered in the shallows of the river, whilst their wizards raised enormous waterspouts against the foe’s dragons.  
Rhoynish archers brought down two of the dragons, whilst the third fled, wounded. In the aftermath, Mother Rhoyne rose in rage to swallow Volon Therys.  
Thereafter men began to name the victorious prince Garin the Great, and it is said that, in Volantis, great lords trembled in terror as his host advanced.  
Rather than face him in the field, the Volantenes retreated back behind their Black Walls and appealed to the Freehold for help.

And the dragons came.  
Not three, as Prince Garin had faced at Volon Therys, but three hundred or more, if the tales of that times can be believed.  
Against their fires, the Rhoynar could not stand. Tens of thousands burned whilst others rushed into the river, hoping that the embrace of Mother Rhoyne would offer them protection against dragon flame … only to drown in their mother’s embrace.  
Garin the Great was captured alive and made to watch his people suffer for their defiance. His warriors were shown no such mercy.  
The Volantenes and their Valyrian kin put them to the sword—so many that it was said that their blood turned the great harbour of Volantis red as far as the eye could see.  
Thereafter the victors gathered their own forces and moved north along the river, sacking Sar Mell savagely before advancing on Chroyane, Prince Garin’s own city.  
Locked in a golden cage at the command of the dragonlords, Garin was carried back to the festival city to witness its destruction and the enslavement of the women and children.

Higher on the Rhoyne, in Ny Sar, Princess Nymeria soon received the news of Garin’s shattering defeat and the enslavement of the people of Chroyane and Sar Mell.  
The same fate awaited her own city, she knew, and gathered every ship that remained upon the Rhoyne, large or small, and filled them full of as many women and children as they could carry and few of the men that remained.  
Down the river Nymeria led this ragged fleet, past ruined and smoking towns and fields of the dead, through waters choked with bloated, floating corpses. To avoid Volantis and its hosts, she chose the older channel and emerged into the Summer Sea.  
Legend told that Nymeria took ten thousand ships to sea, searching for a new home for her people beyond the long reach of Valyria and its dragonlords.

After four years of wandering the southern seas in seek of a new home, the remaining ships made landfall on the coast of Dorne near the mouth of the river Greenblood, not far from the ancient sandstone walls of the Sandship, seat of House Martell.  
When Mors Martell took Nymeria to wife, hundreds of his knights, squires, and lords bannermen also wed Rhoynish women, and many of those who were already wed took them for their paramours.  
Thus, were the two peoples united by blood. These unions enriched and strengthened House Martell and its Dornish allies.  
The Rhoynar brought considerable wealth with them; their artisans, metalworkers, and stonemasons brought skills far in advance of those achieved by their Westerosi counterparts, and their armorers were soon producing swords and spears and suits of scale and plate no Westerosi smith could hope to match. It was said the Rhoynish water witches knew secret spells that made dry streams flow again and deserts bloom.  
To celebrate these unions, and make certain her people could not again retreat to the sea, Nymeria burned the Rhoynish ships.  
“Our wanderings are at an end,” she declared. “We have found a new home, and here we shall live and die.”

Yara Greyjoy remembered these stories so clearly as if she had only heard them now.  
Balon Greyjoy made her learn history of each of the Seven kingdoms of Westeros as a child, but when her alliance with House Nymeros Martell was forged, she made sure to renew her knowledge of Dorne and Dornish. 

Princess Arianne was of Rhoynar blood by her father’s side, but her mother, lady Mellario of Norvos which were one of Nine Free Cities, former nine daughters of Old Valyria, surely descended from Valyrian colonists so Dornish ruler had two once warring bloodlines in herself.

A thousand years later since dragons laid waste to Rhoynish cities, the canals of Ghoyan Drohe were choked with reeds and mud and pools of stagnant water gave birth to swarms of flies.  
The broken stones of temples and palaces were sinking back into the earth, and gnarled old willows grew thick along the riverbanks.  
People still live here, among the weed and reeking water, Yara could tell, but we will not be seeing them today. If they weren’t spooked by us, then they are by the Dothraki.

“Halt!” shouted Gareth Sand which rode at the van of their column as band of two dozen or so horselords appeared on the road ahead of them. Only moments later, a score of copper-skinned riders was on the road at their rear.  
Arianne gazed at men blocking their advance and then briefly turned her head to look at those blocking their eventual retreat with grin.  
“Arakhs and spears do not frighten us. Tell them it is their lady that we want to see.” she said to the Aelyx Celtigar who came with the Ironborn-Dornish party as envoy of the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands.

House Celtigar was an ancient house, with the blood of Old Valyria in its veins and ever since the Conquest sworn to Targaryens. Lord Crispian Celtigar served as Master of Coin to King Aegon Targaryen, First of his name.

“Aye, Princess, though I must be fair and point out that I don’t know the tongue of the Dothraki.” Aelyx told her.  
“Ah, seven hells, one of them should understand Valyrian.” came the rebuttal.  
He was the Lord of Claw Isle and head of House Celtigar, taking the lead of his family after the death of his grandfather, Ardrian Celtigar who was known as the Red Crab. Lord Ardrian supported Stannis Baratheon when he laid claim to the Iron Throne,  
but not wholeheartedly. He was captured at the Battle of the Blackwater and bent the knee to king Joffrey Baratheon.  
His son, Aelyx ’s father, perished with Stannis in the North leaving the seven and ten years old Aelyx to take over the House Celtigar when lord Ardrian died, the same year Cersei Lannister blew up the Great Sept of Baelor.  
Aelyx has just passed his thirtieth nameday, he was of light-brown hair with trimmed beard and his eyes had the shade of Old Valyria.

“Naejot ȳdragon lēda aōha riña īlon jaelagon!” she shouted to the Dothraki which sat silently on horseback, about forty yards before them. (_We wish to speak with your lady!_)  
“Daor īlva riña, īlva Khalēsi!” one of the Dothraki shouted back in what sounded as the most broken High Valyrian Celtigar ever heard. (_Not our lady, our Khaleesi!_)  
“What does that even mean?” Aelyx asked aloud. “It means Queen or close to that.” Yara told him.  
“Jā lēda īlva. Aderī kessa Khalēsi māzigon.” Dothraki shouted again (_You go with us. Soon will Khaleesi come._)  
“What should I reply?” Celtigar looked back and forth from Yara to Arianne. “Tell him we’ll do as he asks.” Dornish princess said dryly.

A short while later, their column continued their ride down the road that passed through the ruins of the Ghoyan Drohe.  
Suddenly, a large flock of seagulls came overhead, hundreds of them, flying so tight they’ve blocked the sun when passing by and then descending behind the ruins on the far side of the abandoned city. “Seven hells, I’ve never seen seagulls this far inland…” commented one of Arianne’s men.” “They must greatly crave for freshwater fish.” other said.  
“Good thing they did not crave to shite passing above us.” came from the ranks of the Ironborn. Laughter was heard along entire column, which make some of the Dothraki to turn their heads in wonder.

“Keligon kesīr aōha anni. Naejot jikagon jentys mērī va deks. Tolie umbagon.” said the man who seemed to be the leader of the band that was riding ahead of them (_Halt here your horses. Forward go only leaders on foot. Others wait._)  
Yara looked at Arianne and shrugged when Aelyx translated what Dothraki had said:  
“Ha, we have to do what he asks… before you dismount, Princess, lord Celtigar, take off your weapons. I am not letting these horselords to disarm me and soil my blades with their filthy hands.”  
The three left their men behind and walked slowly towards the Dothraki escort that was now placed on both sides of the road, some of them were now on foot as well waiting for Yara, Arianne and Aelyx to approach.  
Two women still had hoods over their heads but faces were uncovered.  
A young warrior stepped in front of them. A tall young man in his early twenties, but his braid already falling to his shoulder blades:  
“Iksan brōzi Onqo, tresy hen Harro. Mazeman ao naejot ñuha Khalēsi.”  
Celtigar repeated for Yara and Arianne to understand: “This is Onqo, son of Harro. He’ll take us to his Khaleesi…”  
“Sȳz. Gūrogon īlva naejot zirȳla, ābrītsos anne-āeksiō…”  
(_Good. Take us to her, young horselord._) Arianne said in High Valyrian, making both Yara and Aelyx to gaze at her surprised.  
Onqo nodded and pointed to the ruins of a Rhoynari temple some three hundred yards down the road.

“My Princess, you never cease to amaze me.” Yara said as they walked on.  
“You’ve forgotten that my lady mother is of Norvos, Valyrian is my second tongue and I wanted to make sure our travelling companion is no deceiver…” olive-skinned woman replied grinning at Celtigar who nodded:  
“Princess is wise. As I am for not trying to deceive the rulers of Dorne and the Iron Islands.”  
“And we both hope you will cling to that wisdom, my lord.” Yara replied.

They have entered into the ruin. Many centuries ago, when this was a thriving city of fountains and canals, this temple had walls going in circle around the flourishing garden in the middle of which were ten pillars that carried a richly ornate dome.  
Dome was long gone, only overgrown pieces of rubble reminded of it now. Half of the pillars were broken and those still standing were no longer white marble but dark-green, coated by dark ivy, humidity and mere passing of time.  
Dothraki have searched them for any weapons and were pleased to find none. Onqo gestured with his hand they are free to walk to where dome once stood.

As they have approached the ruin, Yara’s eyes widened and she gulped.  
A woman was standing between the pillars, dressed in black breeches and knee-cut leather armor of black coating with red leather plates on the chest.  
Woman’s hair was of silver colour, fashioned in simple braid that fell over her right shoulder. She smiled at Yara, the same way as she did twelve years ago in Meereen.  
Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. She lives, she truly lives…

“Queen Yara, Princess Arianne… I welcome you to Ghoyan Drohe.” silver-haired woman said and then her eyes went to Aelyx: “I do not know you, my lord.”  
He looked at her with his mouth open, as if he had seen a ghost, same as Yara herself thought that night on Dragonstone.  
Then he kneeled and spoke with tone of awe: “Ñuha Dāria, iksan Aelyx hen Celtigar Lentor, ānogar hen uēpa Valyria, kivigon naejot Targārien Lentor pār gō Aegon Dāritys. Skoros ao udrāzma, Celtigar Lentor kessa gaomagon.”  
(_My Queen, I am Aelyx of House Celtigar, blood of Old Valyria, sworn to House Targaryen since before Aegon the Conqueror. What you order, House Celtigar will follow._)

Woman smiled: “Rise, lord Aelyx. And forgive me, we have met once before, on Dragonstone, when I came to Westeros, though you were a very young man then. You came then to confirm oaths of your house to mine. I have not recognised you right away.  
Time has changed you somewhat, but I see your loyalty to House Targaryen remains the same.”  
“Poor is the loyalty which cannot withstand the passing of time, Your Grace.” he replied still bit shaken with notion that he speaks with a woman he believed to be long dead.  
“Loyalty of House Celtigar was always true loyalty. Even in these times, you remained with lord Gendry Baratheon despite being of Crownlands and your fealty should be with Dragonstone.”  
“Dragonstone is vacant, Your Grace, and loyalty of House Celtigar goes with one who ruled Dragonstone. Those were Targaryens and Baratheons and no other.”  
“You do not need to call me Your Grace, my lord. I am not your queen, not anymore. But I ask you to wait till I confer with Queen Yara and Princess Arianne. Then we shall speak.”

Aelyx nodded and then walked away from the ruin, distancing himself from the three women.

“So, Yara of House Greyjoy, am I still a ghost to you?” Daenerys said as she approached her and two women shook hands clasping each other’s forearm.  
Yara smiled contently: “No, my Queen, surely you’re no ghost.”  
Silver-haired woman made the same handshake with Arianne.  
“Princess, we finally meet in person. I’ve heard of your beauty, but those stories did you injustice, your comeliness surpasses them greatly. And I’ve heard how strong ruler you are. I wish you were leading the Dorne all those years ago.  
Mayhaps I would not lose your land as ally so early as I did.”  
“We wish the same then, but we cannot change the past, though we can shape the present and the future.” Dornishwoman replied smiling.  
“Yes, that we can. And that we shall. This meeting is only a first step towards it. And I am glad that you have brought the envoy of Stormlands with you.”  
Daenerys said “Their Lord Paramount is my making, after all… tell me, Queen Yara, how is your war in the North progressing?”

She replied: “One week ago I’ve dealt a blow to Sansa Stark she won’t forget. Ironborn have taken the Bear Island and put to torch both Deepwood Motte and Dreadfort, all in same night.  
I want the ginger bitch to know she cannot protect her kingdom from the kraken. She may feel safe in Winterfell, but Ironborn can bleed any part of her kingdom that is fairly close to the waves.  
Next time we shall strike at Barrowton, Ramsgate, Karhold. And, my main course will be White Harbor. I will make Starks to suffer as they deserve.”  
Yara noticed her last words have made Daenerys to frown.  
“You do not approve, my Queen?” she still called Targaryen woman as her queen. To Yara she was every bit a queen as she were all those year ago.  
“I can understand how you look upon Starks, but I cannot share that look. My husband is half-Stark and my children have Stark grandmother, they are blood of the wolf as well.  
What I think or feel of Sansa Stark is reserved for her alone, not for that entire House. And I wish you to give the Queen in the North many more blows. Many more.”  
Arianne Martell said: “I doubt that Daenerys Stormborn has gathered us here to talk about what each of us thinks or feels of House Stark.”

“No, I have not.” came the words from silver-haired woman with tone which was letting them know that no comments on Stark-Targaryen pairings will be welcomed.  
“I have called this meeting for us all to agree on future actions. Once more I congratulate queen Yara on her successes against Winterfell. And I hope more victories are to come. Now, shall we begin? I will lay before you how House Targaryen of Meereen can be a useful ally of your kingdoms in bringing the Realm to an end.”  


After couple of hours, Yara and Arianne shook hands with Daenerys Targaryen and walked out of the ruin. Their faces were glowing with content and both had an evil smirk.

Aelyx Celtigar was leaned on one of stone blocks that once was part of the temple’s outer wall.  
  
“I hope you haven’t fall asleep.” she said to him which made Arianne to chuckle “Queen Daenerys is ready to receive you now.”  
Yara couldn’t make herself not to call Daenerys the queen since she called her with same title.  
  
This meeting has once more assured her that she made a right choice thirteen years ago when she sailed to Meereen and placed her fleet in service of the Dragon Queen.   
And Yara could tell that Dornish princess is in same spirit. We have gained a powerful ally today.  
  
And it may just be that it will not be dragon flame to break the Realm, Yara dwelled as it was their turn to wait now.

Aelyx Celtigar came before Daenerys Targaryen.  
They spoke in the tongue of their ancestors, those who left the Valyrian Freehold before the Doom consumed it.  
“Iksan biare naejot gīmigon āeksio Gēndrī iēdrosa udrāzma Jelmāzma Tegor. Ūndegon naenie zirȳla hae verdagon hen Ribazmoqittys Dāria” she said.  
(_I am happy to know that lord Gendry still rules the Stormlands. Many see him as making of the Mad Queen._)  
“Issa verdagon hen drēje Dāria.” Celtigar stated (_He is making of the true Queen._)  
"Issi zȳhon azantys pazavor naejot zirȳla?” she asked. (_Are his bannermen loyal to him?”_)  
“Olvie hen zirȳ issi. Mirri issi daor. Pōnta ūndegon zirȳla hae nādrēsy naejot udrāzma vāedagon.”  
(_Most of them are. Some are not. They see him as bastard unworthy to rule.”_)  
“He should keep close eye on those.” she said in Common Tongue “And the smallfolk?” “They love him, my Queen, they see him as one of them.”  
“Good. He might need them in the moons to come. I have here a letter for lord Gendry. Make sure to deliver it in his hands alone. It is written in cipher. Nothing too difficult for his maester to break. If that maester were any good.” “As you command, my Queen.”

He took the letter and hid it in the inner pocket of his linen jerkin.  
“Lord Aelyx, our two houses were allies for centuries, coming to Westeros from Old Valyria, not long before the Doom. But there was one more. What of House Velaryon?” she asked.  
“Lord Monterys sits on the Small Council as Master of Ships. He succeeded Ser Davos Seaworth. Monterys is few years younger than I am.”  
“And had he kept the faith with House Targaryen as you did?”  
“I can’t say I know him that well, my Queen. If he’s wise, he keeps the oaths his forefathers made. We are of Old Valyria, all three of our Houses. Celtigars and Velaryons were not dragonlords, but we’re children of the Freehold.”  
“You are and my House could always rely on Celtigars and Velaryons. A prudent inquiry on how lord Monterys stands would please me greatly, lord Aelyx.”  
“It will be done so, Your Grace. How shall I pass my learnings to you?” “Leave that to Princess Arianne. I am thankful for your loyalty, lord Aelyx. It will not go unrewarded. And, please, do not call me Your Grace.”  
“As you wish…my lady. Allow me to say that I admire you, a lady riding all the way from Meereen to here. Meereen is the seat of House Targaryen now, have I understood that well?”  
“You have, my lord, but I did not come here on horseback. I flew here on my dragon.”

He frowned: “How so is dragon here, we saw nothing in the sky the whole day, save that strange, vast flock of seagulls, there’s enough of them to clear a smaller lake from its fish.”  
She smiled: “I assure you, lord Aelyx, there are no seagulls here.”  
"Then what was that?" "Glamor, seeming, illusion. It is given to red priests to weave with it, as others weave with thread."

Half an hour later, a column of fifty riders, wearing dark and grey, rode out of ruins of Ghoyan Drohe and took Valyrian road back to Pentos.  


Dothraki were their shadow again for part of the way and then disappeared in the Flatlands.  


A flock of birds, counting hundreds of wings, flew in the sky above the Little Rhoyne and was headed east.


	32. ARYA

_Storm's End, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest_

**ARYA**

The castle of Storm's End.  
_What was the tale of these walls? That they were guarded by ancient spells to keep safe this castle and those within its walls.  
Were the spells needed to guard a hundred feet tall and eighty feet deep walls?_

Walls, as impenetrable, kept the winds and the rains away. And any foe. When gates were closed, only way into this castle was to climb fifty and hundred feet of cliffs that towered above the sea.

A group of men on horseback were escorting her, ever since she came ashore from _Nymeria_, the thundering of hooves on the earth was loud.  
Arya wriggled uncomfortably in her saddle, as they were coming nearer to the castle, slowing their mounts. The rider in front wore the Baratheon colors, gold and black.  
He had a hard face with sharp cheekbones and cropped black hair. Ser Brus Buckler of Bronzegate.  
They had finally reached the gates of Storm’s End after walking for what seemed like ages. It hadn’t been a difficult trek, but for someone who had been on a boat for the last six weeks, climbing the hills and rocky terrain had winded Arya. She was glad when they finally saw the guards because that meant they had reached the top.

The sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs was almost deafening, they threw themselves into the rock, straining for the earth. 

She has never been to Storm’s End, but she could remember her father’s stories of the castle and how it overlooked the sea.  
The impregnable keep and its ability to weather any storm. It truly was a glorious castle. She even dared to think that it was more beautiful than Winterfell.  
The wind was never ceasing, whining and battering. 

“Halt! State your intentions!” One guard said.  
“Aye! It is Ser Brus of House Buckler.” Arya’s escort spoke clearly. “I am here with guest of Lord Baratheon whom has arrived from a long journey.”  
The guard nodded to his fellow guardsman and they let them pass.  
Inside the grounds of Storm’s End was just as busy as this was a main square of some town. People were running around doing their daily tasks. 

Arya was now standing there in the middle of the castle yard.  
She didn’t know where to look first. On one side there was the armory, along with the training grounds and stable.  
The other side looked like it had housed the smithy and the kennels, while straight ahead were the kitchens. 

When she was a little girl and her father told her the stories about Storm’s End she always thought that should have been the place of her kinfolk.  
Had her aunt Lyanna married Lord Robert of House Baratheon the heirs of Storm’s End would be her cousins.  
Fate took different course and now she had an entire family on the other side of the world.  
She already began to miss the warmth of Meereenese sun where strongest wind is the evening breeze.

She was about to ask her escort to take to the lord of the when a man in attire of a maester appeared in the yard. A slender figure, with gleaming chain resting on his chest, while his features spoke of man of cleverness and diligence. His face was shaved clean and dark-brown hair had traces of grey.  
As he approached her, the man made a slight bow:  
“Lady Arya of House Stark, my name is Pylos, I serve as maester of Lord of Storm’s End. If it would please you, follow me to the great hall where you can rest and refresh after your ride from the shore.”

Pylos turned to leader of Arya’s escort: “Ser Brus, I thank you for bringing Lady Stark to the castle, before you leave I beg you pass my word to the steward to prepare a chamber for our guest and draw bath.”  
“Aye, maester.” Buckler made a slight bow and marched towards the castle’s only tower, a drum shaped huge construction which hosted granary, barracks, second armory, feast hall and chambers. 

She was served bread, bacon, sausages and ale.  
Arya sat next to hearth, it felt strange to her but ever since the storm from three days ago she could not get herself warm enough.  
Man who served Gendry Baratheon as his maester told her that lord of Storm’s End will return within few hours. She dared not to ask more of him.  
Plyos unlike her was filled with eagerness of making questions.  
“I am thankful, my lady, for a chance to hear about the findings that Lady Arya made on her ten years long journey…” said the maester, clapping his hands together.  
She nodded with slight smile: “I am glad to hear that someone is so greatly interested in my voyages, maester, but I fear you may find them less exciting than _The Nine Voyages_ of Corlys Velaryon.” “My lady, he never tried to answer the question - what is west of Westeros.”  
“Aye, he did not. Elissa Farman did. And now I could even vouch that claim Corlys made of seeing her ship, _Sun Chaser_, in Asshai was truthful.” Arya said.  
_Sun Chaser_ was a Braavosi built ship captained by Lady Elissa of House Farman, early during the reign of King Jaehaerys I Targaryen.  
That carrack was built for deep waters and unlike most Braavosi ships, she was not oared.  
Instead, ship had four masts, she carried as much sails as the swan-ships of the Summer Isles, a broader beam and a deeper hull.  
Elissa Farman sailed the Sun Chaser westward, across the Sunset Sea and was never seen again as far as history knows. When Corlys Velaryon sailed to Asshai-by-the-Shadow on the second of his nine great voyages, he spotted an old and much weathered ship which he believed was the _Sun Chaser_.  
That was more than thirty years after she disappeared. 

“My lady, that would mean west of Westeros is Essos?” Pylos asked.  
Arya shook head: “No, maester, it took my ship _Nymeria_ whole first year of our voyage to reach first land in the Sunset Sea and those were islands, some with no men, some with tribes of men whose skin seemed as amber and who knew no tongue known to us. Sometimes they wore wood bark and tree leaves to cover their manhood and womanly bits, but sometimes they were in their nameday suits, men and women alike.  
When we’ve passed those islands, there was more sea before us and then we have reached a shore that stretched for hundreds of leagues northwards and southwards.” “A continent?”  
“Yes, a continent and to this day I cannot tell was that land Sothoryos or mayhaps Ulthos of which we do not know is it a true continent or merely a large island…  
or was that a wholly new, yet undiscovered land for there was no end to it, no matter which course _Nymeria_ took.  
We lost many moons going first southwards, then northwards trying to sail around that land. That northern route lead into sea cursed with storms, damaging the ship. We sailed back to Westeros then, it took us year and a half.”  
“I recall that, you have sent your reports to the Citadel.”  
“Aye, ship’s second maester did that, response he got was… well, the archmaesters of the Citadel were tentative in accepting the reports.  
Then we went back to Sunset Sea, that was six years ago, this time sailing northwards, again _Nymeria_ sailed past the islands, only these tribes were dressed in animal hides and furs, as folk north of the Wall is…  
Few weeks after that we have reached the shore of a large land, only this time we sailed up the strait we discovered, broad enough for a carrack to pass, after two moons of sailing through it, the strait became narrow as upper White Knife river and truly I was afraid that _Nymeria_ shall end her voyage stranded in that unknown land.  
Luckily, that strait lead us into what seemed to be a bay, but in truth were the Saffron Straits, that we knew only after my ship reached island of Ulos, the coast north of us were the Shadow Lands, coast on the south was Ulthos. Before us was the Jade Sea. It was the end of eighth year of my voyages.”  
“So, that voyage by north of the Sunset Sea took you to Essos?” he asked.  
“Essos was one side of that strait, likely on the south side was Ulthos. I wanted for _Nymeria_ to return into that strait and sail back to Sunset Sea, but pirates that raid the shores of Jade Sea use coves of the Saffron Straits as their hiding places and it was not very safe for ship alone to sail those waters, though we tried three times to reach that strait during my ninth year at the sea, each time pirates made us go back to port of Asshai.”  
“Shadow is no place of refuge, my lady.” Pylos said solemnly.  
“No, it is not. Asshai is the only place in whose port I’ve been and never set foot ashore.”  
“What you have learned on your voyages, can we say that Ulthos lies both on Jade and Sunset Sea?” maester said.  
“Not with certainty, maester, that we cannot. We do not know what Ulthos is, a land for itself or just a portion of larger continent we still do not know anything about.” “Where were your ships headed before that storm threw you off course?” Pylos asked. “First to Braavos and then to the isles of Ibbenese and to Nefer.” she replied  
“And then further east, to reach the northern end of Essos, from there one can only go southwards and that strait is there, on the eastern shore of Essos.”  
“My lady, that is a perilous venture… some wouldn’t dare take it even with fleet of ships.” Pylos told her, not without admiration.  
“All ten years of my voyage were perilous. Every third man aboard _Nymeria_ perished in that time.” Arya replied with sombre tone  
“And fleets of Westeros are busy warring, as I’ve learned sailing into Narrow Sea.”  
Maester nodded: “Aye, my lady, that sadly they are. That you should discuss with lord Gendry. I thank you kindly for this account of your voyages.”  
“Maester Pylos, as my ships will be anchored at Tarth for repairs, we can talk more of _Nymeria’s_ ten-year long journey, I’ll let you read some of my ship logs even. You’ll learn many details of men, beasts, wonders and perils my crew has encountered in last ten years.”  
“That would bring me great pleasure, my lady. I will take my leave now and let you rest here. Should you be needing anything, servants are at your disposal.  
My lord will be with you soon.” he made a slight bow and began to walk towards the door of great hall. Arya nodded:  
“Maester Pylos, if you could introduce me with lady of Storm’s End, I’d be grateful.” Man paused his pace and said with saddened tone:  
“There is no lady of Storm’s End. Fourth year has passed, my lady.”

Arya finished her meal, it was warm sitting near to the hearth and her eyelids began to close. As used in her cabin on _Nymeria_ she leaned back in her chair and placed her feet on the table. Hardly a manners of a highborn lady yet as ever in her life she did not care. Soon she dozed off. Notion of time and place eluded her. 

She was sleeping, for how long she could not tell when sound of man’s voice made her awake: “Arya… it is you; it truly is you!” 

Gendry of House Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End, made two more paces and hugged her, almost lifting her off the table. She barely got to see his black breeches and gambeson over which he donned sleeveless tunic of gold color with black crowned stag on the chest. When they parted, she said:  
“It is me… truly is. No matter what you may have heard, I am not at the bottom of the sea.”  
“I have heard all kind of things about you in last ten years and all were horseshit.” he replied smiling.  
_He is just as tall and muscled as I remember him, Arya thought, with this trimmed thick beard, black as his hair is, he has even more of that Baratheon look._  
Mayhaps his father looked like this when he was young and lead a rebellion against the Mad King. He’s comelier now than before.  
“Arya, I have many questions to ask you…” he said to her, his voice still rang with excitement. He was truly glad to see her.

_None of it will be worth anything if you’re not with me… be the Lady of Storm’s End, _ their last proper talk came to her mind, talk from eleven years ago,  
_you’ll be a wonderful lord, any lady would be lucky to have you, but I’m not a lady, I never have been…that’s not me._  
She smiled looking at him, while wondering if he recalls that same talk. _What to say to a man you have not seen for a ten years? _

“I was greeted by your maester. He is an eager man indeed.” she said to Gendry, beginning their talk with her impression of Pylos.  
“He is. Pylos has been with House Baratheon since he was five and twenty, while Stannis was still at Dragonstone. Two moons ago, he had his two and forty nameday.  
He is a kind man, brave and means well. And he always thought that man’s worth has very little to do with being highborn or not.”  
“Well, about that he could be wrong in many other cases, but he is right when it comes to you, Lord Gendry of House Baratheon.” Arya said smilingly  
“I am glad you have such a maester. He even said you’ll be able to tell me of this new war in Westeros.”  
“So, you want me to tell you about this war between the Vale and the Ironborn?”  
“You mean, war my sister started with taking the land of the Free Folk? No need. News travel fast across the world.” she smiled again and then seriousness came to her face:  
“He told me there has not been a lady of Storm’s End for four years. What did he mean with those words?” 

Gendry’s face darkened as well. She could not tell was it because his maester told something he should not have or the very thought of this castle not having a lady was an unpleasant truth to him.  
"We are going to lord’s chambers, so we can talk more freely." he told her.  
“All right. I would like to see place where you do your lordly work…” she replied.  
They made their way up a column of stairs, to the first floor of the tower, reaching the chamber doors.  
With one swift motion he entered the room where he received petitioners and held small meetings.  
_Truly a chamber befitting a lord_, Arya had to admit.  
As they entered, there was a table that could seat eight, near the wide-open window that overlooked the sea.  
Sheer curtains were the only things covering the open archways that led to the balcony.  
The fireplace at the head of the room was large; a stag adorning the stone atop of it.  
This chamber although large still felt rather pleasant; the sea breeze that was tickling the curtains of the balcony.  
“Fancy chambers, my lord.” Arya teased as they were both seated at the table.  
“It is, my lady.”  
“Don't call me that. Not you.”  
“You are a lady, Arya. Same as I am a lord. You were born as such, I was made such. Mayhaps we didn’t want it, but that is who we are.”  
_He now talks as a true lord_ she thought, _ that maester taught him well. _

Her face had a mark of deep thoughts now, even he could saw it.  
The truth of it was that they were no longer the same people that they had been all those years ago.  
It seemed to Arya that it was easier to renew her bound with Gendry when he came to Winterfell, they were nothing but younglings then.  
Now there was eleven years of life between them and they had to learn to know each other again.  
“Arya?” He called to her. She heard him and immediately her pondering ended. “You wanted to know about lady of this castle...”  
“Is that all right? You don’t need to tell…”  
“Ask freely, Arya.”  
“I wanted to meet your lady wife and Pylos said that there was no lady Baratheon for four years now…”  
Gendry nodded: “Yes. Jocelyn of House Baratheon, my wife, died four years ago, well it will be five years soon.”  
“What happened to her?” Arya asked bluntly and regretted such carelessness right away. He sighed deeply and it was plain that he was a troubled with it.  
“Fever. Four years ago, ship came across the Narrow Sea to King’s Landing and it brought a fever that claimed many lives… do you remember that clumsy squire who was with Brienne of Tarth? Never saw a man slower in learning swordfight… what was his name… Rodrick…” 

“Podrick. Podrick Payne…” Arya recalled “Indeed, he was as good with a sword as I was in embroidery.”  
Gendry nodded: “And yet he became the man of Kingsguard. He died of that fever. But not before he passed it to my wife.  
Well, that is what I believe, anyway. Though I blame him not but me.”  
“You can’t blame yourself for a fever. Pestilences come and go, it is as this from the Age of Heroes.” He shook his head: “For her death I can. That disease did not spread outside King’s Landing and Crownlands. No one in Stormlands died, save those who went on a tourney, celebrating the seventh year of reign of King Bran. That was the only time, only year that king’s reign was celebrated so, only seventh year. It was done on seventh year to please the Faith. Bran is of North, he believes in the Old Gods and septons never liked him much. So, someone around king, Hand mayhaps or Master of Coin, proposed to have a tourney on seventh day of seventh moon of seventh year of his rule.”  
“Seven hells…” Arya exclaimed, without intent adding her seven to the list.

“I wished not to go, but Pylos and my other advisers told me that I should, for I may slight the king. Some among the highborn of Stormlands never accepted a bastard legitimised by a Mad Queen as their Lord Paramount. And their voices were oft heard in the halls of the Red Keep.” Arya, still surprised by the manner in which he spoke now, countered:  
“You were made Baratheon by the Queen of Seven Kingdoms, no matter how short her reign was. And king Bran never questioned your legitimacy.”  
“I know. That is why I went to that tourney, but my wife insisted to accompany me. She wished to give more weight to my legitimacy as Baratheon. I went to the capital with her and eight days later returned. To lay her to eternal rest.” His gaze was absent, as he was reliving those days.  
“Ser Podrick, being a true knight, came to greet me… I haven’t seen him since Battle of Winterfell… and he greeted my wife. In sennight they were both dead. So, yes.  
Me going to that tourney costed the life of lady of Storm’s End.” 

Arya looked at him and great sadness came over her. She could not ask anything save: “Who was she?”  
“Her name was Jocelyn of House Penrose. I wasn't intending on marrying her, or any woman for that matter. I was going in third year of my lordship and my bannermen were pressuring me to marry; to create heirs to Storm's End. Every woman they threw at me I dismissed. I did not want to marry, for there was no other woman that could make me happy but you.” Gendry paused as he could see his words were making Arya uneasy.  
“I was going to wait; however long it took. But maester Pylos had advised me against it. And Davos Seaworth as well. He was till this year in the Small Council and he knew what some of the lords from Stormlands were saying of me in the capital. So, they arranged me to meet the youngest daughter of lord Penrose. And I married her. To secure my rule.” Gendry swallowed.  
“Did you love her?” she asked. “No, not right away. For first few moons it was a sham marriage, one might say. She was not keen to be a wife of once bastard, lot of tales were told of me that weren’t true. Yet, we became friends first, then true husband and wife…she had a kind heart.” Gendry said, trace of smile was on his face.  
“Did you have… do you have…”  
“Children? Yes, she gave birth to my son, Orys, he is six years old and year later we had Argella, my daughter. She lost her mother soon after her first nameday.”  
_Orys and Argella_, she mused, _after first Lord and Lady of House Baratheon of Storm’s End_. 

Arya saw how his eyes have watered. It hurt him, these thoughts of his lost wife.  
She sighed as well making him look at her: “Why are you troubled with this?”  
“I am truly sorry for all that fell upon you, Gendry. You’re a good man and there is more nobility in you than in any of those highborn cunts that wish you gone from Storm’s End.  
I told you right, that night in Winterfell, any lady would be lucky to have you. And so it was.”  
He nodded: “Any lady. Save Arya Stark.”  
“I am not a lady.” Arya answered half-absently.  
“Then I am not a lord… someone should send ravens to certain holdfasts in the Stormlands. They will rejoice to hear it at last.” he jested now, to chase away grim thoughts. 

Arya looked him right in the eyes: “Can you answer me, but be honest. Were you angry with me when I rejected your proposal?  
You haven’t said a word to me when the surviving lords gathered at Dragonpit and it ended with Bran being elected as king.”  
“I was. Mayhaps I still am. I don’t know. I tried not to think of you much, Arya, but one cannot run from his memories. Or dreams.  
Many times since I came here to be lord of Stromlands I’ve dreamt of Harrenhal and of Brotherhood without banners, of Red Woman and Stannis Baratheon.  
Most oft I dreamt of you.” “Of me?!” she wondered though Arya could tell her heart just leapt.  
“Is that so odd? You were the friend and the love of my youth, one does not forget you easily, Arya Stark.”  
She leaned towards him and squeezed his hand with hers, though his were twice as big, hands of a blacksmith:  
“I thought of you oft as well, will you believe it or not I don’t care, but on this ten-year long voyage of mine I haven’t met a man that can measure up to you.”

He looked at her eyes now: “Was it worth it? Those ten years at sea? Did it give you what you wanted?” “What did I want?”  
“Freedom, I gather. That’s why you never wished to be a lady. That felt as cage to you. But have you found that freedom on the high seas?”  
Arya sighed: “I don’t know… till few moons ago I have belonged to nowhere. West or east. I was dead for Westeros and a foreigner to Essos. A wanderer.  
Then I’ve got a new purpose. By pure chance. I am not a lone wolf anymore.”

She could tell he understood little of her words, so she said in sad tone:  
“Do you ever wonder how it would have gone… had I accepted your proposal?  
With me as lady Baratheon… how would we fared as husband and wife?”  
“I used to… before Jocelyn. Then it made no sense to think of what never was to be instead of living the life I have.” he answered  
“I cannot tell how would we fared as lord and lady of Storm’s End but one that was my lady gave me two children.”  
Arya smiled: “I greatly wish to meet the little Baratheons.”  
“You shall. Yet, I warn you, they are mistrustful with strangers.”  
“Well… I have some practice in winning the children’s hearts.”  
“What? You? Truly?” he chuckled.  
“Truly. And I am not going to say anything more of it, _my lord._”  
“And I shan’t ask, _my lady._. Yet, that would ask of you to stay at Storm’s End for duration of your ships being repaired on Tarth.  
I’d be glad if you could stay here. As guest of highest honor. Wil you stay?”  
“Aye, I'm staying. For a short while at least.”


	33. SANSA

_Winterfell, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest_

**SANSA**

Eighth moon of year three-hundred-sixteenth since dragons conquered Westeros was counting its twelfth day. 

Grim. Everything around her was grim.  
Skies above Winterfell were grim, announcing new thunder and rain. Land was grim, as if were reflecting the skies. Walls and towers seemed grim too.  
And so were the faces of the people around her.

Smallfolk kept coming to Winter Town from coast, both coasts.  
Smallfolk of Deepwood Motte, of Stony Shore, of lands around Dreadfort, even as far as Widow’s Watch and Ramsgate.  
All their accounts were the same, men under the kraken sails coming on their longships to burn, plunder, rape and kill.  
Living on the shores of Northern kingdom was no longer life, it was surviving at the best and among those who managed to survive seldom were women and children.  
Their humble cottages and fields burned down, all their belongings plundered, livestock butchered or stolen… without food and shelter, even if the Ironborn were not revisiting their villages for weeks, many died of hunger. What remained for those wretched people was to go inland, to the capital of their kingdom, to seek protection under the direwolf banner as their own lords weren’t able to provide it.  
Those same lords came to Winterfell themselves to counsel with their queen.  
What started as skirmishing with small bands of wildlings, became the war against the whole of Free Folk and full might of the Iron Islands.  
Krakens have descended upon North once again and humiliated Northerners once again.  
Dreadfort, a castle of whose lords in their time most Westeros above the Neck and Moat Cailin truly dreaded, was put to torch.  
Bear Island was lost, kraken banner now fluttering over the once Mormont holdfast and Deepwood Motte suffered the same fate as Dreadfort. 

True, the lands of the Gift were defended and no wildling or Ironborn has set foot in Queenscrown, Mole’s Town or Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.  
Of little comfort was that land which some called _the New North_ were secured when castles and villages that were North for thousands of years were now submitted to reavers from Great Wyk, Harlaw and Pyke. 

Sansa sighed as she entered the Great Hall. The lords and ladies of Kingdom of the North awaited her, seated at the long tables that were usually used for feasts. Roger Ryswell, Lord of the Rills, then Beron, Steward of Barrow Hall, keep of House Dustin whose lady Barbrey passed away in third year of Sansa’s reign. 

There was Lady Erena Glover, younger sister of late Lord Gawen Glover who fell at Hardhome, girl of seven and ten years whose home was for second time in her life sacked by the Ironborn. All of them having their lands on the coast of the Sunset Sea. To Erena’s side, Eddara Tallhart, Lady of Torrhen's Square was seated, her cousin Beren served at Sansa’s court. Next to her was Jonelle Cerwyn, last surviving child of Lord Medger Cerwyn who died of wounds at Harrenhal, fighting in Robb Stark’s host. She could feel their looks and she could see their faces. Grim.  
But that grimness was nothing in comparison with the one she could read on the faces of the lords from the other shore of her kingdom. Larence Hornwood whose son Hallis was missing ever since Dreadfort was burned, no word came from the Iron Islands of the boy being their captive so many presumed the boy was dead or sold to slavers across the Narrow Sea.  
His lord father’s face was marked with concern and anger. With him was his wife, Wylla, granddaughter of Wyman Manderly, Lord of White Harbor, who was also there, defying his age of four and seventy and his large belly. His heir, Ser Wylis Manderly, sat next to him, a fat man, bald whose face was adorned with a large walrus mustache.  
At the far side of the hall were mountain clans, Wulls, Norreys, Burleys, Harclays and Knotts.

_Old Wyman was against North taking the Gift, so were the mountain clans,_ she thought, _his great-grandson is now gone, his fleet blocked in White Harbor… and the mountain clans are bleeding in this war since it begun. I can see “we told you so…” in their eyes._

Single face that was not grim was one of Elric Karstark. Commander of Northern host who gave her the lands of New Gift and the Brandon’s Gift.  
He kept the direwolf banner over the Eastwatch and Mole’s Town. Her undefeated champion.  
_But his skill and prowess in battle were not enough, not if Kingdom of the North was to emerge from this war victoriously,_ Sansa knew,  
_one man can make a difference only if those who he leads are able to follow._

She was not sure that lords of the North are able to follow the vision she had for this kingdom. Ever since the longships came to raid on her shores, she suspected that some of House Stark bannermen were secretly rejoicing that her campaign for greater Northern kingdom took turn for the worse. _Small people of small minds._

For this council, she chose to sat at the table next to young lord of Karhold, not on the throne, it was a gesture for her bannermen, to show that queen takes part in their grief and rage. They were silent, all of them. There were not even whispers on the ear among those who sat next to each other. _Hardly a good sign and hardly that will waver me._

“My Lords, my ladies. The hour at which we have assembled is the dire; it was this dire when Ironborn raped our lands for the first time, in the days of King Robb.  
The same oathbreaking enemy came to burn and reave our shores, to rape and murder our people. Enemy that comes from now a foreign land to us with those who rule that land lacking resolve to act against those criminals for that is what Yara Greyjoy and her ilk are.” she addressed the hall.  
There was no response, not even a murmur, _to expect approval from this disheartened lot would be foolish,_ that much Sansa knew. 

A sigh came from Eddara Tallhart as she was first to speak, not willing to wait if her queen were about to speak more:  
“Your Grace, last time the krakens came it was when your brother warred in the south against the lions; then krakens were in rebellion against those same lions and their bastard king Joffrey. This time, as they have sacked not only lands of our kingdom but the Vale too, the kraken is again in open rebellion against the king who sits in the Red Keep and that king does nothing to quench that rebellion. And he is no lion, he is Stark, he is son of the North, he is one of us. His time to act is long overdue.” 

Roger Ryswell nodded in approval: “Ironborn scum has sacked Gulltown and the shores of the Vale, made Dragonstone their own holdfast in the Narrow Sea, they do as they please on both shores of this continent and King’s Landing remains silent, as frightened child. I say that North should treat Six Kingdom as bypast and seek alliance with Riverlands as we have made one with the Vale. We need more men, my Queen, men in armor on heavy horse and men on foot. Our kingdom is nearly as large as all six kingdoms put together, we cannot guard our every village but we can guard our castles and towns. For that we need more men, krakens are not so bold in the Vale anymore, that shore is now dressed in sword and shield and iron price is hard to pay against steel. We need men at arms, that is my saying.” 

She felt the same as Lady of Tohrren’s Square and Lord of the Rills.  
Of small good is what I feel when that cannot be uttered openly, not from me. Queen in the North saying that Six Kingdoms are without proper ruling could bring us at odds with the Realm and their ports are now only gates we have to the rest of the world. 

She said looking from one end of the hall to another: “My lords, since my lord father was beheaded up to the day when my brother became king, North was losing men in battles that followed one after another. Thousands perished. And in last ten years we could not wholly recover; North today cannot put even half as many men on the battlefield as my brother Robb could when he marched south. We need more horse and more foot, only a fool would dispute that. But we must find a proper way to bring those men here.” 

“We won’t be bringing them through White Harbor, surely…” came the words of Ser Wylis Manderly “…for moons now the krakens do not let any ship to call in or to leave our port. Any goods coming to us from the south or across the Narrow Sea must go to King’s Landing or in better case to Maidenpool and Saltpans… that makes all that comes to North pricier and all which leaves North just the same… this war robs us of our young, but drains our coffers as well. I fear hunger might come knocking to our doors and hunger is a travelling companion of every prolonged war.”  
“Ser Wylis is right.” said Elric Karstark “If this war drags on for few more moons, we shall be wondering how to feed our men at arms and our smallfolk. We’ll have to slaughter all of our livestock to ensure that food. We need a swift and decisive victory and that one will not come, there will be no battle of Trident in this war. Our foe is not the kind that rides in the battle in thousands. They’re reavers and raiders, war of this sort is what they know best. And war of this sort we all have to suffer.” 

Erena Glover kept his gaze on him and when he finished, said in bitter tone: “Some here have suffered much already, Lord Karstark, my brother is gone and male line of House Glover is gone with him. Lord Hornwood’s son fate is still unknown. Aye, this is a war where one bleeds other slowly, but wildlings now have the upper hand thanks to Kraken. They have Hardhome as port now. To ship in weapons and food and to sell our men to slavers from across the Narrow Sea. We have no ports. Kraken has sealed them all.” “Are you losing faith in our cause, Lady Erena? If you no longer believe…” Elric said with tone that accused, softly but still accused.  
“I could believe till it snows in Red Mountains of Dorne, Lord Elric, that will not change the truth that in matter of weeks we shall lack both men to wage war and coins to fund that war.” “So, what would you like our Queen to do? Sue for peace?” Karstark hissed. 

“Hah, that just might be the wisest thing to do.” Hugo Wull stated looking straight at Sansa “We have broken the pacts that stood some for hundreds, some for thousands of years…aye…hoping that will bring the better hereafter for our children and grandchildren. Noble intent and plan, but not shared by men who dwell in those lands.  
At their own will they want not to partake in making of new North and we can’t make them to heel. Nor we can root them out. Mayhaps it would be wise to seek parlay with wildling leaders. Not the Ironborn scum. Only the Free Folk.” 

She gave him a long, disapproving gaze and then scolded him: “And with whom do you propose I should parlay with, Lord Wull?  
Who speaks for the Free Folk, as you call them? Do they have a king, a prince, a lord… a leader of any sort that I could even by far treat as worthy of trading words with?  
Or am I to think that you wish for your Queen to lower herself before some chieftain that beds goat before eating it?” 

His face was now red, but not of being ashamed by a woman still young enough to be his granddaughter, it was red for anger:  
“A queen parlays with a king or queen and no other. But queen has her loyal lords to speak for her when dealing with those of lesser titles is needed.  
And who is more loyal to Your Grace than Lord Karstark. He should seek parlay with the wildling chieftains, if naught to learn what price for peace they ask.” 

Elric chuckled: “I have wildling blood on my hands, up to my armpits I’d say. And one does not need to speak with that lot to know what they want… they want us to leave all the lands of the Gift to them and to give the castles on the Wall to them and to rapers and thieves and what other filth now makes the Night Watch. They want us to go back what we were in times of our grandfathers.”  
“Those were times of peace, young lord, times of your grandfather…” boomed the voice of Wyman Manderly “…when Lord Rickard Stark and his sire Lord Edwyle ruled North.  
Aye, wildlings raided in those days, but any Northerner could travel safe from Winterfell and White Harbor to the Wall, to Castle Black and to Eastwatch.  
Not in this day. Not without an escort of two scores of mounted men in heavy armor.”  
“Lord Wyman, do you speak in favor of this parlay with the wildlings as well?” Sansa asked “Young Lord Hornwood is your great-grandson and he was taken from us by Ironborn who came to our shores at behest of wildlings.”  
“I know to whom my son’s daughter is wed and what child came into that marriage.” old man replied with even voice “As I know that many grandsons will perish in this barren war. Unless we end it soon.” 

“Barren war? One could almost call that a talk of treachery, Lord Wyman.” came from Elric.  
That caused loud comments from all Manderlys present, but voice of the oldest one muffled all other:  
“A treachery, you say? Men of my House were butchered at Red Wedding, boy, while Karstarks turned back on their King and rode home.  
And you fought against Jon Snow, the White Wolf, for Boltons. Your family is the last one to mark someone else as treacherous.” 

From all sides of the hall came the approval, some nodded, others murmured. Elric Karstark did not won much favor with the lords of Kingdom of the North by bedding their queen and even less with the war that he apparently was losing. Sansa knew this was the moment when her own Queen’s Council could turn against her. “My lords and ladies, I have heard your proposals and counsels. Only a foolish queen would not agree that our endeavor of larger North came to a halt for this war; a war that has become a deadlock. Yet, to go to parlay now, after we have lost the Bear Island and smoke still lingers over Dreadfort and Deepwood Motte, that would mean we seek peace as the losing side. No, we can ask that parlay only after a victory over the wildlings and the Ironborn that will make them feel our strength.” “Where shall we seek that victory, Your Grace?” asked lady Jonelle Cerwyn.  
“At Eastwatch, my lady.” she replied with tone of convincement “On land and on the sea. We lift the both sieges.”  
“How can we end the blockade on the sea, all the ships we have are in White Harbour and no match for the Iron Fleet…” said lady Wylla Hornwood, Wyman’s granddaughter. “Sellsails. There is no other way.” Sansa replied causing the loud murmuring throughout the hall. “My Queen, sellsails are of same kind as the Ironborn. Pirates and cutthroats...” warned Wylis Manderly. “Indeed, they are. And who better to fight pirate and cutthroat than other pirate and cutthroat.” she pointed out. Hugo Wull shook his head in disgust he did not even bother to hide while Larence Hornwood asked: “Can our Kingdom afford sellsails? To break the Ironborn at Eastwatch it will take a proper fleet.” “And proper fleet we shall have. I intend to offer service to Samarro Saan. He is a baseborn son of Sallahador and that name should be known to House Manderly.” responded the Northern queen.  
“Aye, it is…” said old Wyman with contempt “Sallahador Saan was pledged to Stannis, his ships were part of Baratheon fleet when he fought the battle of the Blackwater.  
Later he abandoned Stannis and returned to piracy in Stepstones. That Lyseni was never trustworthy and whomever he sired is surely of same feather.” “Nonetheless, Saan family has close to fifty ships and half of it will be enough to sank the longships that block the Eastwatch. Yara Greyjoy has not committed her largest vessels to Eastwatch, she keeps them in Narrow Sea, on Dragonstone, before coast of Vale and to block White Harbor.”  
“Do we have enough coin to pay the Saan and his pirates?” came from one of the Harclays.  
She glared: “To hire their service for one single battle, we have more than enough. And I do not intend to have them serving us for long.”  
Lady Tallhart nodded: “Your Grace is right, it would be unwise to depend on foreign pirates longer that it is needed, still if royal treasury pays Lyseni sails, can we afford the same on land?”  
“Kingdom of the North will not hire sellswords on land, we shall send a call to Six Kingdoms for all men at arms who are willing to come and fight for our cause without payment. But with promise of a new life on the land that once were Gift. And in some vacant lands of the North as well. Land for commoners, titles and holdfasts for the highborn.”  
Sansa replied with determination.  
“So, the New North will be place to settle Southrons?” came from the table where mountain clans were seated.  
“They are not blood of First Men…” said the other voice. “Neither are the Manderlys…” someone half whispered making Wylla to spout:  
“Manderlys are blood of First Men from the Reach, we’re not Andals, but our faith is that of Seven.” “Faith Andals brought…” came the reply. 

Entire hall now echoed with debating lords and ladies from one corner of long tables to another.  
Lord Hornwood rose from the table and spoke loudly:  
“Do we want such men amongst us? Southerners drawn here by prospect of getting lands and titles? Bringing to North their ways who are strange to the most of us, making our land into something that is not to be. One should be wary of men coming after wealth and power. I strongly advise you against this, my Queen.” “As do I.” said Wyman Manderly. “As do we, men of the mountains.” came from the Hugo Wull.  
Lady Cerwyn joined them: “Your Grace, we cannot sacrifice the true spirit of the North to save the North. We need the North as it is now, as it were since the Age of Heroes.  
Andals could not take our ways from us, nor could the dragons… to turn the lands of the Gift into lair of Southron freeriders and hedge knights, that will not be true North anymore… I beg you to reconsider.”  
“We are a Kingdom. We have laws.” she replied dryly “Those who would like to live among us shall take our ways or there will be no home for them in the North. We have enough womenfolk to wed with those hedge knights and freeriders and their children will be Northerners for their mothers will see that they are. Your fears are unjustified, my lords and ladies.”  
“Are you a queen or a whoremonger?” she could read plainly from the face of all the Manderlys and Hornwoods, in the gaze of Hugo Wull and Eddara Tallhart after hearing her words. _I don’t truly care what you think of me, I am not here to please your narrow minds and wavering loyalties._   
“I am charging you, lord Wyman of House Manderly to send word to Samarro Saan, word by which Kingdom of the North wants to hire his fleet.  
And you, lord Elric of House Karstark to send word into Six Kingdoms that all free men at arms are welcome under direwolf banner.  
As long as I rule the North, this kingdom will not suffer humiliation. Not by Kraken, not by Thenn.”  
She rose up from the table and walked out of the Great Hall.  
_Weaklings, all of them. How can someone who has mind and strength to plan for next hundred years get proper counsel from those who live from dinner to supper. _

Some of those remaining in the hall exchanged gazes who silently spoke _as long as she rules the North…_


	34. SAMWELL

_King’s Landing, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest_

**SAMWELL**

„Archmaester Tarly, a meeting of the Small Council shall take place in two hours, the Hand has sent me to gather all members to attend.” page announced barely entering the chamber where Grand maester’s office was. “Inform the lord Hand that I shall attend the meeting, young lord Peckledon, and thank you.”  
“Aye, archmaester.” replied the page, boy of fourteen years, cousin of Ser Josmyn Peckledon who five and ten years ago squired for Jamie Lannister. 

Peckledons were of Westerlands and Samwell instantly knew this meeting is important to Tyrion since he sends children of Lannister bannermen inviting the Small Council members. 

Last moon was least peaceful for Samwell ever since he became a member of King Bran’s Small Council.  
After that storm which struck King’s Landing with same ferocity as the one more than thirty years ago, one that took place on the night when a woman who burned his father and brother was born, he expected to be summoned by Hand or the King himself.  
That night, under cover of wind, thunder and rain, dragon burned the Red Keep’s weirwood tree. Or that was what he was told.  
He also heard of Tyrion getting a box with rotting head of a dead Essosi sellsword.  
Corners and holes of Red Keep echoed with furtive whispers, with each passing day rumors were enriched with more details, mostly absurd and doubtful details.  
_Mayhaps best way to ruin the true account is to let it be disfigured into sum of gossips saturated with imagination of tens of gossipers,_ Sam thought. 

What he was certain of is that King and the Hand both know the truth.  
And the truth was that assassination plot Tyrion Lannister devised together with leader of sellswords once loyal to the Dragon Queen failed.  
He knew that Davos Seaworth came home from Essos and was able to meet with him once last moon.  
Samwell heard whole account of what happened in Meereen and was content, one could say he was content, even happy for it.  
He had no love for Daenerys Targaryen. She burned King’s Landing whole and his younger brother before that.  
And his father, though he would not resent that for long had Dickon been spared.  
Randyll Tarly broke oath to House Tyrell, oath lords of Horn Hill kept for centuries. Dickon did not deserve to die by dragon flame.  
Still, children of his only friend, Jon Snow or Jon Targaryen as he called himself in Meereen did not deserve to die for no reason save being of Targaryen blood. 

When Davos asked him what if King or Tyrion accuse Sam of treason, he replied:  
“Then, so be it. I have saved Gilly’s babe from White Walkers and shielded her and Little Sam from some brothers in the Night’s Watch.  
I would not be a man anymore, unworthy of my wife and my children to let other children being slaughtered only for having a wrong family name.  
My father was not a good man but he’d never let his hands be smeared with blood of innocent babes.  
Had I kept silence, knowing what Tyrion plans for Jon’s family, their blood would be on my head as well.” 

Little Sam Tarly was not so little anymore, a young man of seven and ten namedays, last year took the lordship of Horn Hill in his father’s stead as Samwell will never return to Tarly holdfast save as castle’s maester which was not to be expected. Mahyaps in his older days when Red Keep or the Citadel would lose appeal to archmaester Tarly.  
Gilly lived at Horn Hill as well, with his mother Melessa and his soon twelve-year-old daughter, Alana.  
He promised Jon to name his child after him had it been a boy, but to have daughter named Joanna was not tradition of his fathers. 

His sister Talla who ruled Horn Hill until Little Sam reached age of six and ten was now Lady of Cider Hall but fortunately for her, her husband was Ser Tanton of House Fossoway, not his much homelier older brother Symun, one with yellow teeth. _No matter what may come to pass with me,_ he pondered, _the future of House Tarly is secured._

“Lord Monterys…” he greeted the Master of Ships upon entering the Hand’s  
chamber. Young nobleman of Valyrian features was already seated at the table, with him were Master of Laws who also received Sam’s greeting: “Lord Andrew.”  
“Archmaester... any thoughts why were we summoned in such haste?”  
“None, my lord.” he replied taking seat “Mayhaps Ser Brienne will know more…”  
“She does not.” came the brisk reply as Lady Commander of the Kingsguard stepped into room. “I’d wager of me knowing less than the rest of you. What I can tell you is that lord Tyrion was in good spirits when I saw him in the morning.” Master of Ships frowned: “A seldom thing that was, in last few moons.”  
Not long after, Tyrion Lannister entered the chamber carrying documents and scrolls.  
Already by his pace, they all concluded Hand of the King is content about something or someone. 

“My lords, my lady… before we commence, let me tell you that His Grace will not be joining us, but he did make some decrees that I am to present you during this meeting.”  
Hand said after taking his seat at the head of the table.  
“First decree is in regard of the actions of Lady Greyjoy. As you all know, the Ironborn have taken Bear Island, part of the Kingdom of the North and that is act of aggression on foreign soil. Crown will not tolerate this any longer so King orders for royal fleet to sail out and lay blockade of Dragonstone.  
Since Yara Greyjoy has taken residence at Dragonstone, we shall make certain she stays there with significant portion of her ships at anchor.  
Lord Monterys, begin the preparations as of today. Royal fleet is expected to seal waters around Dragonstone a sennight from today.” 

Young lord Velaryon nodded, not without cautioning: “Royal fleet shall be ready to set sail towards Dragonstone within three days, my lord.  
Still, Lady Greyjoy could escape from the island if she finds that befitting, a simple boat will suffice for her to pass our ships under cover of the night and then board on some of Ironborn longships or vessels of the Iron Fleet.”  
“True, but she will not do that, she will not sneak out as common thief and leave her ships behind. The flagship of Iron Fleet is anchored at Dragonstone, Yara will not leave it under our blockade.”  
“My lords, my lady… the Ironborn will see this as a cause for war against the Crown.” said Andrew Estermont  
“Bulk of their fleet is in the Narrow Sea, ensuring no ship of any kind to come close to coast of the Vale or to White Harbor.  
And some are claimed to anchor at Hardhome, beyond the Wall, from where they sail southwards, to attack Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.  
Royal fleet, even if aided by ships from Stormlands, cannot muster more than sixty ships. Yara Greyjoy has thrice as many in the Narrow Sea, if not more.  
Our western shore is filled with kraken sails.”  
“Indeed, she has, but mayhaps more than half of those kraken sails are ships that can face the galleys of royal fleet if battle ensues after we lay the blockade of Dragonstone.  
And, as you have rightly noted, bulk of Ironborn fleet is now at Narrow Sea, leaving their own islands not so guarded. Ravens will be sent to Lannisport and Arbor asking their ships to sail to Iron Islands posthaste. Lady Greyjoy will have to decide whether she prefers her ancestral home over harassing shores of Vale and Northern kingdom.”  
Tyrion replied, voice booming with confidence.  
“I see that Realm is finally taking more decisive steps, Lord Hand.” came from Brienne “A welcomed change of stance.” 

Lannister nodded approvingly: “And long overdue. Indecisiveness has brought us this Ironborn audacity to pillage on both sides of this continent and what is more, and all of you have heard of it, Queen Sansa has issued her own decree, a call if you want to all men at arms from the Realm willing to come to North and fight for her cause.  
We already have freeriders from Riverlands and the Vale going north as we speak. Some even from Westerlands and northern Reach. Guards on the border crossings report of dozens of men, lured by promised land and titles.”  
“Ha… Queen in the North promises land of New Gift and Brandon’s Gift to hedge knights and freeriders from Six Kingdoms, a land she does not possess right now.” smirked Monterys Velaryon. “That land is far northwards than the Last Hearth, best of luck to anyone willing to thrive there.” Estermont added.  
“I assure you, my lords, to a hedge knight or freerider prospect of receiving holdfast and even title for shedding blood of some wildlings is far more tempting than either of us, born into land and wealth can imagine...” Tyrion countered “…and speaking of those that weren’t born into land and wealth but acquired both with shedding blood, King has decreed that Ser Bronn of the Blackwater is to be stripped of the title of Lord of Highgarden and Lord Paramount of the Reach. And of his knighthood. He is to be considered traitor and turncloak who flees from King’s justice.” 

Samwell felt his jaw dropped upon hearing this and the rest of the Small Council had similar reaction.  
They gazed at Hand for a heartbeat, speechless, then Brienne said: “Bronn has been missing from the capital since the end of last year, after being removed from this council… then he disappeared from Highgarden as well. No word of any kind came from him or of him.”  
“That is not entirely true, Ser Brienne.” Tyrion pointed with slight grin “Bronn, after being removed from the Small Council, was charged by me to approach Yara Greyjoy and Arianne Martell, so that Crown could learn of their intentions. Aye, some of you now surely think why was that required, knowing the abilities of our King, but sometimes the raven’s three eyes can be obscured by sorcery and blood magic. Bronn did what was expected of him, for a while, then his reports became fewer and fewer with each new one more useless than one sent before. Bronn joined with Dornish and the Ironborn and His Grace saw him leading the Wildling bands around Eastwatch and Mole’s Town.  
He joined their cause hoping to get more lands and more power than what King gave him.”  
“What _you _gave him, my lord.” Sam finally took word in this meeting. 

“Archmaester, yes, indeed… what I have given to Bronn. And now, there is need for a new Lord of Highgarden and the Reach.”  
He could feel Imp’s gaze and the slight mockery of his words “And King surely shall not bestow that duty and honour to House Tarly.”  
Brienne looked at Tyrion, surprised by the tone he addressed Samwell and then at him.  
Estermont and Velayron exchanged looks and now their eyes were also on the man in robes of archmaester.  
“I see wonder on the faces of all present… His Grace, King Bran cannot give the title of Warden of the South to house whose most elevated member turned against his King.” Sam sighed, remaining calm. Brienne’s voice raised as she asked: “What… What are you talking about? Samwell Tarly a traitor?!”  
Tyrion coughed: “Lady Brienne, do not name a member of this council as something he is not… archmaester did not commit treason.  
Certainly not in the purest form of it, but he took active part in undermining King’s plans and orders.” 

Sam shook his head: “Oh, well… I have expected this to take place, even much sooner than today. Surely, my lord, you will be so kind to tell the Small Council how I acted on behest of the King himself.”  
“You followed the words that King gave you influenced by his weakened health at the time; without considering to consult with me about that what His Grace under fever asked you to do.”  
“I wonder was it not the King’s fever that gave the previous order, one you so eagerly wanted to fulfil.” Sam rebutted.  
“What in seven hells are you rambling about?” Lady Commander of Kingsguard was not a woman willing to listen roundabout talk.  
“My lady, my lord Monterys and my lord Andrew… lord Tyrion was given order by our King to assassinate mother and her two children and not many days later I was ordered by our King to do all possible to prevent that crime to happen.”  
“Oh, so it is a crime to kill a murderer of thousands of innocents?” Tyrion asked, words ringing of scorn.  
“Elia Martell’s children killed under order of your father. Lyanna and Rhaella ordered to be killed under your order. Your order, Lord Hand. Not King’s.”  
he replied with accusing tone.  
“Who are these… Lyanna and Rhaella…?” Monterys asked.  
“Daughters of once King in the North, Jon Snow and of…Daenerys Targaryen. Children of ten, eleven namedays.” Sam replied. 

Velaryon’s eyes widened: “Children of… that is impossible. Queen Daenerys is dead, as long as you claim those girls have years.” He dismissed it with hand gesture.  
Brienne looked at Tyrion, it was a long gaze: “You seem to agree what Sam has said, Lord Hand. And you being a man of knowledge and reason, as Sam is too… she lives and she had two daughters?”  
Tyrion shut his eyes for a heartbeat and opened it again: “She lives. She died and by sorcery or magic was returned to life, same magic which brought Jon Snow back from the dead, of which surely both you, Lady Brienne and archmaester know more than I do. And she gave birth to twin girls, sired by Jon Snow.”  
“And you gave order to have her and the little girls killed? I can agree of her being a great threat to the Realm, but children?” Brienne’s voice echoed with disgust. “King ordered it and it is mine duty to see it done.”  
“Duty or will, lord Tyrion?” Sam asked, though it more sounded as new accusation “Surely you ought to see that King himself were divided upon this matter and yet you proceeded with it.”  
Brienne’s face was now filled with anger: “Are you saying she and the children were killed? That we have blood of little girls on our hands, all of us here?” 

“No, my lady, killing of innocents failed. King charged me to prevent it and I with help of some others have prevented it.” Sam said to her reassuringly.  
“Some others… you say. Ser Davos Seaworth which you have sent to Meereen to warn the Dragon Queen and Arya Stark. Now, in case of Ser Davos we cannot speak of treason since he did your bidding, believing it was King’s bidding, but in case of Lady Stark… treason is obviously committed. In more ways than one.” Tyrion replied with stern voice. “Arya Stark? Who sailed west of Westeros? She’s at the bottom of the sea somewhere.” came from Master of Laws.  
“On the contrary, my lord, she, as we speak, is at Storm’s End with lord Gendry Baratheon.” “His Grace saw that?” Estermont asked. “No, Lord Andrew, since weirwood tree was burned in our gardens, he cannot use his powers wholly, but Red Keep has its eyes and ears in many places.  
Lord Baratheon shall be asked to deliver the traitor Arya Stark to King’s Landing.”  
“And what sort of treason did she commit?” Brienne darted at Tyrion.  
“Siding with Targaryens against the Realm.” Imp replied, followed by Samwell: “Saving lives of two innocent girls from cutthroats.” 

Monterys Velaryon frowned hearing Tyrion’s words and ignored Samwell:  
“My lord, Arya Stark owes no loyalty to King Bran, she is not of the Realm. She is in truth the Princess of Kingdom of the North, being sister of Queen Sansa.”  
“Yes, she is and she has betrayed her royal sister as well.”  
“Daenerys left us at peace for last eleven years…” Sam said “…and she had her largest dragon all that time. Now, as you, my Lord Hand have acted against Dragon Queen’s daughters, one can be sure that she had not liked that at all. I wonder how it had not crossed your mind that what you tried to do in Meereen was equally vile as were the butchery of Elia Martell, her daughter Rhaenys and her babe son. Equally vile as poisoning of Princess Myrcella was.  
Since when it is the family of the child reason good enough for you to have that child killed?” 

His question remained unanswered save the words that came somewhat later from the Imp, again with stern voice:  
“The interest of the Six Kingdoms is reason good enough. And for that same reason, you shall resign from the Small Council and return to Horn Hill or to the Citadel, King leaves you with the choice. We shall find your replacement during next moon.”  
Then he continued: “House Hightower shall be named Wardens of the South and take rule over the Reach. Reach will have key role in facing the Dornish rebellion which we may expect now as our fleets are sailing to meet the Ironborn. As will the Stormlands.”  
Tyrion then turned to Andrew Estermont: “You are first cousin once removed of Lord Gendry Baratheon, your lord father and Robert Baratheon’s mother were siblings.  
You will ride to Storm’s End and demand of your cousin to hand over Arya Stark and also to call his banners the same day Arianne Martell proclaims Dornish rebellion.”  
“Aye, my lord.” he replied with fingers running through his long, pointy beard.  
“Good. Any other questions?” Hand asked. None came.  
They were all dwelling upon what they have heard during this meeting.  
Samwell saw disbelief on Brienne’s face and he felt guilty, she was his only remaining friend, not only at this table but in the capital.  
He did not care of other council members, surely not of Tyrion Lannister who he could hardly even recognise.  
_His father ruthlessness caught up with him, _Sam thought, _he tried to escape it his whole life, but failed in the end. _

“If there are no questions, I call this meeting of the Small Council adjourned.” Hand of the King rose from the table and left the room pacing hastily.  
Master of Law followed, while Master of Ships remained sitting, lazily placing his documents into a leather coversheet.  
“Ha… queens returning from the dead, lords losing their lands and titles…indeed this meeting was abundant with revelations.” he spoke, more to himself than to Sam and Brienne. “Surely you cannot condone attempt to kill little girls, lord Monterys.” Brienne said, still angered with all the notion of her King soiling his hands with blood of innocents. “I cannot, my lady. Nor shall I condemn it to please you or the archmaester.” Velaryon replied. He politely bowed and walked out. 

She turned her head away, she loathed Velaryon for what he just said, and rose from the table very moment silver-haired man left the chamber.  
“You’re good at keeping secrets, Sam, I’ll grant you that. Though now I understand why you’ve acted strangely last moon or two.”  
“I am not a traitor, Lady Brienne.”  
“I know that. And honestly, I do not know anymore which is the true state of mind of our king; one that told you to help saving lives of Jon Snow’s daughters or one that ordered Imp to kill them.” "That makes two of us, my lady.” 

Brienne leaned on the table and sighed “Sam, is our king and our kingdom in danger from Daenerys Targaryen?” “No, she thrives in Essos now, without looking westwards. I’ve learned this of Ser Davos. At least it was so until Tyrion hired some sellswords to kill them all.  
It is not impossible they will retaliate. And Davos told me that Drogon is close to size of Balerion the Black Dread.  
There would be no defense against that dragon, no scorpion bolt is large enough to take him from the sky.” 

“Damn Tyrion, he of all people should know better.” Brienne blurted.  
“He’s afraid of the Dragon Queen, of her returning to Westeros. Well, if he had any doubts would she kill him or spare him in case of her return, sending killers after her children, made that doubt into certainty of Tyrion not surviving the return of the dragons. If that ever happens, which I do not believe it will.”  
“This is the Realm her forefathers forged.”  
“True, but Davos has told me that Targaryens live like kings in Meereen, kings in all but name. Having both power and wealth. Which does not mean that they will not seek vengeance against Tyrion.” he said.  
“Madness and stupidity.” Brienne said “Instead of Small Council deciding what to be done with Daenerys, Imp did the most stupid thing he could.  
And now King banishes you for preventing that stupidity.”  
“I will rather live in banishment then in dishonor. I have served my true King to the best of my ability.” he said looking at Brienne who nodded.  
She slowly walked to the chamber door and bowed before leaving: “Farewell, archmaester Samwell Tarly.”  
“I wish you good fortune in wars to come, Lady Commander.” 

_And wars are coming, sure as sunrise next morrow, _a sad thought came to him, _on land and on the sea, wars are coming._

Three hours before noon of the next day, Samwell Tarly rode out through the River Gate, though most of the city folk called it the Mud Gate.  
He rode for thirty or so miles down the Kingsroad, this was first hundred miles of that road which begun at Storm’s End with its last mile ending at Castle Black.  
Once that was his home. Castle Black.  
Now, he did not even know who held sway over it, were that brothers of the Night’s Watch, the Wildlings and the Ironborn or the Northern kingdom.  
It was late afternoon when he reached the fork where Kingsroad met the Roseroad, one that leads south and west, leads to the Reach, home of his childhood and now home of his wife and children. His two horses, one carrying him and other his belongings, mostly books, trotted over the Roseroad. It will be days before he sees the towers of Horn Hill. 

Two hours had not passed when lord Andrew Estermont with score of mounted men as escort came to that same road fork and continued riding southwards, to the castle of House Baratheon.


	35. DORNISHMAN

_Red Mountains, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest_

**DORNISHMAN**

Edric Dayne, Lord of Starfall, halted his sand steed at the mountain ridge. In the distance, down below, as far as he could see lay the Reach. Land of the foes.  
For thousands of years, before many kingdoms have become seven kingdoms and seven kingdoms become Seven Kingdoms, one Realm, Dorne and the Reach warred.  
Bloody and bitterly. House Dayne fought with noble houses of Oakheart and Hightower.  
Reach had all that Dorne had not. It would be equally true to say that Dorne had all the Reach had not.  
Dorne was the hottest part of Westeros. Dorne was rocky, mountainous, arid and dry having the only deserts on the continent.  
The Reach was green and fertile land with many villages and towns. 

Men of the Reach esteemed knighthood, them more than anywhere else in Westeros. They fought on the open field, heavy horse being their main strength.  
They rode out before the Aegon’s dragons in that manner and were burned in the Field of Fire. And yielded. 

Dornishmen refused to give the Conqueror the open battle and allow him to unleash his dragons.  
Instead, they ambushed and raided, striking quickly and then slipping back into the desert or through the mountain passes, where even the dragons could not find them.  
Aegon's sister-wife, Queen Rhaenys and her dragon Meraxes were both killed in the First Dornish War.  
A century and a half later, young king Daeron Targaryen, First of his name, tried to conquer Dorne. And succeeded. His victory lasted only a summer. Dorne rebelled again.  
It took another thirty years, for king Daeron the Second to peacefully unite Dorne with the rest of the Realm, by marriage.  
Westeros was counting hundred and eighty-seven years after the Conquest when that took place.  
In every war that dragon kings waged against Dorne, the lords of the Reach partook under Targaryen banner. It only added to the ancient enmity. 

And the time has come again when Dorne and the Reach will stand on the opposing sides. Princess Arianne Martell summoned all the great houses of Dorne to Sunspear. Yronwood, Dalt, Qorgyle, Allyrion, Wyl, Fowler, Blackmont, Gargalen, Jordayne, Vaith, Santagar, Toland, Uller, Manwoody. And Dayne. All answered the call. 

Banners fluttered around the Sunspear; crowned skull of Manwoodys, three scorpions on red shield of Qorgyles, an axe bearing leopard on blue-white flag for Santagars,  
a green dragon biting his tail of Tolands, an adder biting a man’s heel for Wyls, a black portcullis grill over sand of Yronwoods, a black vulture with a babe in its claws for Blackmonts. And a purple flag with a crossed white sword and falling star for House Dayne. 

They were an ancient house, one of the oldest in all of Westeros, coming for the west of the Red Mountains, claiming the ancestry of First Men ever since the Dawn Age, nearly ten thousand years ago. Their features spoke in favor of this claim as Daynes were or blond and dark hair, oft having blue eyes and sometimes even purple. 

A story was told of the first Dayne who has raised its holdfast Starfall on an island at the mouth of the Torentine, a river that flows in the westernmost waves of the Summer Sea. That Dayne has been tracked a falling star there and found a stone of magical powers.  
Along with the Fowlers and Yronwoods, the Daynes were among the most powerful and prestigious houses of ancient Dorne.  
The family were also famed for Dawn, their ancestral sword made from the fallen star, and the men who wield it, the Swords of the Morning. 

Last Sword of the Morning was Ser Arthur Dayne, the knight in the Kingsguard of King Aerys the Second. The Mad King as histories have remembered him.  
Ser Arthur, a best swordsman of Westeros, was slain in swordfight with Lord Eddard Stark at the Tower of Joy, in the last days of Robert’s Rebellion. 

Lord Stark, a man of great honor, returned Arthur's famous sword, Dawn, to Starfall and informed his sister, Lady Ashara of her brother's death.  
Ashara upon hearing this dark news, threw herself into the Summer Sea from the Palestone Sword tower of Starfall castle.  
Her sister, Allyria, claimed Ashara fell in love with Eddard Stark during tourney at Harrenhal, both were free of any betrothal then, though that tourney lived in memory of Westeros for Prince Rhaegar Targaryen crowning Lyanna Stark as queen of love and beauty.  
Later, many claimed that Ashara took her own life for she was heartbroken as the man she fell in love with slew her brother. 

Lord Eddard was then already married to Lady Catelyn Tully, taking place of his older brother Brandon Stark.  
Brandon and Catelyn were to be wed, but being of wolf blood upon hearing that Rhaegar disappeared with Lyanna, Brandon instead of going to his own wedding rode off from Riverlands before the gates of the Red Keep where he demanded for Prince Rhaegar to come out and die.  
Mad King had him arrested and later killed, in the throne room, together with his father Rickard Stark.  
Lord Eddard Stark married Catelyn without ever having seen her before their wedding day, had his wedding night and rode off back to war against the Mad King. 

Lady Ashara Dayne’s body was never found. Rumors in the Winterfell castle, right after the war, spoke of Eddard Stark’s bastard babe, Jon Snow, as being one he sired with Ashara, but when the rumors have reached him, he cut them at their source and Ashara Dayne’s name was never heard in Winterfell again. 

Lord Edric Dayne was son of the older brother of Arthur, Ashara and Allyria.  
Though lord of Starfall, he did not wield the Dawn, his prowess with the sword was not near as good as his dead uncle, a legend both when living and after death.  
Edric was a man of nine and twenty years, of pale blond hair and dark blue eyes. Shy, good natured and polite ever since boyhood, he soon learned other traits are needed to be a proper lord of a great house. He avoided killing if it could be avoided, though not at cost of his own well being or well being of his family and lands. 

He came to Sunspear not yet dressed for war, in his black breeches and purple tunic, his sword hanging from his belt.  
Some other lords were already in their war attire, wearing Dornish armor which was lighter than in the rest of the Westeros, made of metal disks and sewn in the manner of scales on the leather, some donned flowing robes in colors of their houses covering that scaled armor.  
Dornish warriors were renowned for their round metal shields, spears, short throwing spears and double-curved bows, like those in the Essos.  
Light sand steed cavalry and horse archers were traits of the Dornish. And spears. Thousands of spears. 

_Dorne is the least populous of the Seven Kingdoms. It pleased the Young Dragon to make all our armies larger when he wrote that book of his, so as to make his conquest that much more glorious, and it has pleased us to water the seed he planted and let our foes think us more powerful than we are, but a princess ought to know the truth. Valour is a poor substitute for numbers. Dorne cannot hope to win a war against the Iron Throne, not alone._

Words of his late Prince, Doran Martell, came to his mind. And when spoken, four and ten years ago, they were truth.  
When Doran said those words, the boy-king Tommen had the power of Crownlands and the Reach and Westerlands at his side, North was defeated, Stormlands also while Riverlands were brought down to burned villages, hanged men and raped women. Dorne same as Vale remained silent and out of fray. Vale later fought in the North. 

Today, Dorne still had the same numbers, but others did not.  
Might of Lannisters crumbled with their cousins from Lannisport ruling the West with no gold and a small army, the Reach was plundered twelve years ago and then humiliated with naming of once sellsword as their Lord Paramount, Stormlands had a new lord, a smallfolk bastard once… all their wealth and hosts were ruined during wars that came after King Robert Baratheon died. 

Not Dorne. When Ellaria Sand and her Sand Snakes removed Doran Martell and his son from ruling and this life, they pledged their support to the Dragon Queen.  
Qoren Martell did the same. Pledged without sending men to the field.  
And that kept Dornish swords and spears same as they were on the day when that boar ripped the gut of Baratheon king open.  
Dorne now had tens of thousands while others could bring only mere thousands on the field.  
Also now Dorne had a fleet of warships, in the shape of their Ironborn allies. Fleet that warred on both sides of the continent for many moons now. Sunspear waited. Much to the mislike of the sons of kraken, Sunspear waited. 

For a proper reason to cut bonds with the Six Kingdoms.  
And that reason came after Princess Arianne learned of the royal fleet being ordered to Dragonstone to lay blockade of the Ironborn ships there.  
Also, the stir among the Redwyne ships did not go unnoticed. Vessels from Arbor left their ports and went northwards, to Lannisport.  
Anyone with even a small wit could conclude that Redwyne and Lannister fleet will be heading to the Iron Islands. To battle with Kraken. 

Arianne Martell received her bannermen at the Tower of the Sun, under the dome of gold and leaded glass.  
Beneath the dome sat the throne room, a large round hall with thick windows and many coloured glass and floor made of pale marble. 

Throne room has two seats on a dais, near twins to one another with only difference being that one is inlaid with the Martell spear on its back and the other features the blazing Rhoynish sun that flew from the masts of Nymeria's ships. The spear seat is used by the ruling Prince of Dorne.  
Or Princess as following the custom of the Rhoynar, under Dornish law lands and titles pass to the eldest child, not the eldest male.  
Arianne welcomed the Dornish noblemen and noblewomen dressed for a battle, brown leather boots, dun coloured breeches, sandsilk tunic over which she donned a brown coated breastplate. Spear was leaned at her seat. 

“My lords, my ladies, fellow Dornishmen. I have summoned you here for one purpose and one purpose only.  
To declare to the Six Kingdoms and to the world that Dorne no longer recognises King Bran the Broken as our ruler, that Dorne no longer considers itself as part of the Realm and henceforth Dorne and Dornish shall rule themselves as we have for centuries. We have not bowed our heads before the dragonflame as rest of Westeros.  
We shall not bow before raven king who fights his sister’s battles. If wolves of Winterfell see fit to ruin Westeros, I say let them.  
But not with Dorne in the fold. Not with us as hostages of failed Stark monarchs. We shall be independent land once again.  
We are great people, in our veins we have blood of the First Men, of Andals and of Rhoynar. We are no man’s servants, but free from this day till end of days.” 

She grabbed the spear, raising it high over her head: “I proclaim this with the words of my House: Unbowed, unbent, unbroken!”  
All the present in the throne room draw swords or raised spears and shouted: “Unbowed, unbent, unbroken! Unbowed, unbent, unbroken!”  
Arianne shouted even louder: “Rise, people of Dorne!”  
The hall erupted with cheering. Some applauded, some slammed their swords against their shields. 

Later that day, Princess received each lord of the great houses alone in private audience, with her being present lord Tremond Gargalen and castellan of Sunspear, Ser Manfrey Martell, a knight from House Martell and cousin of late Prince Doran Martell, Arianne’s father.  
“Lord Edric, for far too long you have not been to Sunspear. Nor to Water Gardens for that matter, though youth from Starfall and your lands comes there every year.” said Arianne when she greeted him. He bowed and kissed her hand: “Princess, it is honor and pleasure to see you.”  
Olive-skinned beauty smiled: “Sweet talker as always. Come, Edric, we were just looking at the map.” 

On the richly ornate sandalwood table a map of Dorne was stretched.  
Small ivory figurines, depicting foot soldiers and horsemen, towers and towns were placed on the map.  
Most ivory soldiers were grouped at border with the Reach, towards west and south. Edric noted there were none placed towards Stormlands, aiming north and east.  
_Is this wise every Targaryen campaign against Dorne came from the Stormlands and the Reach, almost as a rule. Are we leaving our one side bare and vulnerable…_

"Lord Edric, your men will be key to our actions in the west.” Ser Manfrey addressed him “We can be sure that new Lord Paramount of the Reach will seek to prove his allegiance with the raven king by attacking us, so we shall be the one who will attack first.”  
“Though it is not Baelor the Breakwind we should be wary of…” Arianne said “…but this brother, Ser Garth Hightower, Greysteel he is called. That is another beast entirely.”  
Edric noted: “I thought that Ser Baelor Hightower was nicknamed Brightsmile, being handsome and pleasant as young man.” 

Princess chuckled: “Indeed he was, but in my family, he was known as Breakwind. My uncle Oberyn and aunt Elia once visited Oldtown and met young Baelor.  
Oberyn even considered him the best match for Elia, but he farted in their presence and Elia could no longer look at him without laughing.  
One fart ruined his prospects of getting her hand in marriage.”  
Manfrey nodded, knowing that story as well, while Tremond Gargalen grinned: “And now, the knight that farts before princesses, is the Warden of the South.  
That boy in wheelchair, has the raven plucked his brains?”  
“My lord Tremond, though it may not seem so naming a Hightower, even one who farts in public, was an improvement from the once sellsword sitting at Highgarden, turning it into brothel.”  
“That was Imp’s doing, as I’ve heard. I guess old Tywin’s bones would be rattling in his grave, if he’d have one.”  
Manfrey added, then as he has seen Edric’s frown: “Tywin Lannister was interred in the Great Sept of Baelor.  
His daughter saw to it that remains of her lord father end up as dust on soles of King’s Landing smallfolk that were made to clear the ruins.” 

“A well-deserved fate, my lord, for what Lannisters have done to Elia and her children.” Arianne said, with grim tone, and continued:  
“Lord Edric, I wish to remove any danger of Hightowers making their move first. You shall lead the host of House Dayne strengthened with men from House Manwoody and House Blackmont into the Reach and strike at Uplands, Sunflower Hall and Three Towers. Raid and burn all in your way and take the holdfasts if you can, but waste no time with sieges.” Lord Dayne looked at the map and grinned:  
“So, I am to pay visit to Cuys of Sunflower Hall, Costaynes of Three Towers and Mullendores of Uplands. Well, there are old scores to settle with all of them.”  
“And you shall, my lord.” Arianne said “Do not linger in the Reach more than it is needed. Have your men to be ready to withdraw to Red Mountains at any given moment.”  
Manfrey added: “Do not let yourself to be cut form the mountains. The Reach has precious few men at arms with any battle experience to bring on the field, but caution is required.” 

Edric nodded in agreement, he knew that flower of Reach knights perished in the wars a decade ago, but he would never underestimate them.  
Then he pointed at the northern borders of Dorne: “As for being cautious, do I read this map wrong or we do not foresee any conflict with the Stormlands. History teach us otherwise.”  
Princess smiled approvingly at him, Edric knew Arianne liked him ever since they were little children and have played together in the pools of Water Gardens:  
“Well observed, my lord, but for now, Dorne will not act with hostility against Stormlands. We shall allow their Lord Paramount to draw the first move, whether that will be to abstain from this conflict or will he follow the Imp and his raven king. If he chooses the latter, that shall be his own undoing.”  
Edric was silent for a heartbeat: “Lord of Storm’s End is, as I’ve understood, a legitimised bastard. Queen Daenerys made him Baratheon. He could be proving himself to Bran the Broken by calling banners to fight us.”  
“He could, but that would be going against the queen that has made him lord.” 

Edric looked at Arianne wondering: “That queen is dead…one can keep loyalty to the dead, but what use of it?”  
“My dear Edric, as our allies say – what is dead may never die.” Dornish princess replied, smiling.  
He could not understand why. 

A sennight later, he was on his horse, on the western slopes of the Red Mountains.  
Before him was the Reach, behind him were three thousand men, half of which light horse.  
Purple flag of his house waved high above his head that was covered with chain coif over which he donned halfhelm, ornate as it was Dornish tradition. He wore dark breeches, pale purple gambeson under the chainmail hauberk, on his forearm he wore steel vambraces with engraved sword and star. He rode past the lines of his host. Then he gave a long look at the land around him. 

The Red Mountains were not bare rock and stone as rest of Westeros believed, there were hidden valleys and high meadows with sweet and green grass, there were forests and plenty of game in them. Beneath the ground, one could dig iron, tin and silver. From these mountains the men of Dorne went to war with their neighbors.  
It was said that many centuries ago, one of Daynes of the old, called the Starfire, burned Oldtown. 

“Are you ready, men of Starfall? Men of Blackmont? Men of Kingsgrave?” he shouted as he cantered back along the first lines of the cavalry.  
"We are ready!” hundreds of voices replied.  
“Then we ride! We ride to crush the hearths and shrines of our foes! Ride, men of Dorne!” 

Holdfast of Uplands and all the villages around it were raided and burned first, Sunflower Hall followed.  
When Dornish vanguard reached Three Towers, most of its smallfolk was already fleeing towards Oldtown, bringing news to the city of hated old enemy coming to raid the Reach again. Edric ordered that smoke which rose from the burning castle of Three Towers must be seen from any spot in the Oldtown, the seat of new Warden of the South.  
They have set ablaze everything that could burn. 

Soon after, Dornish host returned to the Red Mountains, the foot took the watch over the passes while cavalry went northwards along mountain trails, preparing to descend at Horn Hill, the keep of House Tarly. 


	36. RHAELLA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has another questionable moment regarding dragonlore ,but I'm inclined to believe that Drogon, as sentient being of fire made flesh, would be prone to carry out act of warning together with Jon. So, it was Jon, not Dany who made a doorstep delivery of Daario's head to Tryion and who burned down Bran's weirwood tree.  
Their marriage will be very passionate one, with lot of arguing and make up sex. 
> 
> Yi-Ti archery is not GRRM or from World of Ice and Fire, it's a nod to Korean bows and "baby arrows", as Yi-Ti in GRRM's world corresponds with old Far East.

_Meereen, Essos, year 316 After Conquest_

**RHAELLA**

She hardly noticed the Dothraki bow any longer, it was as if they have become one.  
Merely moons before she would never have imagined that carrying this weapon will become so important to her, yet life demands that you defend what you love and Rhaella loved living.  
The arrows in her hands spoke to her with Papa's words: "_One should never enjoy killing, no matter how good being at it._"  
Bow sang the words of her mother: “_Those who would harm you will die screaming._”

Targaryen pyramid was her residence now, for two moons already. She liked it better than the Temple of R’hllor.  
She had her own chamber, right next to Lyanna’s but they did not share the room anymore. And there was a terrace water pool where she could refresh and swim, twice as long than one in her house in Port Yhos.  
Rhaella missed that small port town on the shore of Summer Sea, oft she wished they could all go back there. She, Lya, Muña and Papa. In her eleven years she lived in few places, but Yhos felt most like home. 

Ever since she was wounded by the Second Sons, Rhaella seek her father’s company. She felt safest when with him.  
And he was gentler with her than with Lyanna, though he tried to hide it. His dark-haired daughter was not as delicate as one with Valyrian features and Rhae sometimes envied Lya for that.  
Sometimes she was happy that her temper is not as one of her twin for that meant less trouble with her parents, her teachers, handmaidens and rest of the household.  
Lya had no dreams of that night when sellswords came into their chambers and they both shoot their arrows at one while other charged at them and slashed her across the belly. 

Rhaella had that dream, more oft in weeks right after the attack, still it came to her even two nights ago… in her dream she could see the glowing eyes and the beard of the man in whose brow her arrow struck, killing him on the spot and the sun-burnt skin of the sellsword whose blade made a gash under her navel, in her dream he grinned as blood poured out from the wound and she knew that death will claim her… that dream always made her toss and turn in the bed and she would wake up in tears and sweat. She never said anything to Lya and dared not to say a word of it to her mother and father.  
_I am blood of the dragon, I am blood of the wolf_ she repeated to herself, _blood of kings that shaped the world to their liking… it takes more than a dream to scare me..._  
She would say these words holding the Catspaw. And her dark lilac eyes would glow.__

_ __ _

Her mother was now five moons with babes. Babes.  
It brought great excitement to dragon pyramid, knowing that mother will gave birth not to one, but two little Targaryens.  
What her mother, who once before bore twins, doubted was confirmed by half a dozen healers, from Qarth to Volantis. All came to see Daenerys Targaryen and all agreed that not one but two children have quickened in her mother’s belly.  
Names were already known.  
Cregan and Aemon. Daenysanne and Saera. Cregan and Daenysanne.  
Rhae wanted them to be born already. 

She knew that Muña was angry with Papa again. She heard them quarreling last moon, she was on the terrace, near the open window of chamber which her parents used for their daily affairs.  
“You promised! You promised not to act hastily and you lied, you lied to my face! What if Drogon threw you off over the sea? You’re not his rider, he could have done that!  
I would be again without you, our children without father! How can you be so…so reckless! You damn Northern fool!”  
“What I did was for our children, Dany. No one shall attack us without being punished! No one! We have been hiding in the shadows for too long!”  
“Shadows kept my children safe, till you came. Your honor will be our undoing once again. Now those in the Red Keep know that we’re after them, that revenge is coming.”  
“Good. Let them know! If our daughters cannot have peaceful sleep, neither will Tyrion and that creature wearing the crown!” he nearly shouted.  
“Do not raise your voice at me!”  
“I have to; you fail to hear me when I speak softly.”  
“You will never sit on Drogon again!” Daenerys said angrily.  
“That is for him to choose. Dragon is not a slave, remember?”  
Rhaella heard a strong slap. Muña hit Papa across the face. 

Later she could tell that mother was sad for it, but it was done. Papa shared no words with her for a fortnight.  
Rhaella was worried that mother could send father away, but Lyanna, a wilder and bolder spirit than her, came smiling when that fortnight passed:  
“Fear not. I’ve climbed up the bedchamber window, Papa and Muña sleep embraced and Targaryen naked.”  
“Lyanna! You must not do that! Spy on mother and father?! Are you mad?! And what Targaryen naked means?”  
“You could say Stark naked for father, but mother can only be Targaryen naked.”  
“Lya, Stark and stark are not the same word!”  
Then she saw her sister grin and that angered her: “Are you making fool of me? I will hit you in the nose!” 

Unlike Lyanna, Rhaella was quieter, gentler, of calm temper and well mannered.  
Her love for books matched that of her grandfather Rhaegar while he was a boy, old Ser Davos told her of that, how Papa’s father loved to read and learn.  
_Rhaella the Blessed_, Lyanna mocked her once when her twin cried upon seeing beggar children on the streets of Meereen.  
That was enough for silver-haired girl to respond in anger and hit her sister, proving that her bloodline is one of dragon and of wolf. Rhaella proved the temper of her ancestors seldom, Lyanna did that almost every day. 

What Lya told her made her content. Mother and father were angry at each other and still they were sleeping together in their nameday suits. _Mayhaps that is how it must be with man and wife, _she thought. 

Today her hair was fashioned in two braids, falling on her shoulders. In Targaryen household there were both Ghiscari and Dothraki handmaidens, oft competing for favor of their ladies and Rhae has learned how to get the most benefit of that competing. Ghiscari handmaidens prepared her dark-blue trousers, white shirt and grey sleeveless tunic with white wolf’s head stitched on the left chest. This was her Stark attire and she loved to wear it just as same as black and red color of dragonlords.  
Over it she wore a dun cloak. She took her Dothraki bow and arrow bag and went to join her father who was waiting for her on the ground level of the pyramid, they were to ride to the Archery Range.  
Rhaella loved to go there, to practice with her horseman’s bow, but also with Westerosi longbow made of goldenheart tree from Summer Isles that her father gifted her for eleventh nameday. 

Goldenheart wood made some of the best bows in the world, renowned for their great strength, capable of launching an arrow with such force that it could pierce through steel plate armor.  
The bow was crafted of lithe, slender goldenheart wood and dyed red rawhide was wound around the grip . It was not as long as usual longbows since it was made for a child bowman, still it was nearly two feet over Dothraki bow.  
A weapon of foot archer, meant to shoot from distance. Rhaella was very skilled horse archer, but she wanted to master the longbow as well. 

They rode together, she and her father, to the mouth of Skahazadhan, in her lower flow the river was wide enough for ships to sail upstream for few miles which other slaver cities exploited when besieging Meereen thirteen years ago.  
Mouth also had half a dozen islets; on one those, that was joined with the riverbank by wooden bridge, City Guard made its archery training ground.  
Islet was large and long enough to serve that purpose with trees growing on it to provide both shade and targets for those who practiced there. 

“Papa, is Muña still angry with you?” she asked Jon as they have slowly trotted outside the city walls, along the riverbank. Dark-haired man frowned: “What makes you think she is angry in the first place?”  
“I just know. I can tell when she is angry with me or my sister, but when she is mad at you, Papa, that is different and I can tell that too.”  
He smiled and said with seriousness: “So, you’re being observant about your parents, Rhaella Targaryen?” “I am, my lord father. As daughter should be.” she replied in same tone and smiled.  
“Yes, my sweet, your mother does not approve something I have done last moon, something what I see as needed to be done. For her, for you and for Lya. And for two unborn Targaryens, too.”  
“Drogon burned some tree.” silver-haired girl said shrugging “You say that was needed for the family, Muña is angry.”  
“Rhae, have you been eavesdropping around your parents’ chamber?” Jon gazed at her disapprovingly. “No, father, I heard you passing by.”  
“That’s eavesdropping.” “No, it is not. I was not sneaking under your chamber window to listen.” “Thank the old gods for that…” he said.  
“I don’t like when mama is angry with you. Nor does Lya. For we fear that you will leave us.” girl said looking at him “And we don’t want to be without father again.” 

Jon stopped his horse and pulled reins on hers: “Rhaella, my sweet daughter, no matter how mama and I get mad at each other, no matter how loud we quarrel sometimes, I will never leave my family. You and Lya have nothing to fear.  
From where do these foolish thoughts come into your heads?” “When Ghiscari parents quarrel oft, sometimes man sends wife away or he leaves; some men take the children with them, some leave them with their mothers.  
And temple priests then say that wedlock is no longer.” Jon sighed: “Rhaella, where was I born?” “In Dorne, Papa, but you grew up in Winterfell.”  
“True. Where was Muña born?” “At Dragonstone.” “Are those Ghiscari places?” “No, they are not.” “Then, are your mother and I Ghiscari?” “No, father, you’re not.” she said.  
“We are of Westeros, Rhae, as are you and your sister. What people of Meereen do with their marriages is not of our concern.” “Yes, father. But I was there only for a day.”  
“Where?” “In Westeros.” He nodded placing hand on her back: “I know. Rhae, when I saw you and your sister for the first time, it was as a long nightmare ended for me.”  
“You thought we were ghosts, Papa…” she smiled. “I did, didn’t I?” he chuckled  
“My sweet girl, you are still only a child. You will get to see the world and I swear it; you shall see Westeros. But till then you can act as Westerosi no matter where you live in this world.”  
Rhaella nodded: “I will, Papa. I swear that to you.” 

She was silent for a heartbeat then said: “I wish babes were already born.”  
“You want to play with your babe brothers or sisters, right? But, when they’ll be grown enough to play, you and Lya will not be children then, you’ll be young ladies.”  
“No, Papa, I wish babes are already with us so mayhaps mama will not be angry with you anymore, you both will be happy with them.”  
Jon looked at his daughter with both surprise and pride: “Rhaella Targaryen, you are wise beyond your age.” Her face glow with pride as well, she enjoyed every time when her father would give her praise. 

Hooves of their horses clattered across the bridge which led to the islet where Archery Range was, it was a low overpass, some seven feet over the water of Skahazadhan at its highest part.  
City Guard has established four barracks, Daggerleaf was on the southern side of the city, Waspwillow on the western side, closest to the port and Harpy's Gold on the east of the city. 

All were named after plants that grow in Meereen and the Bay of Dragons. _Once slaves and once slavers would not divide over flowers and bushes,_ Rhaella hear her father saying.  
The eastern barracks having a harpy as part of its name was pleasing to city nobles. It was a concession Jon was willing to make, though some of former slaves misliked that and referred the place as only Gold or Eastern Barracks. 

There were some thirty guardsmen at the training ground with Gidel zo Hehzan as commander of Archery Range. He was a man few years younger than her father, Rhaella could tell, lean and hard, with a white smile that clashed with his jet-black hair being drawn into a topknot and rest of his head shaved clean. Some called this a warrior haircut to hold an Essosi helmet firmly in place during battle, to others it was just giving honor to strange and exceeding hairstyles of once Ghiscari empire.  
Gidel was nobleman and son of slaver. 

He greeted Jon formally and invited him to share a cup of wine at the trestle table under a cypress tree next to which a commander’s tent was placed.  
There will be a proper building on the islet, but works have been delayed for the next moon, much to Jon’s annoyance.  
“Rhae, if you’d like to join Gidel and me…” “No, Papa, I am going on the other side of the range to practice.”  
She liked to shoot her bows alone, not lined up with other archers, trainees from the City Guard, so Rhae always went on the opposite side of the islet, there were more trees to aim arrows at.  
Though, she knew that there will be guards watching over her, hidden from her gaze. Father would never let her unprotected. 

First, she took off the unstrung bows and arrow bag from the saddle, her father was still standing next to her, watching her do it, and then she unclasped her cloak, took it off and tossed it over her shoulder. “I am going now, father.” she said and when her gaze went to him, his eyes shone of pride again: “A direwolf tunic… and a white direwolf at that.”  
“I have Stark blood, Papa and a right to wear this sigil.”  
“Yes, you do…” he knelt and hugged her “…you don’t look like a Stark, but you’re more wolf than some of your kin in Westeros.”  
“Would you… would you like it more if I were to look like a Stark, like Lya?” she asked keeping her head on father’s shoulder.  
He parted hug the very next moment, but his hands stayed around her: “Don’t ever ask or think that again. Ever. I love you more than life itself, sweet daughter. Just as I love your sister. Yes, Lya and I have Stark looks but we are dragons like you and mama.  
And you have blood of Kings of Winter no matter how lilac your eyes are or how silver your hair is… you’ve said some silly things today, Rhaella Targaryen. You’ll make me angry with you if you keep doing that.” he said smiling and hugged her again  
“Now, go… you have some trees to kill.”  
“Avy jorrāelan, Papa.” “Avy jorrāelan, ñuha byka perzys.” he replied “(_I love you, my little flame.”_ ) 

Rhaella strung both her bows and made sure two additional bowstrings she brought with her are ready in case those placed on the bow would snap, then she put leather glow on her right hand, one she used the pull the bowstring and a leather armguard on her left hand, one she held her bow with. She chose a tree and stood about thirty feet from it and strung an arrow lightly in her Dothraki bow, drawing back her arm pulling the arrow and string with it to her ear. It whooshed past her and landed a little to the left of the knot in the bark she'd been aiming for. She nodded approvingly.  
_Good enough..._she thought, ...but I can do better.  
She let loose rest of her Dothraki arrows, over a dozen of them, all landing around the first, it felt satisfying to shoot with her bow, she could not come to the islet for whole two weeks.  
_Time to rest a bit. _ she concluded. Archery takes practice and strength and to use a horselord bow Rhaella had both, she was releasing arrows from a horseback since she was five years old, riding with Dothraki boys.  
Their sisters could not dream of it, but Lyanna and she were khalakki, daughters of Khaleesi and _qoy zhavorsa_ blood of the dragon, and no one in Vaes Dothrak dared to question their right to learn to ride and use bow at the same age as their sons. 

_“Qoy verzhavorsa”, she said aloud “I am blood of the dragonwolf. Of Rhaegar and of Lyanna, of Jon and of Daenerys. Of Aemon Dragonknight and of Rodrik the Wandering Wolf. And longbow will not better me. Not today.” _

Westerosi bow was harder for her to master. It was longer than Dothraki bow and demanded more strength from the archer, arrows were somewhat longer too.  
Draw was different as well, Dothraki archer would use pinch draw, holding the end of the nocked arrow between his thumb and forefinger. Longbow archer would draw the arrow with one finger over the arrow and two fingers under.  
Rhaella has heard stories of the archers from lands of Yi Ti who claimed their bows to be best in the world, that could out range any bow which existed.  
It was said, and she heard that talk when travelling from Qarth to Port Yhos aboard _Nymeria,_ that Yi Ti archers have two kinds of arrows, one longer and one half as long, a crossbow bolt lookalike. __  
This short arrow is released from their bows by using a straight piece of wood which grew in their hills, its length as common arrow, with inside carved like a pipe.  
Archer would use the short arrow, placing it in that carved wood to be shot from the bow. Yi Ti archers used that short arrow for its greater range, higher speed and better piercing through armor.  
She heard one sailor saying that Yi Ti archer can never train with short arrows before outlanders and for one who would dare to do so punishment was death.  
Range of the Yi Ti short arrow was said to be more than three hundred yards. Rhaella remembered some crewmen laughed at that, but lands east of Qarth had their many mysteries. Archery might as well be one of them. 

She chose a different tree to aim at with her Westerosi bow and took the first arrow from the bag, the fletching of the arrow was white feather, one of seagull.  
_Nock, draw, loose… _ she repeated in her mind before her actions with the bow… _eyes on the target, not on the arrow… _  
First arrow struck the tree trunk where she wanted.  
_Sȳrī gaomagon, Rhaella Targārien, _girl congratulated herself in tongue of her forefathers, _iā līrigon kesā āeksio. Well done, Rhaella, you will master this bow. _ then hit the tree with six more arrows, all within five inches circle from where first hit home. She paced slowly to the tree. It was not very hot day in the city and here it was even more pleasant, with breeze coming from the sea inland. Save the guardsmen, only other living things on the islet were birds nesting in tall trees or bushes.  


Black cormorants flew overhead to their nests on the northern riverbank to feed their young. Some of them were on the islet, not far from Rhaella, standing on the fallen trunk of a pine, close to water, drying their wet wings after diving for fish.  
Girl ignored them and they ignored the girl. Had they been geese, she would be tempted to strike one down with arrow. 

Suddenly, all the black wings were up in the air, birds were scared away.  
She could hear splashes of water, her pace hastened, she reached the tree and quickly took all her arrows from the trunk, placed all but one at her belt.  
One arrow she held close with her bow and cautiously walked towards direction from where the sounds were coming, keeping close to the tree line. When she was close to the river, she saw the cause of the splashing noise.  
A boy was coming out of the water, struggling through the brownish shallows, he was coated with mud which covered his naked body, there was a loincloth that should hide his manly parts, but now it was a rag that covered next to nothing.  
_He’s not much older than me, _she thought, _skinny fellow._  
Meereen, as any other city, had its poor and Rhaella concluded he is one of them, mayhaps he fell from one of the fishing boats, there are many at the river mouth or he tried to swim across the river and failed.  
Then she saw shackles on his wrists joined with short chain.  
_A runaway prisoner…_came to her mind.

“Keligon!” she yelled at him, hidden behind the trees. He looked at the direction from which the word come at him, but kept on going.  
“Keligon, vestran!” she shouted again, this time her voice accompanied by an arrow that landed before his feet. (_Halt, I say!_).  
Boy jumped away from the arrow very moment it hit the ground…as his feet were not shackled, he found cover behind a tree trunk that lied close by, half sunk in the mud.  
Soon, arrow struck that trunk, passed easily through rotten wood and grazed his shoulder which made him grunt when he felt the pain. “Māzigon hen!” Rhaella yelled at him (_Come out!_) He yelled back: “I don’t know what you are saying!” Then he cursed.  
She was surprised, boy spoke Common Tongue with same timbre as her father.  
“Come out!” she repeated. “So you can strike me down easier… no!” Rhaella loose another arrow in the trunk, this one missing his leg for mere inches. “Damn you!” he yelled.  
“Come out and I will stop. Or I can continue. I have enough arrows. And enough time. And I am not the one with arse bare in the mud.”  
There was silence for a while. “All right, I’m coming out.”  
He rose up, ready to duck behind the trunk that very moment, but as no new arrows came, he remained standing. He held his hands on what remained of his loincloth, covering his nether parts.  
“I can’t see you.” he said “You should show yourself, that’d be fair.”  
Rhaella scowled: “I decide what is fair, stranger. Not you. Not someone who escaped from city gaol.”  
“I escaped from slaver ship, not gaol...” “Liar!” he shouted back “There are no slaves in Meereen.”  
“I know, that is why I went overboard when ship came close to this city.” boy replied.  
“Nice tale, a child of three namedays would not believe it.” she dismissed it.  
Boy shook his head: “Just let me get out of this mud, I beg you. Can I come up there?”  
“You can. Walk slowly, keep hands where they are.” she said.  
“I am nearly bare as you can see. What can I hide?” 

Rhaella watched as he climbed up to the trees, she knew that guardsmen who kept eye from a distance can see him now and soon they’ll be upon this mud covered boy. He looked left and right, trying to make out where she was hiding.  
She stepped out with arrow nocked and bow drawn, aiming at him. He rose his shackled hands before his face: “Hey, you said you’ll not shoot any more arrows!”  
Then he exclaimed: “You’re a girl! Seven hells!” “And you are an idiot if you could not tell that I am a girl by my voice.” she replied calmly and then lowered her bow, but keeping the arrow nocked.  
In a heartbeat, she could nest it in this boy’s heart.  
He looked at her, befuddled, and then his eyes widened: “You… you’re wearing wolf’s head… of House Stark!” “I am. Of what use or concern is that to you?”  
He placed his hands on the chest: “My name is Hallis, Hallis of House Hornwood. We’re bannermen of Starks.” He barely finished uttering the last word, when he was thrown down on the ground by two guardsmen who tied boy’s legs with the rope and then one of them dragged him away, boy tried to resist but to no avail.  
Rhaella watched this untroubled and then said to the man of City Guard who remained with her: “Ivestra ñuha kepa nyke jorrāelagon naejot ȳdragon lēda zirȳla. Se jiōragon bona valītsos mirros naejot ruaragon zȳhon ñelly.”  
(_Tell my father I need to speak with him. And get that boy something to cover his body._) 

_House Hornwood_, she recollected her reading of Northern noble families as she walked to the commander’s tent where her father was,_ sigil is brown bull moose with black antlers on orange shield, words Righteous in Wrath, seat castle Hornwood. Them and Mormonts were the only houses that answered the call when father fought against Boltons. _  
If this naked boy covered in mud truly was one of them, he ought to know all this and more. If he’s not, gaol awaits him. 

Rhaella learned from her father to despise liars.  
_When enough people make false statements, words stop meaning anything. Then there are no more answers, only better and better lies. _  
She hoped this boy was not lying. Part of her wanted to meet more Westerosi people and he was of her age.  
And Northerner. Rhaella wanted to learn why her mother never had much good to say about those men, men with whom her father grew up, men whose blood runs in her veins as well.


	37. TORMUND

_Queenscrown, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest_

**TORMUND**

He looked at the dead Northern soldier. Blood which coated his breastplate, covering the sentinel trees displayed as sigil.  
He must have been one of the Tallhart men, he thought.  
Another dead man was there, antler dagger nested in left eye. his sword, bloodied, lied at his side. Broken spear was sticking out from his hip. 

Searching around for more foes, Tormund found that there weren't any. His axe made his way up.  
He was on the roof of Queenscrown, fallen enemies all around him.  
His eyes just briefly touched the yellow coated merlons of this tower, now bleached by the sun and mere passing of time.  
Next thing what his axe struck was a pole with direwolf banner which went down to the lake surface with its last flutter.

He could hear the cheering of his men and spearwives coming from beneath, some stood in the lake, water reaching to their chest, others were on makeshift rafts.  
_Free Folk! Free Folk!_

Old stone tower on this small island in the lake for his people became something that must be taken, conquered, ruined, put to torch.  
For Night’s Watch, Queenscrown once was a remainder, a cherished memory of king and queen that granted them more land to sustain themselves and to keep many generations of Tormund’s forefathers on the northern side of the Wall.  
Today, this tower stood for wish of the Wolf Queen to conquer lands of the Gift and those beyond the Wall. _Wolf Queen_, he called the woman of same hair as his was which ruled in Winterfell. Both lands of the Gift were given to them by a man who ruled North before this queen, man who kept his word, no matter the cost. 

_Who knows where’s little crow now… old Norren brought me his direwolf, blabbering about a woman and two little girls who took Snow with them. Hah, Ghost would leave his master only if he were dead or across the sea._

He slowly went down the steps, making sure not to step on any of the dead bodies of those who fell preventing the wildlings to reach the tower’s roof.  
Blood was still dripping from the blade of his axe. The sounds of his men looting the fourth and fifth floor echoed all to the entrance of the tower.  
Tormund stepped out and took a deep breath of fresh air. All around him cheered once again. _Free Folk! Free Folk!_

_Aye… Free Folk. But are we truly? Do these southerners from Iron Islands fight for our cause or are we fighting for theirs? Could we now, this very moment say to that man Bronn and his sell...swords to leave our lands, or are we long past that moment…_ he dwelled upon…_war is meant for young and I’m no boy anymore, my daughters now have daughters of their own. And sons. If this lasts another year of so, it will fall upon them to cut down some poor fuckers of House Tallhart or Dustin or whatever their cursed names are._

“You have a face that I wear when thinking of young pussy.” man in dark chainmail said, getting off the raft which last came to the island. “Bronn! You old fucker! You’ve missed all the fun here!” Tormund greeted him loudly and slapped across the back.  
“I am not a selfish man, Tormund, you and your boys…” then he saw three women with bows and spears coming from the tower “…and girls were more than enough for these Tallhart shits.”  
“Aye, we were. Now we shall torch the damn place, tower and these ruins of a village, Wolf Queen will have nowhere to keep their spare men, there is no shelter from here to Last Hearth, tens of leagues down south. It’ll be hard for them to defend Mole’s Town now.”  
“Yes, our ginger Stark won’t be happy to hear the _queen’s crown_ has burned…  
” Bronn smirked “…shite, you’re ginger too, but I like you. As much as I can like a fucking wildling.”  
Tormund laughed: “You’re a different kind of animal, eh, Bronn? I’ve to say you ain’t that bad yourself, for a kneeler from south.”  
“Well, my ginger friend, get ready to scratch many southern kneeler heads with that axe of yours.”  
Tormund lifted his eyebrows: “More of those Vale knights are comin’?”  
Bronn shook his head: “No… worse scum than them. This… Wolf Queen as you call the Stark bitch has called men at arms from south to come here to help North to fight us.  
And they’re coming. Scores of them.”  
“Of what kind of men are you speak?”  
“Knights without land of their own, then freeriders and those are better among the lot, I wager many cutthroats, thieves and rapers will take their chance against us.  
I speak of men like I was once.”  
“You still are like that men, Bronn” red-haired wildling grinned.  
“No, I ain’t. Unlike those fuckers coming for kiss of your axe, I’ve known to choose the winning side.” 

Tormund remained quiet, he pondered a while. Enough for once Master of Coin of Six Kingdoms to note: “You have that pussy face again.”  
“You say dozens of those southerners are coming here to fight for the Wolf Queen. My people have no more men to put against them.”  
“And that worries you?” Bronn said with sneer. “Sure as fuck it worries me!” “  
"You’ve got it all wrong, Tormund. Sansa calling southern scum to come here and bleed for her is good tidings for your people.  
That means she has no more men. While your wildlings and the Ironborn are more than enough to break those fuckers, she lured north promising them land and coins.” “Ha…” Tormund tilted his head “…I like it better your way.”  
“Of course you do. No, get one of your lads to fish that Stark banner from the lake, I plan to send it to Mole’s Town on a mule together with head of the commander of Queenscrown wrapped in it. When good job is done, one should inform your foe about it.” 

“Aye. One should.” he agreed and finally dipped his axe in the lake water to clean it of blood.  
_As smoke rising from this burning tower will not do that._

_Last River, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest_

It did not get the name out of folly. It truly was the last river of Westeros south of the Wall, the northernmost stream of water in once Seven Kingdoms.  
Its flow was nearer to the castles of the Night’s Watch than it was to Winterfell.  
Once House Umber ruled the land on either side of the river, since they have perished in the war against the Night King, this was now Land of the Queen, directly under ruler of Kingdom of the North. 

The Last River's headwaters are a number of streams in the northern mountains which as they descend into forest covered land, some forty leagues north of the Long Lake, join together and form this river that flows past the Kingsroad and then through the Umber forest.  
Castle of Last Hearth is not more than six leagues away from the northern bank of the river which then continues south and east between the castle of Dreadfort and castle Karhold to the Shivering Sea.

Kingsroad bridged the Last River in the forest, some claimed these woods once were the northern edge of wolfswood, a vast Northern forest that stretched for tens of leagues, from shores of Bay of Ice to Winterfell. Bridge was small when one would compare it with crossing at the Twins or with most of the bridges in the south, those overpassing Trident, Blackwater Rush or Mander, still it was enough for thousand and a half men on horse and foot to cross the river. 

Ser Malcolm of House Branfield commanded the cavalry of this host.  
Branfields were a minor southern house from the Reach. They fought for House Targaryen during Robert's Rebellion, after which all of their lands were taken from them. 

Malcolm, now in his late thirties was knighted after the Battle of the Blackwater, he rode into it with Tyrell forces.  
He was hedge knight since he was one and twenty years old. For years now he felt as an old man, too old to still be a hedge knight. Most of his ilk were younger men.  
Hedge knights were named so for most of their worldly wealth was in their arms and horses and they generally had to sleep outdoors, often under a hedge.  
Most hedge knights traveled in search of service to noble houses and often attended tourneys to earn money and display their prowess in hopes of being hired and making a name for themselves. 

As he trotted along the northern bank of the river, Malcom recalled that hedge knight Ser Arlan of Pennytree never ventured to the North with his squire, Dunk, as he thought that there were no hedges in the North, and all the woods full of wolves. Dunk was known to every living man in Westeros as Ser Duncan the Tall whose squire was Egg.  
Later that boy ascended the Iron Throne as King Aegon Targaryen, Fifth of his name.  
Malcolm never slept in the hedges, he had skills needed to stay in service of lords in the Reach and Westerlands.  
That service lasted long enough for him to have a roof over his head, cooked meal to eat, bed and oft a warm smallfolk woman in it and a stable for his horse.

Now he came North, for second time in his life, and this time it was much further north than first time when he visited holdfast of Ironrath where his sister Elissa Branfield was wed to Gregor, heir to House Forrester of Ironrath, merely three moons before the Robert’s Rebellion. Ironrath was a wooden castle south and west of Deepwood Motte as Forresters were vassals of House Glover and staunch Stark bannermen. 

Malcolm knew that during Robert’s Rebellion his sister was torn between the loyalty to both houses, despite being married to Lord Gregor but ultimately chose House Forrester.  
It proved to be wise choice since House Stark and all their bannermen won that war and brought an end to three hundred years long reign of dragonlords.  
He never fathered any children nor he intended to for there were no land he could pass on his heirs and he knew it will lead to House Branfield becoming extinct.  
Till now, till he heard of this call from Sansa Stark, Queen in the North, asking for all able men at arms to come and fight for her kingdom which she will honor and reward with lands and titles. Malcolm mayhaps felt too old to be a hedge knight, but to be a lord of his own holdfast, no matter how small of a lord he would be, he felt as in prime age.  
As well as to found his own house by wedding and bedding some northern noble daughter. 

Men he marched north with were a ragtag bunch of all sorts, landless knights like him, freeriders, aging veterans of wars from the past decade, younglings who barely learned how to wield a sword without slashing their own face, smallfolk who once served as pikemen, axemen and spearmen and many of their sons who barely came of age.  
All coming North, hoping to find a better life once the savages from beyond the Wall are defeated and the krakens pushed back to their shit-stained islands, hoping not to find death at the tip of wildling spear or by the blade of Ironborn throw axe. 

Malcolm has always found odd how precious little his fellow southerners know of the North, even those who had some education.  
Some decade and a half ago, many believed that land of everlasting ice and snow begins at the Neck and stretches all the way to the Land of Always Winter.  
Now, they believed that fertile land of green pastures goes from Moat Cailin to the Wall and is ready for taking. Some of it surely was, but not all of those coming from the south will find a piece of land to call it their own. Many in the end will have that much of Northern land as it suffices for a shallow grave. 

He urged his courser mare, a fine warhorse of mouse-dun coating, back to the bridge, his men were encamped on the southern bank of Last River, resting before continuation of the march northwards, to Mole’s Town.  
Word of Queenscrown being put to torch they have received at Winterfell, while making camp there. That was five days ago.  
Bad news for the garrison of Mole’s Town, holdfast at the lake and the nearby village was a gods given place to held reserves, of men, of arms, of food. It also prevented both wildlings and the Ironborn to cut off Mole’s Town from the south, notion that there is another Northern force nearby would render any such thought as useless.  
Now, nearest men of Queen Sansa were at Last Hearth, a good ninety leagues south of Mole’s Town.  
It was of utmost importance to retake the Queenscrown and establish a new fort with palisade and moat there since the lake tower was now a charred ruin. 

“A pale grey dragon on a dark brown-red shield.”  
Bronn whispered watching a man on a horse of dun color riding along the riverbank back to the bridge through brass and leather telescope. He was hidden in the treeline on a small hill, some eighty yards from the river. “Sigil of House Branfield. Once of Kinshall. Now of nothing.”  
“What happened to that… Kinshall.” “Ah, his family fought for the wrong side. That will usually make a noble arse homeless.”  
“I thought this fucker will never leave. And I need to piss. Had he stayed bit longer I’d soiled my breeches.” Tormund whispered back, annoyed “Do you know this man.”  
“If he is who I think he is, aye, I know him. We fought against Stannis Baratheon together. We were knighted the same day.”  
“Stannis…” Tormund spat saying that name “…he burned Mance alive. Mean fucker. Big woman killed him.” 

Bronn frowned: “Then she was not lying… I’ve never believed her when she spoke how her blade delivered justice to Stannis Baratheon.”  
“Is he a good fighter, this Branfield.” “He is. But one can’t say that for the lot he is leading. We should cut through them like knife does to butter.”  
“Or piss through snow.” “Don’t poke my ears with this piss talk, pull out your cock and take that damn piss already.”  
“I’m going. When I get back, I will also take a look with that glass and leather pipe the Ironborn gave you.”  
“It’s called telescope, you ignorant wildling cunt.” Bronn hissed. 

Tormund crawled back, deeper behind the treeline, then he got on his feet and after finding a proper tree, relieved his bladder.  
Being at the northern bank of Last River was the most southwards he went since the war with the Wolf Queen started.  
_This is taking a great risk_, he thought, _ these southern warriors are only across the river, not even ten leagues from here is Last Hearth with Stark garrison there.  
We could find ourselves trapped between two enemies. None yet knows we’re here, but if they do… good thing that this forest is thick enough to hide thousands of men. And there is bit more than half a thousand of Free Folk that wait among pines, oaks and evergreen. Wait for a nightfall when those longships of the kraken sons should come up the river. _

“Here’s your glass and leather…” Bronn passed him the telescope “…tell me what you see.”  
He grabbed it and place the rear end on his eye: “Mhmm… what sorcerer has made this thing. They all look as if they were ten feet away.”  
“No sorcerer. Men at sea use this to see at distance. Now, what do you see over the river?” “Tents, men, horses, guards on the bridge.” Tormund replied. “Aye…what else on the bridge?” brown-haired man asked grinning as always.  
“A log filled with wooden spikes, no… five or six such logs on the bridge, a man barely can pass between them.”  
“And you know for what that is?” “To stop the charge? Of horses?” “Aye.” 

Bronn frowned “Their commanders are no fools. They’re safe now that no surprise attack of cavalry can come from the bridge.  
Them spiked logs, hedgehogs you may call them, will slow down any charge of mounted men, and then their archers and spearmen can do the job with ease.  
And men on foot charging will meet the same.” Tormund asked: “Then we must go across the river.”  
“We must. What do you see on the riverbank? Are there any guards there? Or dogs?”  
“Aye, there’s guard and dog with him, I’d say every thirty yards…”  
Then his eyes widened: “What’s that hanging around cow’s neck?” “Bell, surely.”  
“I’ve never heard of any such thing.” Tormund wondered “Who put bells on a cow?”  
“Haha, you don’t have cow north of the Wall, eh? Cow is pricey animal, milk and meat you get from it and all that you can make from milk or meat.  
“I make sour goat's milk stronger than any of that grape water you southern twats drink.” he hissed at Bronn “I don’t put the bell on a goat and then take that goat and bell to war with me.” “You’ve never warred against southerners. Those fucking wolves of Winterfell lack imagination. But, this lot across the river… they’ve come for blood money, Tormund. Never forget, they would kill every last one of you Free Folk if you gave them a chance.”  
“I will not.” he gritted his teeth.  
“Now, we better rest, it won’t be nightfall for many hours.” Bronn yawned, laying on his back.  
“Aha, you’re getting more tired from fighting than in your youth. It happens to me also, more and more oft. We’re not boys anymore, Bronn.” “Aye, I do tire killing other men. But, when fucking begins to tire you, then you have a problem.”  
“Does it tire you?” Tormund chuckled.  
“Before the fight begins, I intend to fuck one of your spearwives beyond her wits, yellow-haired thing, not so tall for a wildling woman but with ass firm as a rock.” “Elsera? She will bite your cock off.”  
“She did not last night. She sucked it like it was coated with honey.” once sellsword said with mocking smile.

Red-haired man watched how the warm bronze sunlight was swallowed by the horizon. The bright sunny day engulfed in darkness.  
_A beautiful darkness, one that shields you form your enemy’s eyes._  
At nightfall the familiar trees and rocks of the daytime took on new and ominous forms.  
It was as if by stealing their colors the night also stole their friendly spirits and replaced them with malicious demons.  
The lack of bird song made the woods eerie and he imagined every leaf flutter or twig snap to announce the arrival of a dangerous man or beast.  
Somewhere in the distance an owl sounded, followed by quick response of another owl.  
_Dangerous men have arrived_, Tormund said to himself as he cautiously walked along the treeline of the riverbank, brown-haired once sellsword pacing next to him. 

“You surely took your bloody time.” Bronn scoffed at the man who seemed as leader of the men in salt-stained leathers and chainmail hauberks.  
“Your mother wouldn’t let me go, Bronn.” man replied.  
“Aye, I know how that’s like. Yours is still picking hair of my balls from her teeth.”  
“One day I shall split open that dumb head of yours, _my lord._”  
“You won’t be alive to see that day, Harlaw, for I’ll slit your fucking throat the night before.”

Earl Harlaw grinned menacingly at Bronn before extending his arm into handshake:  
“You rats of green lands think it’s easy to sail upstream in northern rivers these days. Wolves have been stretching chains from one riverbank to another wherever they can,  
luckily they don’t have enough men to lay ambushes at those blockades but it’s enough to slow us down.”  
“How many of you are here?” “Quarter of thousand, four longships and some smaller boats.”  
“Good. Those fuckers across the river outnumber you five to one.” Bronn smiled.  
“Mounted men?” “Every fifth, as I could tell.”  
“Heavy horse?” Harlaw asked. “Aye, mostly.”  
“Then we must attack them now, while they sleep. How many of your men are here, Tormund?” 

He could tell on Harlaw’s face that idea of meeting heavy armored knights is not to his liking.  
Ironborn fared badly in open battle against mainland armies of Westeros, that much was known. Sea was their domain, after all.  
“Five hundred, all ready to dip their blades in southern blood… no offence.” “None given and none taken...”  
replied the Ironborn with scarred face, wearing dark coated armor with sigil of silver scythe on breastplate  
“...I ain’t bloody southerner and who knows from whence this bastard came.” He pointed at Bronn.  
“Last night I came in your sister’s arse. Finest fuck I’ve ever had.”  
Grin was instantly wiped from Ironborn’s face: “Pray to whatever gods you believe in that we never meet as foes; I’ll have trouble deciding what to cut first, your filthy tongue or your small cock.”  
“Not all men have small cocks, Earl, they’ve have lied to you to make you think better of yourself.” Bronn smirked. 

“Enough of this shite.” Tormund said to both “Soon them on the other side will hear you word-fucking each other… There’s twice as many of them than us.  
We must attack sudden and cause havoc in their camp. Or we don’t stand a chance.  
And there’s Last Hearth behind us, if they come behind our backs and this fight here still lasts…”  
“We’re fucked.” Bronn concluded, with Harlaw nodding.  
“I care not of their foot soldiers, half of them are no fighters of any kind…” Ironborn leader said “…it’s horsemen we must deal with. Where they keep their mounts?” “On the southern side of the camp, you couldn’t see it even if it were still day.”  
“We must spook their horses, make them scatter. At least as many as we can. Them coursers and destriers of knights are trained beasts, they will stand their ground even without their riders.” Bronn said “But other horses, they fear fire and noise as any farm animal.”  
“If we feign the attack on the bridge…” a thought came from Harlaw “…it will raise alarum in their ranks, all their eyes will be there, not on the rest of the river.”  
“Every man we send to charge on that bridge will most likely die.” Bronn said “How many of our own are we ready to sacrifice? I ask you this for replacing a skilled man at arms is becoming more difficult for all in this war.”  
“Thirty. Two scores, at the most. Both mine and yours.” Harlaw said looking at them.” “Good. It’s agreed then.”  
“Tormund!” came a muffled shout from the woods. He looked in that direction, two of his me were hastily pacing towards him. 

“Kauldr, what is it?” “A rider came, Sigmar’s boy, he says that column of riders has left Last Hearth with sundown and are coming this way.”  
“Fuck!” both Bronn and Harlaw yelled.  
“They will flank us. We must act sooner than we wanted.” Ironborn man said.  
Bronn spat on the ground: “We choose twenty men, ours and yours, and they’ll attack the bridge after the rest of our men have crossed the river.  
I’ll take no more than thirty men and ride north to slow those fuckers from Last Hearth down.”  
“Hey, how many archers do we have between us?” Harlaw asked. “Sixty, give or take.”  
“Send them across first. Tell them to prepare fire arrows. We must kill their heavy horses. If those knights mount up, they will smash us into the ground.  
You do realise that, don’t you?” Harlaw looked at Tormund.  
He replied: “You don’t have to tell me what heavy horse can do; I saw Mance Rayder’s army ruined by knights of Stannis Baratheon. And there were tens of thousands of us.”

Ser Culler Tarwick gazed at the stars, they have filled the night sky as pale corn into freshly turned ground.  
To him it seemed as a token of life in the darkness, a sense of warmth springing from this cold northern night.  
No matter the years that have passed, no matter how many such encampments he had guarded since he was just a boy squire, Culler saw each night sky as a fresh gift given anew. It was the moment anyone that knew him would see his eyes smile and his breathing deepen just a little.  
He slowly walked from the south side of the camp, meeting new man on guard each twenty yards, most of them stood by the torch that was tied to a wooden pole,  
_all is quiet _ they would tell him when he passed them by. The trees were veiled in the lightest of mists, coming from the river, their trunks somber brown with sable cracks that gnarl the bark. As his eye travelled to the edge of the woodland, they become silhouettes against a blanket of white.  
“Fog is coming, m’lord…” next guard told him “…common thing for such a river. I’ve seen it thick as a stonewall back home, in Riverlands.”  
“I’ve seen the mists of Riverlands too.” Tarwick replied. _Or was it smoke,_ he mused, _for we have burned that wretched lands from east to west._  
He was with Lannister army then, during the War of the Five Kings.  
The mist swallowed the riverbank, it smothered the greens of the leaves, the grasses and the underbrush. It leached out their color, turning everything the same stony grey. 

Culler’s eyes went on the bridge, mist enveloped it as well, he could see the flickering light of torches which were placed along its entire length.  
Then he saw a dark silhouette rushing through the mist, coming from the northern side of the bridge, then another and another…  
“Sound alarum!” he bellowed at the closest guard and unsheathed his sword. 

He rushed towards the bridge, he could hear shouts of guards behind him, loud, rabid bark of camp dogs, a furor that all this caused in the camp.  
“To arms! To arms!” Trumpets and drums sounded off next.  
For some reason, unbeknownst to him, he turned around and saw the man from the Riverlands slumped over the ropes of the fence and shadows running in the mist to the south side of the camp. _Horses, they’re after horses._  
He grabbed the shoulder of first man who crossed his path:  
“Run to the commanding tent, do you hear, they’re coming from both sides!”  
“I was ordered to defend the bridge, m’lord!” man replied confused.  
“Fuck the bridge, do as I say, man! Go!” 

Sounds of fighting were already coming from the bridge, steel meeting steel and screams when steel met the flesh, also sound of bodies falling in the water beneath.  
A dozen and a half crossbowmen stood or knelt at the south end of the bridge shooting at the attackers whose charge slowed down when they met the spiked logs, those less fortunate among them impaled themselves on those spikes after being hit by crossbow bolt.  
_This will not last long, _Culler thought, _a truly foolish attempt. Unless…_  
Noises coming from the south side of the camp were equal as these on the bridge. _They’re fighting there…there the true attack is taking place._

He saw a knight on a courser riding towards the bridge, longsword in hand and shield of brown-red coating with grey dragon, wearing dark-blue brigandine and halfhelm. “Ser Malcolm! Ser Malcolm!” Tarwick shouted and waved his hands. Mounted man was soon at him: “Ser Culler, one should expect you at the bridge.”  
“My lord, they’re not after the bridge, they are attacking far side of our camp, where our horses are!” “Seven hells!” Branfield cursed “Can you follow me on foot, Ser?” “Aye!” “Then we charge south! Stop every man who rushes to the bridge and turn him south!” 

Some of the horses broke out from the camp, aimed towards the tree line.  
At the head was the stallion, his chestnut coat as fluid as water, stocky limbs moving faster than Tormund would have thought possible.  
The soft forest soil was no match for their hooves and in their wake, sods were flying in an arcing spray. Their heads were extended forwards but their ears flat back, puffs of moisture escaping from their nostrils. Sleek beauties, muscles that roll underneath the supple coat that hangs majestically on the frame. 

A flowing mane that unfurls and whips as the wind calls it, feet that pound the ground in a mighty gallop. 

Tormund has not seen such horses for many years, for more than a decade, ever since knights of the Vale came North.  
These were destriers and coursers, majestic animals, not garrons he was used to. And they were highly trained as one of the Ironborn learned when he tried to get hold of one destrier and all he got was a hoof in the chest, he fell and horse nearly crushed his head with next blow. 

“No quarter given! No quarter!” he heard shouts coming from the camp, but those were not his men or the Ironborn.  
_Something is wrong_, crossed his mind as he charged in the direction of those shouts.  
His heart sunk when he saw dead bodies in animal hides and salt-stained leather and wounded being hacked to the death with axes and maces.  
Most of those dead were riddled with arrows and bolts. They have charged right into the part of camp where enemy’s bowmen were. 

It started good. When Free Folk and the Ironborn archers went across the river, using a shallow part, some three hundred yards down the stream and then sneaked upon the camp through the forest, a signal for attack on the bridge was given.  
Forty men, wildlings and sons of kraken battled the guards on it but it did not last, not as they have hoped it will.  
Southerners had their crossbows there and those forty men were cut down soon. Few managed to save themselves by jumping in the river. 

When attention of those in the camp was on the bridge, an arrow storm came over the south portion of the tents, where cavalry was. But not all of it.  
As this was not a proper army, not yet, most of the knights refused to share the same portion of camp with freeriders while some set tents with their own countrymen, men of Riverlands with their own and men from the Vale with theirs. Arrows struck hard on the freeriders and part of Valemen, killing both rider and horse, while rest of the animals galloped into the forest, spooked by fire arrows. 

“Charge! Charge! Free Folk!” the archers, seeing the disarray in the camp, grabbed their swords and axes and stormed in the lines of enemy tents. Ironborn followed the suit.  
They were smashing the freeriders with ease, them not being able to form a decent defence line.  
Tormund knew their archers were supposed to wait for the rest of their men to join the attack. 

Then, knights and other riders of Riverlands came in full charge, swords and lances descended on the archers.  
Tormund saw it all, over a score of heavy horsemen hacking their way through his men.  
One rider swung his mace left and right, crushing skulls of those who came before his horse.  
Tormund swung his axe at him, blade struck man’s breastplate. He stared down at the blood that began to leap from the wound, then blood came from his mouth as well and he slumped over in his saddle. Tormund had no time to enjoy this victory as lance grazed him at the back of his head, a freerider rode past him and impaling another of wilding archers. “Pull back, pull back, you fools!!” he shouted at his men, realising things took turn for the worse.  
“To the river! To the river!” Earl Harlaw yelled at his own “We shall regroup there!” 

Culler Tarwick pulled out his sword from a wildling spearman, blade caught him from the back and this small figure fell on the ground with high pitched scream. He turned the dead body over with his foot: “A woman, a damn woman…” he said looking at the light-brown hair whose tresses fell out from the hood of her animal hide coat. “Whore…” he spat on her and charged further, towards the melee which was now moving to the riverbank. 

He smiled seeing that nearly hundred men from the camp were now mounted and all rushed their horses in that direction.  
_No shield wall can sustain this, _ he thought. Behind him, scores of foot soldiers followed. Swords, spears, axes…eyes thirsting for blood. 

“Come on, come on, men!” he yelled “We’re pushing those savages into the river!”  
He saw Malcolm Branfield coming from the side of the bridge, at the head of three scores of armored knights, Stark banner waving high over the riders.  
They went into charge soon after.  
_No shield can sustain this. No pike can repel this. _ And it could not.  
Attack of heavy horse from two sides shattered the wildlings and the Ironborn who lined up along the riverbank, others who retreated in disarray escaped with their lives.

Next morning southern warriors continued their march North across the bridge on the Last River.  
Bodies of half a dozen dead wildling spearwives, naked, hung beneath it. Branfield ordered it as a message, to his Northern allies and to the enemy alike. 

Tormund knew most of those women, since they were only children, but that night Free Folk lost one third of those who came at the Last River.  
The rest left, those who could walk retreated on foot to Queenscrown, wounded were taken by Ironborn longships down the Last River, on a third day after the battle those ships have reached Hardhome. Earl Harlaw will have to report to his queen at Dragonstone that seventy men of Iron Islands fell at the Last River. 

Upon return to Queenscrown, he heard that Bronn was successful in slowing down the horse column from Last Hearth, harrying them throughout the night, in the end making the commander of those riders to halt their march south until daybreak. That made possible for three hundred of Free Folk to retreat north without meeting another mounted enemy. 

_We shall never go that far south again, _wildling leaders and chieftains agreed after the defeat at the Last River, _ our war is at the Gift and north of the Wall, in the lands we know best. _  
Two days after battle, Tormund sat at the shore of the lake where burned Queenscrown tower stood.  
Soon, the southern swords who serve the Wolf Queen will arrive here and his men will have to retreat further north. 

_She’ll rejoice now, the ginger woman at Winterfell, _ he thought,  
_southern knights gave her first victory after many moons. And many moons more this war shall last. _


	38. LORD OF STORM’S END

_Tarth, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest_

**LORD OF STORM’S END**

For many centuries kings and rulers of Stormlands kept their fleets along the western coast of Tarth, its mountains shielded ships against storms and made the Straits of Tarth more peaceful than the waves of Shipbreaker Bay. He knew stories of Tarth, the island was said to be beautiful, with lakes, waterfalls, high meadows and green vales.  
He also knew that here are no gemstones on the island and that Tarth is called the Sapphire Isle for the striking blue color of the sea that surrounds it. 

In eleven years of his lordship, Gendry of House Baratheon, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, came to Tarth only once, to attend the burial of lord Selwyn Tarth.  
With his death, House Tarth has seen its end. On the following day, few petty lords from Tarth begun their petitioning to Storm’s End, each saying that he is the proper one to be the new lord of Evenfall Hall, two of them calling upon their ancestry coming from King Edwyn Evenstar while others claimed that Ser Galladon of Morne, the Perfect Knight, was the root of their family tree. He dismissed them all.  
It was not yet proper time and though it was uncommon and he was not obliged to do it, Gendry wanted to know opinion of Ser Brienne of Tarth on the matter of new rulers of the island. He felt and thought that was fair. There was no hurry, the castellan of Evenfall Hall ruled ably over Tarth and he would never allow that ambitions of island lords rush his decisions.

He did not expect to come to Tarth again so soon, but he had to.  
Two days have not yet passed since Andrew Estermont, Master of Laws, came with escort of twenty men to Storm’s End with demand which was not pleasing to his ears. House Estermont of Greenstone were a noble family from Stormlands, their holdfast and land were island Estermont, east of Cape Wrath.  
They were sworn to House Baratheon of Storm's End and Lady Cassana Estermont was Gendry’s grandmother.  
She wed Lord Steffon Baratheon and had three sons by him; his own father Robert, Stannis and Renly.  
He knew that his grandparents drowned both during storm in Shipbreaker Bay, maester Pylos told him that account, they were returning from Volantis where they have tried to find a suitable bride for Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, son of Mad King, Aerys the Second.  
That quest, ordered by king himself, ended in failure. And costed their lives. 

“How will of the gods or fate, whatever one may choose to believe, my lord, can play cruel twists…” Pylos said when he told him of that tragedy  
“…lord Steffon could not find a proper maid of noble birth from an old Valyrian bloodline for Prince Rhaegar, he afterwards married Elia of House Martell which Mad King detested. He even refused to touch or hold his first grandchild, Princess Rhaenys, complaining that she smells Dornish.  
After two years being wed with Elia, Rhaegar disappeared with Lyanna Stark who were betrothed to your lord father, late King Robert.  
One can only guess what course would history of Westeros have taken if Steffon and Cassana returned from Volantis with Valyrian bride for Rhaegar.  
Aye, my lord, fates of House Targaryen and House Baratheon seem to be woven together since the days before Conquest and never unwoven .”

_Woven together…fancy words I’ve never heard in a smithy as a young man, but a fitting one. It was Targaryen queen that has made me a Baratheon, after all my uncles and their families were gone. And now, my father’s cousin, lord Andrew Estermont has come to Storm’s End with warrant for Arya Stark. Accusing her of treason without much explaining. _

“Lady Stark is not at Storm’s End, my lord, she has spent three weeks here but now she is at Tarth where her ships are being repaired.”  
Gendry said to his kinsman who sat on the Small Council of King Bran.  
“It gave me no pleasure to come here with such a task, but Lady Stark is charged with treason and her presence at King’s Landing is requested.” Estermont replied. “Should that mean a dungeon awaits her? That is no small charge, treason. What did she do? As her host I deserve to know that much.” he asked.  
“Lady Arya is sister of Queen Sansa; she is the Princess of the Northern kingdom and sister of our king as well. Hardly a black cell awaits her.” 

“I don’t find that amusing, you do know her father was kept in black cell before he was killed.”  
Estermont could tell that Gendry mislikes his light tone on the matter.  
“I am sure that Arya Stark will be kept in house arrest until these accusations are proven or dismissed as false.”  
“And I am still waiting to hear what is she accused of.” he said.  
“During her time in Meereen, only a few moons ago, Lady Stark sided with House Targaryen against the interests of the Realm. And Kingdom of the North as well.”  
“House Targaryen? Is this a jape, Lord Andrew? They’re gone for over ten years now, Queen Daenerys was killed by Jon Snow, once Warden of the North in the Red Keep.  
Who is this jester or a fool that has accused Arya Stark of siding with extinct house?”  
“King himself, my lord.” Master of Laws replied dryly.  
“Then he is not well informed. Which I find odd, since I know somewhat of his powers and sight.”  
“I am not here to question His Grace’s order, Lord Gendry. Neither should you. Yours is to bring Arya Stark to King’s justice.” 

He did not like the tone Estermont was now addressing him:  
“I understand what my duty is in this case. I shall see to it that Lady Stark comes to capital in one sennight time.  
Mayhaps I’ll escort her myself. Is that satisfactory?”  
“Yes, it is, my lord. I shall say once more, I do not enjoy us to meet for such purpose.”  
“Neither am I, cousin.” Gendry replied, being falsely polite. 

He accompanied Master of Laws to the very gates of Storm’s End, they parted ways cordially.  
As he saw them rode off north, towards Kingsroad that will take them to the capital of Six Kingdoms, Gendry rushed to find maester Pylos.  
He was coming out of the kitchens, chewing on last bit of cinnamon baked apple.  
“Maester… we’re sailing to Tarth right after dinner.” he said in one breath.  
“My lord…?” Plyos said in manner that was both confirming and asking.  
“That ciphered letter Aelyx Celtigar brought to me from Ghoyan Drohe. We both had our doubts about the hand which wrote it.  
And doubts of whom did lord Celtigar truly saw there. Now I have no such doubts, this visit I had from King’s Landing removed them entirely.”  
“Then it is our late Queen who wrote it…” Plyos realised he has just uttered a nonsense “…I meant to say, our Queen which we believed to be dead, my lord.”  
“Aye… and I now have to speak to Arya, she owes me a rather long account of what she was doing in Essos last many moons.”  
“Should I alert the captain of the New Fury that you require ferrying to Tarth?”  
“No, maester, a cog will do.” Gendry replied. He was not about to travel to Sapphire Isle on a war galley.  
“It is not mine to ask, my lord, but I can tell you’re troubled.” Pylos cautiously inquired.  
“Maester, I’ve been placed before greatest trial since assuming lordship. I fear that no matter what I shall do, it will be wrong thing to do.” 

_I loved a maid as fair as summer_  
_with sunlight in her hair._  
_I loved a maid as red as autumn_  
_with sunset in her hair._  
_I loved a maid as white as winter_  
_with moonglow in her hair. _

Myrish sailor on _Nymeria_ cheerfully sung the _Seasons of My Love_, a song from his city, Myr, though it was both sad and sweet song whose words spoke about passing of life. Men on decks paid no attention to him singing, they were busy as ship was under repair.  
Over a moon and a half has passed since Arya Stark’s ships have survived that hellish storm which had passed over the Narrow Sea and struck Crownlands with its unleashed fury, hitting heavily King’s Landing itself. Both were now anchored at small port of island of Tarth. __

_ __ _

Carrack with direwolf’s head on the prow survived the storm, but sustained damage.  
The foremast was broken, killing one crew member as its upper part fell on the poor man. Sails, triangular ones, on the mizzenmast were shredded, riggings on both _Nymeria_ and _Rhaelyanna_ were in no shape to meet the winds of open sea.  
Swan-ship fared slightly better in that storm, but a thorough check was needed as well, on all the ropes, chains, shrouds and stays, halyards and braces.  
Artos Costayne, captain of _Rhaelyanna_, stood at the sterncastle overlooking the repairs.  
Men were on the masts, working on the riggings and replacing the sails, he thanked the Seven many times that none of three ships masts were damaged or broken like the one on _Nymeria._  
He could hear Elston Mudd shouting at someone, ship now had full crew, new sailors came mostly from Tyrosh and Myr, among them few men of Westeros who earned their pay aboard vessels of the Free Cities. “Watch where ya goin’, dumb fuck! Don’t step on that plank! Are ya a man or a whore, eh?” 

He chuckled and then turned his eyes away from the deck, _Nymeria_ was docked right next to his ship, her stern was facing _Rhaelyanna’s_.  
Artos saw her pacing along the sterncastle. Even from this distance, he could tell that Arya is content and somehow oddly serene. He liked her, the _She-wolf of the sea, _a highborn woman who hated being a lady, a captain who never let anyone call her that, a noble who enjoyed more to sit on a barrel below deck and drink ale with her crew than to feast in the great hall of some lord’s castle.  
Above all that, he liked her for her honesty and honor. 

One could say that Arya Stark was ill-tempered, rude and unfriendly, but as all those who got to know her better, he could see there is more to her.  
Artos got to see Arya with her nieces, the Targaryen twins in Meereen, and he felt sadness that she was not a mother herself, she had all the proper qualities to be one.  
And there was another side of her, that came to light when they have sailed in the waters of Stormlands.  
_If she were any other woman, one could swear that she’s enchanted by some man, _he mused while his gaze followed her,  
_truly is strange to see her like this, wearing a face of… of happiness. Strange indeed. _

“Artos Costayne!” a voice well known to him ended his musing “Are you sleeping on your feet, captain?” Arya shouted from her stern.  
“No, nothing of the sort!” he replied with short laughter.  
“Illeo has just told me that both our crews are good with health. Which is reason to be thankful, knowing that most of those newcomers were sleeping in cheap brothels from Lys to Tyrosh.” “Indeed, that is something to be thankful of…” Then they both laughed.  
“Is the new foremast to your liking?” he asked.  
“It is, a good pine tree mast, wood coming from the mountains of this island. It should withstand more than the previous one.  
Lord Baratheon made sure the best mastmakers of Stormlands are here, working on _Nymeria._."  
“Aye, we’re in his debt.” he replied. “That we are.” she agreed.  
Artos’ gaze across the port, towards the open sea, and he saw a cog with sail, painted in gold with brown crowned stag.  
He could see the men at arms both on forecastle and sterncastle of the ship.  
“Arya… as it appears Lord Baratheon is coming here…” 

Gendry could not wait for his feet to touch ground again  
When cog laid anchor, he was ready to disembark and soon Pylos and him were pacing quickly across the stone blocks of the port, heading to the ship with wolf’s head on the prow. Maester’s eyes briefly touched the swan-ship and Gendry could see that he frowned.  
“_My lord, _I wasn’t expecting this visit…” Arya said standing at the top of the plank lowered so that he could come aboard, her voice sounding with cheer.  
“Neither was I, _my lady_…” he replied with a sigh which made her face turn grim.  
She could tell that something was not right.  
“Arya, we need to talk. Only you and I, maester Pylos will be present too.” he said with tone of utter seriousness.  
“All right. We shall go to my cabin. You can place your guard on the stern, to ensure no one disturbing us.”  
“Do you have someone aboard who knows High Valyrian well, but he should be man of your utmost trust.”  
“Aye, I have such a person.” she grabbed his arm “Gendry, what is it?”  
“We must trust each other, as we did back then in the Riverlands. Only that way we can do what is best.” 

They sat in her cabin, around the table.  
Gendry let a smile appear on his face when he saw how plain are the chambers of Arya Stark, table, stools, bunk bed, shelf with maps and books… all made in simplest carpentry. A curved Valyrian steel sword hanging over bunk did not escape him…  
_an eastern smith forged this,_ he knew right away, _I’ve never seen such blade nor such hilt._

His maester sat next to him while at Arya’s side was ship’s Volantene healer. He, just as Arya, had an inquisitive look.  
Gendry was first to talk: “Arya…” he sighed “…an envoy of King Bran came to Storm’s End yesterday.  
And not an ordinary envoy, Master of Laws. With warrant for your… arrest. For treason.”  
Illeo eyes widened, but he remained silent, not even turning his gaze to Arya, he waited for his lady and captain to speak first.  
Gendry noticed how she was not startled nor surprised.  
“What sort of a treason I am accused of?”  
“As I was told by my cousin, Lord Andrew Estermont, you have sided with House Targaryen against the interests of the Realm.” 

Arya sneered: “The Realm or those who claim to be the Realm, saw fit to take lives of my brother and his two daughters, children of ten namedays, and I saw fit not to let that happen. If that was treason, then yes, you are looking at a traitor.” “Your brother…?” he asked.  
“You know him. Well, you knew him when he was Jon Snow. He is Jon Targaryen now.”  
“What?!” he said in bewilderment.  
“Yes, the one we all believed to be my father’s baseborn son, a bastard named Jon Snow, is in truth my cousin, son of my aunt Lyanna Stark and Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. He was named Aegon, but he chose to keep the name given to him by the man who raised him, my father Eddard Stark. So, as I said, he is Jon Targaryen.”  
Arya replied calmly. Pylos nodded: “Rhaelyanna… it seemed odd to me, how your swan-ship is named, but I now see why is that.”  
“Truly, maester, you do not.” Arya said “Ship is not named after Rhaegar and Lyanna. It’s named after my nieces, Rhaella and Lyanna. Jon’s daughters.” 

Pylos made a slight bow: “I thank you for rectifying me, my lady. Then your cousin, one you believed to be your half-brother, lives in Essos with his children.”  
“Yes, maester.” Arya looked at Gendry who was still left with no words.  
“Gendry… _my lord_…I see that you’ve been taken aback with this reveal.”  
“Aye… I surely was. He was the rightful heir to the throne. Jon was rightful heir…and we’ve sent him to the Wall… he would be our King now.  
Gods be merciful, we have wronged him greatly.”  
“He would, had he wanted the crown. And even if he’d wanted it, he was in no shape to rule, not after what he has done.” Arya said.  
Gendry looked straight in Arya’s eyes, she could see a certain glow in his: “Arya, Jon is the father of your nieces. Who is their mother?”  
She took a deep breath before saying: “His wife, Daenerys Stormborn.” He exchanged looks with his maester, both have taken Arya’s words with calm and that came as a surprise to her.  
“So, Jon has married a woman he…” Gendry said, but before he finished Arya confirmed:  
“He did. And their gaze is now away from Westeros. Essos has given them what Seven Kingdoms could not.”  
“Isn’t Queen Daenerys aunt of Prince Jon?” Pylos asked “Rhaegar was her older brother.” “She is, maester. They’re close kin.”  
“Not too close to commit abomination in the eyes of the Seven or old gods.” Plyos said approvingly. Arya frowned at both men sitting across the table:  
“I find it odd that you, _my lord_, and you, maester, were both more astonished with learning of my brother’s true parents than after hearing that Daenerys lives.  
May I know the reason for that?”  
“Like their dragons, the Targaryens answered to neither gods nor men.” maester said, with cryptic tone.  
“You answered me with an old saying. Which is hardly true. Just as their dragons, Targaryens can be killed and were killed. But I have not allowed for these Targaryens to be killed, I share blood with them. And I have not betrayed my blood. Nor will I.” dark-haired woman said “Now, show me courtesy and answer my question.” 

Gendry gave her a slight smile; he knew Arya all too well and was able to tell when she had no more patience.  
“Show her the letter, maester.” he said to Pylos. Maester’s hand went into his robes and he soon placed a paper scroll in Arya’s hands. She begun to read: 

Muña toliot naejot Sētegon jorepagon  
naejot daor ivestragī Vīlībāzmio rȳ zȳhon remio;  
syt Issaros māzigon tolī zirȳla  
naenie Riña kessa morghūljagon;  
se Uēpaābra gaomagon daor mazverdagon dārion;  
Sētegon, rȳbagon se Muña udra,  
rȳbagon daor naejot zōbrie hontes;  
vīlībagon daor se rizmun, daor lopor  
Sētegon, muña ēza urnēptre ao rigle istin, ao sir sylvio. 

“What is this?” she asked, wondering.  
Illeo spoke for the first time: “It surely is not Valyrian poetry, though it was written in lyrics.  
And mentions some of the Seven, the gods of Westeros, or seven faces of one god, that is. Mother above, Smith, Warrior, Maiden, Crone and Stranger.”  
“What do you make of it, Lady Arya?” Pylos asked.  
“This is a message, that much I can tell. From whom?”  
Gendry shifted on his stool: “My envoy brought it upon his return from Ghoyan Drohe. It was ciphered. And after passing that cipher, we got this. A bad poem.” 

“As a poem, it is truly bad, my lord, but as a message I dare to say it sings with clear voice…” Illeo said “…a mother calls upon smith not to allow warrior and stranger at his door, as many maidens will perish and crones do not make happy kingdom, mother prays smith to listen to her words and not the black bird, not to fight with sand and salt. It ends with mother reminding smith that she has given him honor and he should return that with wisdom.”  
Pylos looked at the Volantene: “What do you see so clear in it, lord…”  
“Illeo Maegyr of Volantis, maester.”  
“Maegyr…” Pylos nodded “…you descend from the line of tigers, I see.” 

Illeo continued: “Mother could be Queen Daenerys, she was called mother in her day, smith can refer to Lord Gendry as that was lord’s trade in his youth, warrior and stranger stand for war and death, perished maidens mean deaths of young, crones not making happy kingdom says that no future lies in surviving old men…  
sand and salt, Dornishmen and the Ironborn… the rest I cannot interpret, my lord, the part that speaks of black bird and mother giving honor to smith.  
It is a message to Lord Gendry not to fight in the war to come, if you’d allow me to say this, my lord.” 

“You don’t have to ask my permission to say wise words, Lord Illeo.” he said to Volantene healer  
“You have understood the meaning of this message. And I know what those words, which you couldn’t interpret, mean.  
This indeed was a message from Queen Daenerys, it was given to me by a man which I wholly trust, still I thought an impostor could be pretending as our late queen.  
But now, a woman I trust the most in this world has confirmed to me that she lives. And she wants Stormlands not to partake in the war which soon will be upon us.” 

Pylos added: “Her gaze is on Westeros still, as it seems.”  
Arya shook her head: “It was not before. Then, Tyrion Lannister sent sellswords to kill her family and she will seek vengeance. And my brother as well.  
Those in the Red Keep could have let the dragon family at peace. For ten years, Daenerys didn’t want to know of Westeros.  
As she were dead to us, so was the Westeros to her. Now, I don’t know what she may do.”  
“Queen always had a dragon temper.” Pylos said “That much is known.”  
Arya grinned: “Both of you call her Queen and I’ve heard some others in Storm’s End to do so…it’s not so common in Westeros.”  
Gendry replied: “Aye, many in Six Kingdoms call her the Dragon Queen or the Mad Queen, but I am Baratheon thanks to her.  
It would be dishonorable from me to speak ill of her. For I’d be speaking ill of myself as well.” 

Arya nodded approvingly.  
Gendry looked at his maester and Arya’s healer: “My lords, I thank you for being at this meeting, but now I prefer to be left alone with lady Stark.”  
Both men bowed and left the cabin with haste.  
“Would you share a cup of ale or wine with me, there is a nearby tavern and I vouch you shall not be disappointed with what they pour.”  
he could hear Pylos talking to the Volantene. “I’d be acting in a bad manner to refuse.” Illeo replied.  
“Very well… mayhaps you can tell me what is new in the First Daughter. It’s been some time since I’ve traded words with someone from Volantis.” 

“Your maester is truly singular.” Arya smiled as she moved to sit on the bunk.  
She gazed at the floor and shook head: “A traitor… oh, well, my father was accused of the same crime and he were innocent just as I am. I couldn’t be in better company.”  
He sat next to her: “Arya, don’t jest. Those are serious matters and we must think of a way how to solve them.”  
“I am not going to King’s Landing on my free will.” she said firmly “I shan’t receive any justice there, from Imp or from the King. He is not Bran Stark, he’s not my brother anymore. What small was left of him, betrayed Tyrion’s plot to Samwell Tarly… ask Davos Seaworth what happened in Meereen two moons ago.”  
“He was in Meereen?”  
“He was. Doing his King’s true bidding… not this what Tyrion Lannister wanted to do, to protect the Six Kingdoms by killing children.  
Do you remember when Joffrey and Cersei protected their rule by killing all your bastard half-brothers and half-sisters? Even the newborn babes…”  
“I remember it, Arya, how could I forget…” he said.  
“Good. Then you know that only way I can go to King’s Landing is in chains, Lord Baratheon. Chains that you’ll put me in.” 

Arya told him and rose from the bunk walking to the stern windows, four square apertures less than feet and a half tall and wide, yet the only source of daylight in the cabin.  
Suddenly Gendry's hands were on Arya’s sides and swiftly he turned her around, his lips coming into contact with hers.  
The sudden move caught her by surprise, but it lasted a mere moment before she returned the kiss.  
Gendry felt as if he was floating, having her in his strong arms and clutching her waist tightly. He never wished it to end. 

Arya and him became lovers again during her stay at Storm’s End.  
First sennight has passed with them not spending much time together; she was a guest of honor and many of his household strived to make her company which she politely declined every time she could. His daughter Argella was her preferred companion, same as his son Orys.  
Gendry’s children were still too small to act as a highborn and their septa was of smallfolk, which suited Arya perfectly. 

It was in second week of her stay, that he managed for them to be alone, inviting her to go hunting with him to the edges of rainwood, half a day ride from Storm’s End.  
She accepted it, wanting to remove herself from the castle life that she never liked.  
Gendry could tell right away how the misty, green and quiet rainwood agrees with Arya. 

It seemed to him that she would thrive better among oak and maple trees of this forest than in halls and chambers of Baratheon huge holdfast.  
“Do you take great pleasure in killing boars?” she jested as they rode through the woods.  
“It was not boar that killed King Robert. It was wine and his lion wife. I bear no ill will to that beast, nor any other.”  
“Good. Then we can kill whatever beast we meet first.” 

They’ve met no living thing, nor did they care.  
Gendry thought he saw a bear track in the mud and dismounted, she followed and laughed at him saying those are paws of a large stray hound. “Lady Stark should show some respect to the Lord of Storm's End…” he said and pulled her closer to himself and kissed her.  
Arya gave him a wide smile, looking at him with devilish glow: “I guess it’s time for you to lay on me, last time in Winterfell it was otherwise.”  
“I don’t care…if it pleases m’lady, I could take you from behind…” he said, gripping her bottom.  
“Well, m’lord, you are a randy sort, aren’t you?” Arya giggled, as they both fell on the grass.  
Soon they were moving as in unison, their bodies once again were joined as one.  
Arya began to move her hips ever faster . Being inside her was overwhelming for Gendry, every movement causing a tide of pleasure.  
He had missed her, missed this for years, many years. He at first held her waist, but as Arya’s pace increased his hands slid to grip her bottom. “Arya…” he groaned into her breasts. She panted. “...Don’t talk..” 

She chuckled, as they were lying together, naked, on their clothes and cloaks:  
“Lord Gendry Baratheon went to hunt and caught a she-wolf. How can a stag hunt a wolf in the first place?”  
Her grey eyes gazed into his sea-blue circles. “You see that it is possible.” he said “But this stag can never keep she-wolf captured. No matter how he would like that.”  
Arya gently stroke his face: "I love you, you know that. I have loved you that night in Winterfell, I love you now and I will love you till my last day.  
But I would fail as your wife… I was not born to be a lady of the castle.” 

He smiled at her, kissing her gently: “I was not born to be a lord and here I am. I would’ve never asked of you to act as other ladies.  
Don’t insult yourself saying that you’d fail as a wife. You would not, not as a wife and surely not as a mother. I see how good you are with my children.” 

“You’re a good man, Gendry…” she said with watery eyes “…you deserve a better woman than me.”  
“And if I don’t want better?” “I have refused you once, but I have never scorned you, you do know that?”  
“I do.” he said.  
“And I want you to know that only children I’d ever bear would be yours.” 

His gaze was now blurred with tears. There she was, a woman gods gave to this world for him and he had no power to make it so.  
He kissed her again, to chase these thoughts away.  
She stayed at Storm’s End for a fortnight, before leaving for Tarth to see how repairs on her ships are progressing.  
Each of those four and ten nights they have spent together. And during most of days she’d join him in his daily work.  
To him it felt as she were the Lady of the Storm’s End and he enjoyed every moment of it.  
_It will not last, _he knew, _but at least she agreed to come back from Tarth and stay for two weeks more._

When Andrew Estermont rode out through the gates of Baratheon castle, Gendry knew he will not have another fortnight with the woman he loved since his boyhood. < 

They were lying on her bunk, half clothed, he ran fingers through her dark hair and then, with deep breath, said:  
“So we shall part our ways again, because of war and games which kings and queens play…”  
"What will you do…with me but also with yourself?” she asked caressing his face.  
“You’re free to leave with your ships whenever you’re ready. I am not delivering you to Tyrion or to Three Eyed Raven.”  
“You’re placing yourself in danger, they could accuse you of treason as well.”  
He kissed her cheek: “They could, but can they afford to lose Stormlands as well, after Dorne?”  
Arya leaned on her elbow and looked at him:  
“You have enemies among your bannermen, you know that, I hope… That thing in the body of my brother could strip you of your title and give it to one of them.”  
“He could but I wouldn’t yield to him, I’d rather join Dorne and the krakens in rebellion.” he replied, his voice sounding with determination.  
“Forgive me, had I known it will come to this, I’d never sail with my ships here.” 

He grabbed her arm: “Do not say that…last two weeks were the happiest time for me, not even my late wife could give me this much joy, Arya.”  
“For me as well.” she said"  
“And now I have to run… I guess I’ll set sail to Braavos, as far away from Westeros as possible.”  
He looked at her: “Why Braavos? Why not going North? You are the only true heir to Sansa, you’re a Princess. There you’d be safer than in Braavos.”  
She sighed deeply: “Yes, I could go North, but the Narrow Sea around White Harbor is swarming with the Ironborn. And my ship has direwolf sails and figurehead.”  
“You’ll have Baratheon sails and I’ll make sure that krakens respect the colors of my house. If you agree.”  
“I agree wholly, _my lord._” 


	39. DAENERYS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today I've seen deleted/extended scenes from GOT Season 8 on Youtube.  
The level of stupidity of script once more confirmed.  
Jon and Dany walk around the defense works at Winterfell, group of men digs a trench in front of the walls, as they approach them, Unsullied among them stand attention while Northerners ignore Daenerys and one even spits the water he just drank to show his hate. Jon seeing this - smiles as an idiot, as he is amused with disrespect for her.  
Not to mention that that all "Northern hate" was part of rushed plot lines of Dany going mad.  
Even in fantasy world, people who are small in numbers and are expecting to be invaded by ten times greater enemy would not show hate towards the allies who came to help them stay alive. Not openly, at least.  
Did in Two Towers movie, people of Rohan at Helm's Deep spat and cursed and gave hateful looks to elves who marched in to help them fight of Saruman's uruks?  
Nope. And Rohan is not very different from North in sense of being different and isolationist.  
Though, Peter Jackson is not Benioff & Weiss.  
He had his moments of not following the Tolkien works, especially in Hobbit trilogy, but D&D have set the bar very high.  
Or low.

_ Meereen, Essos, year 316 After Conquest _

** DAENERYS **

Man was not very tall, mayhaps if he were leaner he’d appear taller, yet his weight left impression of him being nothing more than short and fat.  
He gazed at her with light-brown eyes while his broad face seemed as to be in lasting smirk. His robes were of mud green color trimmed with ermine and that clashed with his white stiff collar. She has found him to be courteous, yet dour. 

Noho Dimittis of the Iron Bank of Braavos. He came to Meereen as representative of the most prominent money lending institution in the Known World. She asked for this meeting and Iron Bank responded with no delay.  
“It is what some would call… unusual… non customary… unorthodox.” he said.  
“I am certain that thesaurus is rich with words to describe the nature of what I intend. Still, what I wish to know is can it be done?” she asked impatiently.  
Dany spoke the Braavosi dialect of Valyrian well, as she lived there as a child, yet there was something about this man’s voice that has irritated her.

“It will take some further negotiating, but yes, I trust the institution I speak for can find common ground with you, my lady. In the end, what matters most for Iron Bank is to have its due.”  
“And has that due been given to your bank? In past few years?” she asked.  
“Erratically and I am being courteous when I say it as this. Payments took place in one year, then not for two or three years, then again in fourth year, but as you well know, we speak of a large loan where interest already surpass the whole thus far made payments.” Noho reported.  
“One would be right to assume your bank is not very pleased with that fact?” was her next question.  
“Not pleased at all. Of course, as interest grow due to slouchy payment, so does our concern that this loan we speak of will never be returned. And that… well…calls for other means to be used. Which are unpleasant affairs, surely.  
My institution never resorts to such actions gladly, but neither eschews of it.” banker replied.  
She lifted an eyebrow: “Does this case demand these unpleasant affairs already?”  
He shook head: “Not yet, but time flies as they say.”  
“Good. Then this is a proper hour for us to reach an agreement which will satisfy both sides. We all can have our due.” Dany said smiling at the dour Braavosi.  
“We can, yes. Though, you insist on a clause that I don’t recall ever to be demanded before when such arrangements were done.”  
Daenerys shrugged: “Leave the maesters and scribes to record histories, you speak for the bank. And I trust that Iron Bank can steer its clients towards such actions that would please me greatly. For that both bank and those clients will gain abundantly.  
That, of course, in case if your institution were to recognise all the advantages of my proposal.”  
Noho nodded: “Iron Bank will strive to reach an understanding with the Breaker of Chains. After all, my city and my bank were founded by escaped slaves.”  
Dany made a slight smirk: “Twelve years ago that did not stop your bank from giving loan to Cersei Lannister who opposed me, the Breaker of Chains.”  
“Was she a slaver?” he asked.  
“I can’t say that she was.” Dany replied.  
“Well, that means we were true to the First Law of Braavos.” 

Dimittis soon left the pyramid and she went to her bedchamber.  
Dany felt tired and warmth of that day did not help to remove that feeling, but she knew what could help to refresh.  
She took of her shoes, silk trousers, tunic and shirt. Wearing only smallclothes her paces were aimed to water pool on the terrace.  
There was no one save her present so she could swim bare, thought mostly she floated on her back, turning her swollen belly to the sun. 

Notion that she was with twin babes made her jubilant and afraid in the same time.  
She was soon to count five and thirty namedays, that was rather late in life to bear children though Dany knew that Good Queen Alysanne gave birth to her last child when four and forty.  
That gave her comfort. Knowledge that her own mother died at childbirth being nine and thirty gave her fright. Her husband’s mother died at childbirth as well, when only seven and ten. 

Thought of Jon chased dark notions away. As warm water of the pool caressed her nakedness, she called back the images of last night when he did the same with his tongue, worshiping her body and tormenting her most sensitive bits.  
It made Dany to reach heights of pleasure almost beyond her belief.  
They made love nearly every night, despite her being heavy with child.  
He was wary of it, afraid she could get hurt, their passion for each other was such that oft they lost themselves in acts of loving. She had no such fears, she lusted for her husband, as if wanting to make up for ten years of separation.  
On some occasions, they would do it in a daytime as well. Jon was less willing of it, notion that their daughters might hear or see them was on his mind.  
Better if they would hear us loving than arguing, she countered him. 

Daenerys grow up in Essos, here views on pleasures of flesh and nakedness as such differed than in Winterfell, that much she knew.  
Jon was upset with twins being around the water pool in their nameday suits, saying that in two or three years they will have bodies of young maidens which are not to be displayed in such manner.  
Lyanna made him angry one day when he caught her practicing her sword dance stark naked, right after swimming.  
Daenerys would counter that too, strolling around their chamber in nameday suit as well and walking across the terrace to take a swim in the water pool. His frowning for it amused her.  
She loved Jon with all the life’s fire she had, same as he loved her, she knew such love was beyond reason, still doubts from her previous life lingered on, she was not able to bring herself to wholly trust him.  
He was as stubborn as when she first met him, now that stubbornness was mated with dragon temper.  
_My husband, Jon of House Targaryen is not the easiest man in the world. Nor am I the easiest wife._

She had no explanation how Drogon allowed Jon to climb upon him and to fly together to King’s Landing to burn Bran’s tree and leave dead man’s head on Tyrion’s doorstep. It should not be possible.  
Dragon bonds with one rider and that lasts for life, till dragon or rider dies.  
_Jon was dragonrider, he should not be anymore, _ she repeated in her mind many times.  
Then, Drogon had a sort of bond with her children and if he has sensed the fear and pain Rhaella was feeling, mayhaps black dragon allowed Jon to fly and deliver a message of warning, written in letters and in fire. 

She confronted Jon for it nonetheless the very moment she learned of his actions, calling what he did childlike stupidity, reminding him that tree of white bark and red leaves stood for the gods he was raised to believe in. He disagreed.  
“Letting our foes to know their plot against this family has failed is not childish… and, yes, you’re right. The weirwood trees represent the old gods.” he replied, taking deep breath before continuing:  
“That thing living in Bran’s body stands against all that old gods demand of those who believe in them, that thing ordered kinslaying, deaths of Bran’s nieces. And I do believe that small bit what is left of Bran told Sam to warn us.  
That thing ruling from the Red Keep will not use weirwood tree for some time, till they find a new one for him. His power will be weakened, no matter how brief that time is.”  


She frowned: “I understand that, Jon, but why did you do it on your own? Why did you go behind my back? You were gone for two days and I thought you had to stay in the Harpy’s Gold barracks with your men. You lied to me.”  
“Would you agree on it had I told you my intentions?”  
“I know you mean well, Jon, for me and for our children. I just want no secrets between us. It has ruined us before.”  
“Aye, it did.”  
“I hope one day soon you’ll tell me of your dragonride to Pentos.”  
“I went to visit Illyrio Mopatis, he and I have trading agreement for many years now and I fear his fatness will soon be the end of him.”  
Jon smirked: “I choose not to believe that.”  
“All right. I choose not to be offended with your lack of trust in the mother of your children. And the love of your life.” 

She let the sun rays dry her, lying bare on the stone bench of the terrace, hidden by rose bushes and persimmon trees. Heat of any sort was always pleasing to her. And as sun was high over Meereen it was truly hot on that terrace.

“I should not wonder why my daughters have no modesty. it is plain that they take after you.” she heard Jon's words.

Dany lifted her gaze to where voice come from, there he was; already dressed. Grey trousers, black shirt over which he donned a dark-red overcoat.  
Around his waist was a black leather belt on which a white scabbard hung, for Longclaw. And another one for his dagger, a curved blade with hilt in shape of dragon. It was her gift to him, a token of loyalty between them.  
Dagger that he used to stab her was melted down before their wedding. She enjoyed looking at him, wearing the colors of his both houses. Black, red, grey and white.  
Jon saw her hungry gaze and knelt next to the bench:  
“I see my lust on your face, Dany…” they shared a long kiss “…alas, I have to go to Waspwillow.”  
“I will wait for you, mayhaps like this…” she gave him a lustful smirk.  
“You honor me, my love, but I guess there are many better ways to spend the rest of this day than waiting for me bare on the terrace.”  
They shared one more kiss and he got up to walk away.  


“Wait.” she said “I’d like to go with you.” “To the City Guard barracks?”  
“I’ve never seen the Waspwillow. And I feel useless staying in this pyramid whole day.”  
“You’re in no shape to ride, Dany.”  
“Jon, I’ve rode horses heavy with babes in my belly before. For much longer distances than from here to the west side of the city.”  
He sighed: “If I try to dissuade you, it will end in another quarrel, I suppose.”  
“Yes, it will.” she answered smiling.  
“All right, I’ll wait till you’re ready.” 

She donned the red ankle length linen dress and black linen sideless surcoat with grey borders over it, loosely tied with red linen belt, hair fashioned in one simple braid falling across her back.  
When she stepped out on the terrace, Jon’s eyes glowed: “Gods, you’re beautiful in our colors.”  
“I thank you for your kind words, my lord husband.” she smiled. 

“Do you need my help mounting up?” he asked her when then came into stables on the ground floor or the pyramid. “I won’t refuse it.” she said taking the reins of her bay coated horse, a five-year-old animal, gift from the Dothraki. 

They were slowly trotting towards the western part of the city, closest to the port, where one of four barracks of City Guard were. Eight moon of Jon being Commander-general of City Guard of Meereen has began.  
Close to five and score hundred men was now under his command, of that he already had every fifth man as part of those guardsmen who were undergoing a harsh training, learning to fight on foot and on horseback, using sword and spear; bow and battle axe. First of those men stood their ground against larger numbers of the Second Sons, that proved Jon he was right to have proposed to city councilors founding of this host of highly trained warriors.  
He planned to have six hundred such men in the first year as City Guard was founded and same as many in the second year.  
Daenerys knew Jon was not very keen of former sellswords coming into ranks of Meereenese guardsmen, betrayal of Second Sons did not help to soften his stance.  
Yet, many surviving men of Golden Company were accepted in the City Guard from its beginnings, making its backbone as officers and trainers. 

Angus Croft, once of House Croft, a small noble house in northern Riverlands, was one of the officers of the Golden Company who now served under Jon Targaryen.  
Croft was a tall man, broad in shoulders, his light-brown hair was cut short unlike his beard which seemed messy.  
He was a light-hearted man, keen on jesting, but strict and harsh commander with no lenience for those who lacked discipline and failed to follow orders. How Angus was exiled to Essos, when still only a boy, no one knew nor dared to ask. 

Willem Brownbarrow was another Westerosi who served in Golden Company, his family being from the Reach, serving House Kidwell.  
Willem never set foot in Westeros, being born in the Disputed Lands, in westernmost Essos, where Golden Company has fought most of its battles, in service of Free Cities, of Lys, Myr or Tyrosh.  
As other sons of exiles who have been born into the company, he still considered himself as man of Sunset Kingdoms. 

Angus came down from the rampart of a stone triangular fortress which was now the Waspwillow Barracks, upon seeing two riders entering the courtyard, wearing black and red, escorted by score of guardsmen and the Dothraki.  
He wore a linen rusty-brown shirt tucked in dark trousers, knee-cut dark-green tabard surcoat over which he donned a leather sleeveless brown jerkin.  
His boots were also of leather, a footwear that clashed with Meereenese heat but Croft would not hear of linen boots and he cursed when someone mentioned sandals as possible choice.  
Belt around his waist bore two scabbards, one for longsword and other for shorter curved blade. 

Fortress stood on a hummock overlooking the port and the western quarters of the city.  
It was not there when Daenerys took the city fifteen years ago; this fortress was built in course of two years, after the attack of ships from slaver cities on Meereen.  
That siege was broken same as was, once and for all, the slavery in Yunkai and Astapor.  
Leaders of Meereen saw the need of building a fortress that will protect the port from any such future attack from the sea and this triangular stone redoubt was built.  
Its walls were as thick as those on city’s many pyramids, it had large courtyard with kitchen, stables and smithy on the ground level while beneath the ground hosted garrison quarters, armory and storage. 

The angle of the Waspwillow facing the sea was twice as wide than other two, shaped in half-circle and providing enough room for three large trebuchets while half a dozen scorpion ballistae nested between large rounded merlons of the fortress wall.  
Two other angles of the fort kept watch over the west side of Meereen, trebuchets and scorpions could be mounted on those walls as well, but there were none, city leaders thought it will send the wrong message to the citizens, having large weapons aimed at them.  
The main entrance into the fortress was right in between the two inland angles, an arched gate which had a drawbridge as wide moat was dug around the inland side of the Waspwillow.  
The fortress could be turned into a walled island, if such need arises.  
A garrison of five hundred guardsmen was now stationed at it, commanded by Besakh zo Raza whose family during slaver’s rule over Meereen were free men, but commoners with no slaves of their own.  
Croft was his second in command, while Brownbarrow was charged with training of the Waspwillow garrison.

Luckily for the both, neither Angus or Willem were at King’s Landing when the bulk of the Golden Company was destroyed by the dragon flame.  
They have stayed in Essos with the small part of this sellsword host that did not came across the Narrow Sea, part that had war elephants, two dozen of those beasts.

“My lord, my lady…” Croft approached them as they have dismounted with Jon helping her to get off the horse “…we weren’t expecting you. Otherwise I’d make sure this courtyard was not is such state as it is. The morning sword training has just ended and one third of the men are out on the streets.”  
“It’s all right, captain Angus, I am no here to oversee these barracks.” Jon replied and shook hands with Croft who blurted: “Good, these fuckers under my command aren’t worth shite when it comes to cleaning the yard, but I’ll teach them otherwise…”  
then he realised Daenerys was there as well: “Apologies, my lady, for my coarse words.”  
“No need, I am used to such words ever since I was a young girl.”  
He nodded: “I wish you could come half an hour before, so that those who whine about their arses being sore from riding could see a woman riding merely days before giving birth.”  
She smiled and nodded back: “Not days, my lord, moons. But I see what you’ve meant.”  
“Would you like me to show you the fortress, Lady Daenerys?”  
“No need, captain, you have more pressing matters to attend, I can take my lady wife around the barracks.”  
“As you say, my lord. Later you can eat and refresh yourselves. I think cooks have made a seafood stew today; crabmeat with carrots, leeks and barley. It’s no Sister's stew from our lands, but it fills the belly nicely.  
And there’s ale, cider and rum to wash it down with.”  
“We’ll make a visit to the kitchens then…” Jon replied with smile. 

Croft made a slight bow as a greeting and hurried across the yard towards smithy. She gave an approving look to her husband:  
“Well, Commander-general, where are we going first?”  
“A light stroll over the ramparts, until it gets too hot, then I have to… I have to question a prisoner, Dany.”  
She frowned: “Since when are you doing interrogations, Jon? Isn’t that a duty of lieutenants or serjeants, even?”  
“Not this one. This one is what you may say a peculiar case.” 

As they walked over the ramparts, he described her all the parts of the Waspwillow.  
She placed her arm under his and listened, catching every detail.  
Every guardsman they’ve met along the way greeted them with respect, even those standing in the courtyard below. When they reached the tip of the walls that overlooked the sea, she noted the scorpions… 

_I hate this weapon, Rhaegal was killed by them, I know these here serve to defend the city from any fleet that could attack but whenever I see one, a wish comes to me to burn it. _

“You’ve wandered away, wife, what is it?”  
She grinned: “Nothing about me escapes you, it seems.” “And nothing will.”  
After a sigh, Dany looked at him: “This prisoner you’re about to question, what is so peculiar about him?”  
“He was caught on the Archery Range, a boy of not more than three and ten namedays, naked and in chains. Rhaella captured him as he came out of the river.”  
She grabbed his arm, surprised: “Rhaella? Well, well… our daughter is about to have not so pleasant talk with me. She did not say a word of it.”  
“She knows what you think of her practicing archery, I guess Rhae didn’t want you to worry.”  
“I approve her archery practice, Jon, in proper measure. Not as her only pastime. She has bow in hand as oft as Lya has sword.”  
“Have they been failing in their learning and other chares?”  
“No, that I cannot say.” “Then let them have their pastime. When our babes are born, I expect of them to help you in every way they can. Then bows and swords will hang on the wall of their chambers more oft than now.”  
“Agreed.” she said contently. 

Daenerys asked while they walked across the courtyard: “Surely that prisoner is not peculiar solely for being caught by Rhae.”  
Jon shook head: “No, boy claims that he is Hallis of House Hornwood, they are Stark bannermen, and that he escaped from slave traders. That sounded very odd to me so I ordered him to be kept here, at Waspwillow, for last ten days.  
In that time, I had to gather some knowledge to see if he’s told the truthful account or he lies.”  
Her eyes narrowed: “A boy from Northern noble house found in Meereen, chained and bare, escaping from slavers. That sounds as another ruse from our enemies. They know how you like your Northerners and how I detest slavery. Mayhaps this boy’s tale is such so he could approach us easier. He could be a spy or an assassin.”  
“Aye, he could be. Some of what he told to guardsmen who caught him could be true, I spoke to Braavosi merchants which came to port in last sennight. The rest, well, I’ll know better after talking with that boy. Come with me. Two pair of ears can hear more than one.”  
“You’re right. I want to hear this boy’s story; we should be able to tell truth from a lie.” 

They were now sitting in the chamber of the commander of Waspwillow Baracks.  
Besakh zo Raza was on the cavalry training ground with most of the men of this garrison. Jon sat at his table, while she chose to sat on the other end of the room.  
It was not a large room, walls of light-brown bricks had shields, swords and axes hanging where ever her gaze went, a large map of the city and its closest surroundings covered the wall behind the commander’s table.  
Half a dozen of simplest wooden chairs Dany has ever seen, just as simple cabinet and a small bookshelf.  
_Soldier’s chambers, no need for luxury and ornate furniture. I suppose Jon has seen worse than this, when he was on the Wall. _

Then she heard footsteps, opening and closing of the door.  
Willem Brownbarrow brought in the prisoner, she could tell it was a child figure, though tall for his age, his hands were tied and linen dark bag was over his head. He wore trousers and simple tunic, both in color of sand. 

“My lord, I have brought the prisoner as you’ve requested.”  
“I thank you, serjeant. Sit him on this chair, facing me and remove the bag.”  
Willem did as order, boy blinked few times as his head was no longer covered.  
“Boy, this is Commander-general of the City Guard of Meereen, he shall ask you few questions. I wouldn’t try to lie to him, if I were you.” serjeant warned the young prisoner.  
“I do not lie.” prisoner replied.  
“Aye, and dungeons from Pyke to Asshai are filled with innocent men.” said Willem mockingly.  
“I do not lie.” boy repeated, this time he sounded annoyed.  
“Mayhaps you do not...” Jon said “...that is yet to be determined.” 

He looked at Willem: “Thank you, serjeant, I’ll take over this young man from here. After we’re done, I shall return him to the gaol.”  
“Aye, my lord.” 

Willem bowed to her as he was leaving the room, she gestured him not to greet her with words.  
His father was wounded, being bowman in Rhaegar’s army at Trident and left Westeros like many other Targaryen loyalists after Robert Baratheon took the crown.  
Four years later, Willem was born in Tyrosh, when his father was already with the Golden Company.  
Serving under Targaryen commander, who was Rhaegar’s son, pleased Brownbarrow and he made sure his father, now man of sixty namedays, living as small merchant in Disputed Lands knew of that. 

“So, I was told that you claim to be Hallis of House Hornwood.” Jon said looking straight at the boy.  
“I am, my lord. I am Hallis Hornwood.”  
“Mayhaps you are. Mayhaps you are the King of Mossovy. But I grant you this, you are of the North. The way you speak the Common Tongue gives you away. So, it’s safe to say that you’re no King of Mossovy.”  
“You mock me, my lord.” boy protested.  
“I do no such thing. And I am yet to find out if you’re the one doing mockery claiming to be young lord from Westeros. Now, I’d like to know how did heir to House Hornwood ended in Meereen, naked and chained.” Jon said with cold voice.  
Boy sighed: “I was captured at Dreadfort, my lord, by the Ironborn and sold to Myrish pirates near Braavos.”  
“And pray tell, how one gets captured by the Ironborn at Dreadfort?” Jon grinned.  
“My lord, I was at Dreadfort with a garrison of Hornwood men when krakens came on their longships up the Weeping Water. They have stormed the castle, killed most of my men and put it to torch.”  
“All right, that is how the Ironborn raid and burn the castles… still, it is not Ironborn way to sell highborn captives to slavery from across the Narrow Sea.”  
“I have lied to them, my lord.”  
Jon frowned leaning back in the chair: “Then you’re no stranger to falsehood. And here you try to prove exactly otherwise.”  
“I have told them I was a Snow, not a Hornwood.” boy said firmly. 

Daenerys could see Jon was surprised by what young prisoner has just said. 

“What did you hope to gain by that?” he asked the boy.  
“Ironborn would have demanded ransom from my family and we cannot afford it. Few houses in the North can pay what kraken asks for noble captives.”  
“So, you claimed to be a bastard. To save your house from paying ransom. You, young fool.” Jon said, his voice was louder now:  
“You didn’t think that as a bastard you have no value to the Ironborn and they could have slit your throat and threw you overboard. How would that benefit House Hornwood? You may consider yourself fortunate with being sold to slavery.”  
“Then, you believe me, you believe that I am Hallis Hornwood.”  
“No, I did not say that. I just wanted you to know how stupid this what you’ve just told me sounds.” 

“I am telling the truth!” boy spoke louder as well.  
“As a prisoner, you’ll speak softly or I shall return you to your cell. Nod if you understand.” Boy nodded so Jon talked more:  
“Now, as your story says, Hallis Hornwood claiming to be Hallis Snow was sold to pirates, close to Braavos. That is more than one moon of sailing from Meereen. How did you end up chained in the mud of Skahazadhan river?”  
“I was sold three times, my lord. Pirates sold me to Volantene slave trader and he later sold me to slaver from Tolos. His ship was headed to Qarth where he intended to sell me and dozen other young boys to pleasure houses.” 

Dany’s eyes met with Jon’s. He could see her anger. Slavery was still thriving both east and west of Bay of Dragons.  
_Mayhaps this boy is lying about who he is, but rest of this words are true, _ she’s heard dozens of such stories from former slaves. And what boy said next made her even more angry. 

“That Tolosi slaver had to embark some Meereenese who were willing to sell themselves into slavery. Ship sailed into the river, I took my chance and threw myself overboard. Every two, three days they would drag us on the deck and made us to walk around, to keep strength in our legs and then chained us below again. I had no shackles on my legs… so I gathered I won’t drown. And I didn’t. I dived underwater, slavers thought I had drowned.”  


“That is some story…” Jon said, still unconvinced “…who taught you to swim? If you truly are of House Hornwood, hardly you could learn to swim and dive underwater in Broken Branch river, right?” Boy’s voice echoed with surprise: “You know of Broken Branch, my lord?”  
“Do not answer question with question.” 

Prisoner nodded: “My mother is Wylla of House Manderly. They are men of the sea. I have learned to swim and dive at White Harbor before my eight nameday.”  
“You don’t fear of cold water then…”  
“No, my lord, I do not. This Meereenese river seemed as hot bath to me.” boy answered “When I came out from the water, a girl shot arrows at me. Girl with Stark direwolf on her clothes. Though she had silver hair...do you know who she is, my lord?” Dany frowned… _oh, Rhaella, my sweet daughter, you’ll learn that keeping secrets from your mother is not wise. _

“I do know who she is. What I don’t know yet is who you are. You say that your mother is Wylla Manderly. Who is your father?”  
“Larence Hornwood, my lord.”  
“And who was his father?”  
“Halys Hornwood. He was killed at the Battle of the Green Fork.”  
“Had he more sons, save your father?”  
“He did, my lord. Daryn, my father’s brother, he was one of King Robb Stark's guards at the Whispering Wood. Jaime Lannister slew him.”  
“Then, it was your father who took the lead of House Hornwood when his lord father and brother were killed.”  
“He did, my lord, but he was not born as Hornwood. He was a Snow, a bastard, fostered at Deepwood Motte, by Glovers.”  
“A bastard, you say…”  
Jon made a slight grin as his eyes met with Dany’s. She was silent, sitting behind boy’s back, on the other side of the chamber, him not being aware of her presence.  
“…and did Larence Snow took part in the Battle of the Bastards?”  
“You know of that battle?” boy wondered again “Aye, my lord, Hornwoods kept faith with House Stark, we fought against Ramsay Bolton.  
And later, Queen Sansa legitimised my lord father as Hornwood and gave us lands that once were of Boltons. That is how I was at Dreadfort when krakens came.” 

_Sansa, _ Daenerys’ face darkened when she heard that name; _legitimising bastards to secure their loyalty, even that you’ve seen me doing first. _

“Your father wanted you to learn how to rule over a holdfast.”  
“Aye, my lord.”  
“Whom were you named after? If your name truly is Hallis Hornwood.” Jon asked.  
“I was named after Hallis Hornwood, Mad Hal they’ve called him, he went with Lord Cregan Stark to King's Landing when dragons were fighting each other and later he went to the Free Cities, he founded a sellsword company, Wolf Pack was their name.”  
“And here you are, in Essos, like your namesake, only you came much farther east.” Jon commented.  
“That I never wanted nor hoped for.” boy replied.  
“And your mother’s family? Lady Wynafryd Manderly would be your cousin?”  
“No, my lord, she’s my aunt. My mother’s sister.”  
“Red-haired woman she is, true?”  
“She is of brown hair, my lord.” 

Even without seeing boy’s face Dany could tell he was confounded with questions and details he was asked by this man in red and black attire. 

“And your lady mother, as a girl she dyed her hair in blue, color of the sea.”  
“My lord, how do you...?” boy was surprised once more “…she did dye it, but in green color, she wanted her hair to be same as merman’s on House Manderly sigil.  
She dyes it green no more, as she is Lady Hornwood now, but leaves it blond as she were born to be.”  
“Lord Wyman is your great-grandsire then?”  
“Aye, my lord, he is.”  
“And he enjoys eating, does he not? What is that name he earned for his love of food…”  
Boy replied, unwillingly: “Lord Too-Fat-to-Sit-a-Horse… but it’s a mocking, my lord, and he is my mother’s grandsire.”  
“Aye. And a man true to his wows, he kept faith with House Stark, men of White Harbor fought against the Boltons before gates of Winterfell.” Jon said and gazed straight at the boy.  
“No, my lord. My great-grandsire refused the call. Only House Hornwood and House Mormont answered it. He later regretted it and bent the knee to King in the North.” 

She could see that Jon is pleased, boy told the truth. Her husband said:  
“Well, some things you’ve told me should not be known to someone who is not close to House Hornwood or to House Manderly.  
And, since you were caught at the river, I’ve got words from Braavosi that venture here of White Harbor making inquires there an other Free Cities about a boy who was taken by the Ironborn.  
Lady Wylla’s family has acquaintances in Braavos so she is using them in search for her son.” 

“My lord, I beg you, send a word to my family by those Braavosi.” boy said with shaking voice.  
“Would it be right of me to do so, to kindle a hope in their hearts, hope of Hallis Hornwood being alive and well in Meereen when true Hallis is mayhaps eaten by the fish in the Narrow Sea.”  
Boy sunk from the chair on his knees: “I am Hallis Hornwood, my lord, I swear it by old gods and the new!” 

Daenerys could tell that boy is close to break into tears and she gave a pleading look to Jon.  
“Now, listen to me, boy, and listen well…” Jon said “…you have sworn before gods that you’re Hallis of House Hornwood, heir of your family. And I will respect that oath. If you’re to be proven a liar, you shall receive no mercy. Impostors are dealt harshly with here.  
Hanging comes at the end, but what occurs before… well, I’ve seen my share of cruelty, but here… this was a city of slavers for centuries, torture is a craft for them. Do you agree?”  
Boy nodded, still kneeling:  
“I agree… my lord, may I ask who you are…?”  
Jon replied: “I am Commander-general of the City Guard of Meereen, lord Jon of House Targaryen.”  
Prisoner remained speechless for a while, gazing at Jon with widened eyes: “Targaryen… how can that be…”  
“It can, just as it can be that young lord Hornwood sailed in chains half across the world...” came the calm reply “...now, I will put this bag back on your head and you shall return to your cell, till I decide what is to be with you.” 

She remained sitting in silence as Jon escorted the prisoner with covered head out of the chamber. A feeling of pity for the boy came to her.  
No matter is he truly what he claims to be or not, he was taken from his home and nearly ended as pleasure slave in some brothel in Qarth to serve men with enough namedays to be his grandfather.  
When Jon returned from the gaol, she asked him as he was at the door:  
“I don’t think he is false, this boy.”  
“Neither do I, Dany.” he replied “I’d like to help him, somehow. He is a Hornwood, I know his father, he was a boy of fifteen when he came with his men to help us retake Winterfell. Larence ought to be nine and twenty now.”  
“You can’t keep this boy in gaol here, Jon, he is no criminal.”  
“I will not, I was thinking to bring him to our pyramid as a guest.”  
She smiled: “All right, do that. Mayhaps we can think of a way to return him home.”  
Then she got serious: “Lady Rhaella Targaryen and I will have a talk she will not enjoy.”  
“I know, but you can be proud of her how she captured this boy. She is her mother’s daughter.”  
“It matters not. She must learn never to hide the truth from me or from you.”


	40. ARYA

_White Harbor, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest_

**ARYA**

_Golden Storm_ creeped from astern, coming from Sisterton which fell to the Ironborn one week after the sack of Gulltown.  
Or joined with them, which just as easily could be. _The Three Sisters were fickle bitches, loyal only to themselves._

Sisterton was a town on the isle of Sweetsister which together with Longsister and Littlesister made the Three Sister islands.  
Islands were south of White Harbor and north of the Mountains of the Moon in the Vale. The town was considered the most notorious smuggler's den in all of Westeros.  
And for many centuries, these islands were called by septons to be lairs of avarice and sin. 

Rulers of the isles, House Borell, descended from the pirates themselves, hardly they would resist the Ironborn, their allegiance to the lords of the Vale was ever loose.  
Three Sisters became one more anchorage for the longships and the warships of the Iron Fleet. Keeping blockade on the White Harbor and going to raids deep to Northern inland using rivers would not be possible without Sisterton and other, smaller bays and coves, fit for the vessels with kraken sails to lay anchor. 

Oarsmen on the _Golden Strom_ increased their speed and wind were favorable to them, dark square sail with painted kraken sigil caught it and distance between this longship and two vessels heading north was growing smaller and smaller.  
_Lamentation_ appeared next, leaving the coast of Oldcastle and sailing straight to waylay Arya’s ships.  
This was a larger ship, not as large as Baratheon’s war galley, the _New Fury_, but thrice the size of the longship coming from the Three Sisters.

“Soon they will be upon us.” Arya said to Dalton Pyke “And then you shall talk. They are your people.”  
“Once, mayhaps. Not now, not for many years.”  
Dalton was Euron Greyjoy’s supporter, many of the Ironborn were then, but those who were stauncher than most had to leave their home islands when Yara became their leader and their ruler. Dalton was among those and he embarked on _Nymeria_ to get as far from the new Queen of Salt and Rock as possible.  
Now, he was looking at her ships closing on the carrack and the swan-ship that was at _Nymeria’s_ starboard. 

“We can only hope that these bloody stag sails will be of use. And that _my people_ have been ordered not to attack Baratheon ships…”  
Dalton said looking at approaching warship “…a Martell sail would be far better thing, but them fucking Dornish do not have a fleet.”  
“We’ll know soon enough.” she said.  
Armed men were below deck on both Arya’s ship, ready and waiting. If the Ironborn were to attack, they would soon get a response of steel and fire. 

Still, she clung to a hope that krakens are not that foolish to cause a war with one more part of Westeros.  
Vale and the North were more than enough for them.  
Before leaving Stormlands, she ordered wolf’s head to be taken down from carrack's prow. _I can always put a new one, in any port of this world._

Her ships left the port of Tarth ten days ago and sailed straight across the Narrow Sea, towards the coast of western Essos, to avoid the waters near Dragonstone and the Vale which were teeming with warships now, of Iron Fleet, of royal fleet, of sellsails on route to fight up North.  
A wide berth was the smartest choice so _Nymeria_ and _Rhaelyanna_ kept close to the Essosi coast, along the Pentoshi shores, then Andalos and Braavosian Coastlands.  
When they’ve reached the northernmost points of western Essos, few miles north of Free City of Braavos, both ships set course north and west, heading to the White Harbor, which brought them close to the Three Sisters isles. Arya went to her cabin, not to be sighted from the Ironborn, Dalton remained at the sterncastle. 

She was ready for the battle, if one was to happen, she was in her leather boots, black trousers and chainmail shirt underneath the brown leather jerkin.  
Her Rhoynar sword was in her hands. Sword was forged thousand years ago, before Valyrian Freehold conquered the Rhoynars. Ancient, but surely not magical blade.  
Very few swords in this world were magical, if any such remained, this one surely was not one of those blades otherwise Daenerys Targaryen would not part from it gifting it to a woman who was close kin of her twins, but not so close to Mother of Dragons herself.  
_Later we warmed up to each other, but surely, we were not close when she sent me this blade as a token of her gratitude, _ Arya recalled.  
This blade cut through leather and steel alike and that was all she needed. Gendry agreed with her after giving sword a thorough look.

_I miss you, m’lord…only ten days ago I was lying in this bunk, naked in your strong hands. I miss you, Gendry Baratheon. And I’ll be damned if it would take me ten years to see you again. I am coming back to you. As soon as I can; _ Arya spoke to herself.  
It came to her, slowly this thought found its way into her mind that he just might be the man who is willing to take her for what she is, not trying to mold her to his pleasure.  
_Is it because in truth he is not a lord, just as I am not a true lady? Seven hells, Gendry, we could go and live in a hunter’s cabin in rainwood and it’d be good just the same, who needs Storm’s End and gossips and plots that slither down the corridors. _  
And she knew he would go with her.  
_I can be your family; _ she told him, ten and six years ago and he replied:  
_You wouldn’t be my family, you’d be my lady. _  
She smiled at this thought: _Mayhaps, just mayhaps, now, after so many years, I could be both. His lady, not lady of his damn storm castle. _

“Prepare to be boarded!” she heard a commanding shout coming from portside of her carrack.  
“This is ship of House Baratheon. You may not come aboard.” Dalton replied, his voice stern but calm.  
“Are you the captain?” came the new shout. “I am. Dalton Pyke of Tawney Keep!”  
“A bastard from Orkmont commanding a Baratheon ship?”  
“Is stag a creature of waves or of green lands?” Dalton rebutted “With whom do I speak?”  
“Tom Codd, captain of the _Lamentation._”  
“Bloodless Tom, are you? I’ve known your brother, Lucas. We fought for Euron against the Dragon Queen.”  
“Aye, he is now at the bottom of the Blackwater Bay.”  
Dalton was silent for a heartbeat: “I did not know that… What is dead may never die!”  
“What is dead may never die...” Codd repeated.  
“But rises again, harder and stronger.” Dalton said in solemn tone. 

There was a silence for a while, until Pyke called out: “You may come aboard, captain. But you alone.”  
“You will not host the captain of _Golden Strom? _”  
“I shall, if you answer to him. It’s been long since I was with my own, but I trust that mere longship does not lead _Lamentation_ into battle.” Codd laughed: “You may wager your life on that, Pyke.” “Come then, we must speak.”  
_Lamentation_ came close to _Nymeria_ and Codd grabbed one of the ropes from warship’s riggings, swung towards the carrack and jumped on the deck, his sword and axe at his belt, Arya could see it all through a hole in the cabin door. “You’ll leave the same way, Codd.” she could hear Dalton saying, unimpressed by this move. 

“Where are you taking this carrack and that swan-ship…” Ironborn captain pointed to the _Rhaelyanna_ by whose starboard side _Golden Storm_ closed in.  
“To White Harbor.” “On what business?” Codd asked.  
Both men were dressed alike, ever since they’ve sailed into the Narrow Sea, Pyke replaced the lighter garments, befitting to the Jade and Summer Sea and put back  
on his knee-high leather boots, brown breeches, salt-stained leather jerkin and large dark grey robe sealed with wax to keep the wind out. 

Codd’s garments followed the same suite, but one could tell he was of noble house, his belt was worth more than all which Pyke had on himself. 

“Cunt… on business of noble cunt. Or two.” Dalton said as both of them were now standing close to the door of her cabin.  
“What, Baratheons are now in pleasure slave trade?” Codd laughed loudly.  
“Nothing of the sort, captain. Lord of Storm’s End is a widower and it had pleased him to see what North has to offer when it comes to young maidens, unspoiled that is.”  
“So, you’re to ferry his new wife to Stormlands?” Codd asked.  
“Yes, I am to ferry two of them, in truth, for him to take measure of each one. Before deciding.” “You mean to fuck each one?” Codd laughed.  
“Something like that. He’ll be trying out two daughters of two lesser lords.” “And them Northern fuckers agree with that?”  
“They can’t choose these days, can they? You’ve cut them well… I wonder how they don’t starve already. Even in times of peace, they’re barely able to feed themselves.”  
“They’ll starve, soon enough. Fuck it, Pyke, you should be with your own, these are glorious days for sons of kraken.” 

Dalton sighed: “Three and ten years ago you have sailed with Yara and Theon, I chose Euron. You have chosen well; my choice of king forbids me ever to come home. Yara Greyjoy does not forgive nor forget.”  
“Aye, she does not. I wonder how much she would pay me if I were to bring your head.” Codd grinned.  
“Nothing, Codd. A dead man needs no coins and your head would not stay on your shoulders for long; or you think she’d reward a man who made Stormlands her enemy.  
I am captain in the fleet of House Baratheon. Stags also do not forgive affronts. And, from what I’ve heard, soon the waves around Dragonstone shall be colored in blood red.  
Yara does not need stag galleys coming there, does she?”  
“Stag is no match for kraken on the sea.” Codd said defiantly.  
“Nor is raven and yet you’re now running this blockade of White Harbor with half as many ships as you did only a week ago.  
They’re gone to face the royal fleet at Dragonstone… I am Ironborn just as you are, I can listen to the wind and the waves.” 

Bloodless Tom was silent for a while, his both hands on his weapons.  
Then he spoke: “Aye, it is so. I will let you pass, but only after I check below decks, if you’re carrying any sort of goods to the wolves, you and your crew will die, I will seize all your cargo and burn this ship. And that swan-ship as well.” Dalton nodded: “Good. So be it. Signal to _Golden Storm_, only one man can cross to my other ship to check  
our storage…. and before you go below, I’ll tell my men to come out, they’ve been waiting there with swords ready for over an hour now.”  
Codd laughed: “You’ve expected us to fight, then?”  
“I sure haven’t expected to fuck with any of your crew, Tom. Unless you have some Lyseni minj on _Lamentation_, then we can talk of it.”  
“I wish I have, Pyke, I can’t even look at these northern women anymore,  
I swear it, their cunts are just as cold as their land is.” 

Arya wanted to burst out from the cabin and cut the head of this Ironborn right off after hearing this.  
She knew what he was complaining of, on their raids krakens would take comelier girls and young women and chain them on their ships as saltwives.  
_There were no wives, they were mere slaves to be raped and tormented, _came to her mind.  
She hated the Ironborn, their islands, their ways and all they stood for.  
_How much were the Free Folk wronged when they have turned to such men to ally with? _  
It took more than two hours for Tom Codd of _Lamentation_ and his fellow captain from the longship _Golden Storm_ to go through the both of Arya’s ships to make sure they do not carry food, weapons or any other goods to the North. None of such was found, so both Ironborn captains returned to their ships pleased.  
Bloodless Tom and Dalton Pyke parted ways nearly cordial. Arya remained hidden in her cabin and Pyke made sure that Codd does not enter there. 

“Well, Pyke, if I were of green lands, I’d wish you a good fortune in wars to come, but…”  
“…Fortune is such as we make it. That is the only truth of this world.” Dalton replied.  
“Aye, it is.” Tom confirmed, contently.  
“Then, I wish you good hunting and many kills, Tom Codd of Shatterstone… What is dead may never die!” “What is dead may never die!”  
_But you die, kraken scum, you die just as any of us; _ dark-haired woman said silently, grasping the hilt of her curved blade, _and you shall die if our paths cross again._

_Nymeria_ and _Rhaelyanna_ sailed close to the Seal Rock, a massive rock dominating the approaches to the outer harbor of the only port of Kingdom of the North. Atop the rock there was a ringfort of weathered stones fortified with crossbowmen, scorpions, mangonel trebuchets and spitfires.  
Seal Rock looms fifty feet above the waters, grey-green in color.  
Some half a mile away from the rock, a mast and a figurehead of a ship were sticking out from the water, a reminder of failed Ironborn attack on the Seal Rock. 

Though sails of both ships were displaying golden shields with black crowned stag while on all masts and on the prow there were now Stark banners.  
Soldiers manning the scorpions and crossbowmen aimed their weapons at the carrack and swan-ship.  
“Halt! You may go no further! Halt or bolts will fly!” came the command from the Seal Rock.  
Arya was on the prow of : “I am Arya Stark of Winterfell! I seek anchor for my ships at White Harbor!”  
“You may not come into the harbor without Manderly men aboard your ships!” “They are welcome to join us!” she shouted back. 

She did not have to wait long for two war galleys to arrive from the inner harbor, their sails showing a white bearded merman over a blue-green shield,  
their masts hoisted the white flag with grey wolf. Both of Arya’s ships slowed down, shortening the sails which made them to spill wind.  
They were about to be boarded again, though this time it would be more pleasant encounter. 

Merman’s Court of the New Castle in White Harbor. Arya was never before here, in the seat of House Manderly.  
Wherever her eyes would wander, there was the sea. From ceiling to floor.  
All sorts of creatures that dwelled beneath the waves. Even cursed kraken was painted on one of the in wooden planks covered walls  
All types of ships were displayed too, carack, cog, war galley, fishermen boat, even a raft.  
All around were men and women of smaller houses, sworn to House Manderly, as well as the members of their household.  
Standing on the dais was a man, fat, bald and with a large walrus moustache.  
_Ser Wylis,_ Arya guessed right away, _he is too young and not nearly as fat to be Lord Wyman._  
At her side was Artos Costayne, now captaining _Rhaelyanna_ and Warrick Manderly, who was the happiest among both her crews to be at White Harbor.  
It was his home and he was among his kinfolk after all. 

“Lady Arya of House Stark…” Wylis began to address her as he stepped down from the dais to greet her “…no, forgive me, Princess Arya of House Stark, you are most welcome to Merman’s Court. Thank the Seven and the old gods that all the accounts of your death at sea were lies.”  
_Princess… I don’t recall my sister, the Queen in the North, ever giving me that title formally, _Arya mused before answering:  
“Ser Wylis of House Manderly, I thank you for the anchorage and the shelter you have given to my ships and my crew.  
Ty shame, I have to admit that I have seen many wonders of the Known World and never set foot to this great port and castle till today.” 

She could tell her host approved of her words, and the nodding of others present at the court.  
When Wylis approached her, he bowed and kissed her hand: “My princess, the New Castle is yours.”  
“Thank you, Ser Wylis…” Arya said “…allow me to present my captain, Artos of House Costayne…”  
Two men nodded at each other and then Wylis’ face turned into a big smile:  
“Warrick… my wandering cousin! I remember last time seeing you…when was that even, my good man?”  
“I reckon when we watched the fleet of the Dragon Queen coming with Jon Snow here, that was three and ten years, my lord.” 

Arya nearly chuckled, listening to Warrick’s struggle to speak the Common Tongue properly, not the usual way he spoke, the way Northern smallfolk speaks.  
“Three and ten years! Do you hear this, eh?” Wylis said loudly for all present to hear “Half of you standing here were toddlers then, when this man and I warred against lions and krakens and the dead and the lions again! Three and ten years! Gods are cruel indeed for letting time to slip by so quickly.”  
Wlyis embraced his cousin, patting his back and then turned back to Arya, speaking much more silently:  
“I will take you to my father now, Princess, Lord Wyman is very happy to have you as our guest. But he wanted to speak with you alone.”  
Arya nodded once: “I too wish to see your lord father.” 

The room was snug and warm and comfortably furnished, with a Myrish carpet on the floor and beeswax candles burning on a table.  
On the wall hung a sheepskin with a map of the north painted across it in faded colors.  
Beneath the map sat Wyman Manderly, the colossal Lord of White Harbor.  
He was richly garbed. His velvet doublet was a soft blue-green, embroidered with golden thread at hem and sleeves and collar.  
mantle was ermine, pinned at the shoulder with a golden trident. 

“Princess Arya, forgive me for not greeting you in the Great Hall, my age catches me on some days and then I cannot stand, even for a short while.  
It would be unproper of me to receive my princess before entire Merman’s Court sitting down…”  
Arya came closer to the old, obese man:  
“This princess, if that truly is my title, does not care how her hosts welcome her when welcome is cordial and wholehearted as one White Harbor has shown me, my lord.”  
She then shook his hand and sat next to him at the table.  
“Your return, my princess which you are being the younger sister of our Queen, is rare good news these days. Surely you have met the krakens sailing up here.”  
“I have, my lord… I guess only the crowned stag on my sails have saved my ships…” Arya said.  
“That was clever… they’ve told me that ships with stag sails and wolf banners have arrived to my port. Kraken seeks no enemy in Stormlands, not yet that is.”  
“Tell me, my lord, how are things in our North?” she asked.  
“Kraken banner waves over the Bear Island, Dreadfort and Deepwood Motte have been sacked and put to torch.  
Ramsgate followed a fortnight later, garrison resisted as they could and White Harbor risked not to send them aid.  
This town is the main prize that Ironborn lust for and they shan’t get it, not while I draw breath, no matter how short time I have before me!” 

He slammed his fist on the table and then continued speaking in same calm tone:  
“Aye, they tried to sack Barrowton but the Ryswells and the Dustins have bled them well, they sailed into their ambush, that time it was some of their longships that have burned.”  
Arya listened, she felt both anger and sadness…  
“And the people, my lord, what of our people living on the shores?”  
Old Wyman smiled at her: “Truly you’re Ned Stark’s daughter, he would ask the same… they have suffered the most, my princess, villages plundered and burned, many men and women put to sword, others fled inland, mostly to Winterfell. A lot of mouths to feed…and with White Harbor blocked, food comes by roads from the south, it takes longer and it brings less food and other goods.”  
Arya sighed… “Is there an end of this war in sight, war with the Free Folk, that is?”  
Wyman shook his head: “No, my princess, the end is now as far away as it ever was. Our Queen has called the men from Six Kingdoms, knights and commoners alike, to come here and fight for her, she promised lands and even titles to those who’d war for the New North, as lands of the Gift are now called.”  
“Sansa invited sellswords to fight for the North?!” Arya was surprised.  
“They’re not sellswords, sellswords get their payment and leave, these are hedge knights and freeriders and landless commoners, this lot will stay among us.  
Queen will offer Northern brides to knights and nobles among them.”  
“Seven hells…” Arya said aloud.  
“And Her Grace has charged me to ensure that fleet of Lyseni pirates, fleet of Samarro Saan, fights as sellsails for our kingdom to relieve the Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.” 

Arya gazed at lord Manderly, bewildered: “Who vouches that pirates from the Stepstones are even able to end the Ironborn blockade there?”  
“No one, my princess. We shall soon know, the Saan fleet has assembled, in a week or two they will be in the waters of Eastwatch.”  
“Can my sister afford to pay them? I say this for I do not know how full or empty is our treasury.” Arya asked.  
“Kingdom in the North could hire those pirates for a moon or two, not longer. Surely not till the war ends.”  
“And the end is nowhere near, as you’ve said, my lord.”  
Wyman nodded: “Wildlings have burned the Queenscrown, the lake tower, then came at the Southrons by the Last River, them and krakens.  
Southrons prevailed, they’ve retaken the Queenscrown, not that ruin will be of much use… now the southern horse and foot are at Brandon’s Gift, claiming the land for Her Grace.”  
“For Sansa or for themselves?” Arya asked.  
“One never knows with such men, my princess.”  
“Sansa should know. She should know better.” Arya said with anger.  
Wyman remained silent. “You disagree, Lord Manderly?” she asked the old man.  
“At times of war, to question the decisions and acts of your queen is treason, Princess Arya.” he replied dryly.  
“Providing good advice to your ruler is never a treason, my lord. Did no one among the great lords of the North advised Sansa what is wise and what is unwise?”  
Wyman took a deep breath: “I tried, some other too, but she listens only to young lord Karstark.”  
Arya frowned: “I do not know him…he must have been only a boy when I left Westeros.”  
“He is twenty years old, grandson of Arnolf Karstark who were castellan to his cousin, Rickard.  
Young and ambitious man, this war for him is only one more way to get what he wants. A crown on his head.” Wyman said with bitter tone.  
“He wants to marry my sister? To be king consort?” Arya wondered. 

“Aye, that is what he wants. And… forgive me for saying this, Princess, he performs some husbandly duties already. Our Queen does not even try to hide it anymore.”  
_For fuck sake, Sansa…_flashed in Arya’s mind…_did bedding the younger man made you lose your wits… _  
“My lord, did this lord Karstark advised my sister to go after the lands of the Gift and those north of the Wall?” she asked.  
"No, Princess, Her Grace has declared it at Queen’s Council, it will be one year from it soon. She spoke of new lands that are waiting to be taken for the Kingdom of the North. When Hugo Wull and I spoke against that, she rebutted us. And then to prove to Wull that pacts made before the old gods bear no weight in the matter, she mentioned that once she gave false oath before in godswood of Winterfell for good of all Westeros. House Manderly follows the Seven, but I can tell you, my princess, when she mocked the old gods like that, it did not fall well with many of the lords present.” 

_It is worse than I thought, _ she said to herself, shaking her head.  
“My sister does not say lies, Lord Wyman, truly she hasn’t kept an oath given before the weirwood tree once.  
Was it for the good of all Westeros…I still believe it was, but I gave the same oath and I have kept it. Till there was no need to keep it.”  
Old man looked at Arya approvingly: “It was unwise from your sister to speak of false oaths, many lords of the North hold the faith in the old gods firmly.  
Still, Elric Karstark supported our Queen that day, much to her surprise and surprise of whole Queen’s Council, he swayed most of lords and ladies to the cause of New North.  
It seemed then that New North shall be achieved swiftly and victoriously. I dare to say, many of them now think otherwise. North is weary of wars, Princess.”  
Arya agreed: “This war needed not to happen. Free Folk were our allies against the Night King… and against the Boltons before that.”  
“They were… that is why they claim North has betrayed them. And now too many are warring…us, wildlings, krakens, Southrons, sellsails…” 

She nodded to these words, staring absently at the map on the wall, above Wyman’s head. Then he asked: “Do you plan to go to Winterfell, my princess?”  
“To see my sister? It seems not only proper but necessary.”  
“Mayhaps she will listen to your advice, mayhaps you can persuade her that ending this war would be wisest thing to do.” he said with hopeful tone.  
“My lord Wyman, I would not cling to that hope, oft Queen Sansa and I were looking at certain things with different eyes.” Arya replied sincerely.  
“As soon as tomorrow, the Queen will know of you being at White Harbor. I am obliged to inform her of your arrival.  
She will expect you to leave for Winterfell in next two or three days. Any delay Her Grace could see as disrespect.  
You are her sister, but she is the Queen in the North.  
I know that you understand this, Princess Arya.”  
She made a slight nod: “All too well, my lord.”  
“When you are ready to ride to Winterfell, I shall provide you an escort, two scores of heavy horse. There were no sightings of foes between here and Winterfell, but I am not placing you at any risk, princess. You have to cross over one hundred leagues.”  
“Thank you, my lord. I shall depart overmorrow, to be at Winterfell on the twelfth day from today.”  
Arya parted with her host and returned to the port, to her ship.  
She was offered chambers in the New Castle but she declined, as her stay in White Harbor will not be long, as it seemed. 

_Winterfell, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest _

She walked between the pillars, feeling the chill of the underground. It was always cold down here.  
Her footsteps rang off the stones and echoed in the vault overhead as she walked among the dead of House Stark.  
The Lords of Winterfell watched her pass. Their likenesses were carved into the stones that sealed the tombs.  
In long rows they sat, blind eyes staring out into eternal darkness, while great stone direwolves curled round their feet.

Every man buried here who once was the Lord of Winterfell had an iron longsword placed across his lap.  
It was said that keeps the vengeful spirits in their crypts. Many of those iron swords rusted away to nothing long ago.  
Those were the first Lords of Winterfell, men hard as the land they ruled.  
She stopped at last and lifted the oil lantern.  
The crypt continued on into darkness ahead of her, but beyond this point the tombs were empty and unsealed; black holes waiting for the new Stark dead, waiting for her and her sister and those yet to be born.  
Before her were the tombs of her brother Rickon and her father Eddard, his statue carved standing up, holding a greatsword Ice.  
She stood there and cried for a while, cried for her father and Rickon who were resting with their forefathers and for her mother and Robb whose bones were never brought to these crypts. 

_Lone wolf dies, pack survives… _she remembered her father’s words.  
_We are no longer a pack… we’re all lone wolves now. Me, Sansa, Bran… if there is anything left of my little brother. _

Not far from her father’s statue, was one of his father Rickard, sitting with quiet dignity, sword across his lap.  
In two smaller sepulchres on either side were his children.  
Her uncle Brandon had been twenty when he died, strangled by order of the Mad King Aerys Targaryen.  
Lord Rickard had been forced to watch him die as he was dying himself, burning in his armor.  
Her aunt Lyanna, a young woman of surpassing loveliness, had only been seventeen when she died, in birthing bed far away from here, far south in the Red Mountains of Dorne; died giving birth to her boy child. Every time Arya would have stood before her aunt’s statue, she felt sadness, for her dying so young after being taken from her family, after being raped… that was the account of what happened to Lyanna Stark. Until the truth was found out.  
She died as beloved wife of Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, giving life to the last male heir of the house of dragonlords.  
Arya felt no sadness now as she placed the candle at the feet of the statue  
Before that, she put her hand on her aunt’s extended stone arm and said softly: “Your child lives. Your grandchildren live. A great line has come from you, aunt.”  
That very moment she thought of her nieces.  
_I shall bring them here one day. To see the resting place of their grandmother.  
She lives in both of them now. _

It was ten days of ride from White Harbor to Winterfell.  
Arya took with her Devan Lantell, Illeo Maegyr and a dozen sailors whose families were now in Winter Town, taken refuge there from Ironborn raids on the both shores of the Northern kingdom. Rest of the crew remained at White Harbor. As he said, Lord Manderly gave her an escort of forty mounted men in heavy armor led by two knights.  
As they rode through the Winter Town, Arya could see how it has grown, into a proper town, with squares and streets and stone houses and buildings.  
_I’ve been away for too long, she thought, fruits of my sister’s rule are here. _  
She could tell that many thousands of people now live in Winter Town. 

Fruits of her sister’s able rule were there, it would not take long before number of Winter Town dwellers caught up with White Harbor.  
It would not, had the ten years of peace lasted on, for Arya’s eyes saw the bitter fruits of the war as well.  
On the outskirts of the Winter Town there were tents and shacks, refugees from all over North came to seek shelter at the capital. She could see scores of women and children and old men around these makeshift homes. Some had little cookfires going.  
Arya knew all too well that some will turn to begging and stealing to survive and many young girl will start selling herself to men for she could see scores of soldiers too; some wearing Stark direwolf, some sigils of other Northern houses and some were clearly Southrons, passing by on their way north, to the battlefields of the Gift, all seeking comfort of meat, ale and firm woman’s flesh. How soon before maladies struck these poor people… and it was the fate of all refugee camps that Arya saw in her life.  
When they entered the Winterfell, she dismounted first, looking around herself. Place was crowded and she hated crowds since she was old enough to hate anything.  
Her eyes noted that both First Keep and Broken Tower were in good use now. Then she went into the crypts. 

She was still standing before Lyanna Stark’s statue when she heard footsteps. Arya need not to look who was it, she only said:  
“Do I have to call you Your Grace now and bend the knee?”  
Very next moment the reply came: “Yes.” 

Arya now turned to her left, there she was, the Queen in the North, her sister Sansa, dressed in ankle-cut black dress and sleeveless leather jerkin of grey coating over a white shirt with direwolf silver pin on the left side of her chest. Her hair was shorter than Arya remembered, still she wore it in the Northern style, leaving most of it loose, while in the back it was braided and bunched together.  
They both stood there for a heartbeat and then rushed to embrace.  
Arya’s arms wrapped around her sister with a firm grip just as Sansa’s around her and they stood like it for a while.  
When they parted, the Queen said: "You should not have run from the courtyard.”  
“I didn’t. I went here, to pay my respects. More than eleven years have passed since I’ve been down here.” 

Sansa nodded and then her gaze went at the statue Arya stood in front of.  
“Aunt Lyanna…” a sigh came from the Queen and then she said with tone of disillusion “…he lost her life for trusting a dragon. And you’ve been playing with yours, Arya.  
For the same reason. At least that is what you’re accused of.”  
She looked at her sister with a frown. Arya knew that Tyrion or the King of Six Kingdoms himself must have warned Sansa of her treason.  
It was nothing unexpected, one should assume that Arya Stark could seek shelter at the court of her royal sister.  
_A wrong assumption, I don’t intend to stay here. _  
“The word of my treason came to you as well, then?” she asked.  
“It has. I refuse to believe it, Arya. It sounds like madness, that what they accuse you of.” “What part?”  
“Everything!” Sansa said loudly “They claim that you have sided with House Targaryen against the Six Kingdoms… is that some kind of a jest?  
House Targaryen… She is dead, long dead. And the only one remaining of that blood is… for years no one has seen or heard of Jon.”  
Arya looked at the Northern queen, her face saying how wrong she was.  
“Arya?” Sansa’s tone has changed “Do you have something to tell me?”  
“I do. But not here. Not before our dead. Let us not disturb their peace.”  
“All right. We shall go to my chambers in the Great Keep.” Sansa told her. 

They sat in the Queen’s Chamber, at the small octagonal table, made of oak tree as were the four padded chairs around it.  
It wasn’t a large room, there was a hearth close to the entrance door, right opposite to the window which gave light to the chamber.  
Next to the window was a small cabinet containing books and parchments and one more cabinet, exactly the same, on the other side of the room, beneath the large map of the Kingdom of the North. From the ceiling, right above the table, hang an iron chandelier, candles were not yet lit, it was only past midday. 

Arya was sitting calmly while her sister paced around the room, agitated and angry. Sansa grabbed the back of the chair:  
“What were you thinking, Arya?! What?! Have you lost your senses on the sea?”  
Queen in the North looked at her younger sister with eyes that spoke of betrayal.  
“You, you of all people have helped the Mad Queen!  
You have delivered Jon to her! Were you under the same spell that brought her back to life? You had a chance to kill her once and for all! Instead you gave her our brother!”  
“Our brother is now happier than he ever was.” Arya replied calmly “With his family.”  
“We are his family! You, me and Bran! Not that madwoman!”  
“That madwoman gave birth to his daughters. Our nieces. And now he is with them, his children.”  
“Nieces? I am no dragonspawn aunt! Neither are you.” Sansa hissed. 

Arya looked at her angrily: “But I am. I am aunt of Lyanna and Rhaella Targaryen. And I am proud to be their aunt.”  
“You see, you see how she has named one of them, Lyanna… to mock Jon. No dragon bastard is worthy of bearing the name of our father’s sister.”  
Hearing this, Arya stood from her chair: “My niece Lyanna is not a dragon bastard. She looks more as Stark than you do.”  
“You shall not speak to me with that tone. I am your sister, but I am also your Queen.”  
“Then act like one.” Arya replied “Yes, all that I’ve told you is truth. I went for Jon north of the Wall to take him to Meereen.  
He now lives there with his family; he lives a life he deserves. And he cares not of Westeros anymore. Should I have left him in that forest, to die half-mad and alone?”  
“His place is not with her! She is a mad tyrant! I don’t care how many children she has with him.”  
“Two, for now.” Arya smirked “Soon it’ll be three. And if it’s a boy, his name will be Cregan.”  
Sansa gazed at her; eyes wide: “Cregan? Cregan Targaryen… she mocks us, don’t you see? She mocks House Stark by giving our names to… to these mongrels!”  
“Do not call Jon’s children mongrels!” Arya nearly shouted “Our father, remember him? He sheltered a mongrel for sixteen years, that mongrel was Jon!  
Seven hells, Sansa, what has happened to you?!” 

Her sister straightened up and spoke with utmost seriousness:  
“What has happened to me, Arya, is that I had to rule the North, alone, with no one of my family at my side. You left to search for what is west of Westeros and Jon… Jon escaped north of the Wall the moment he had a chance. I would have pardoned him for killing the Mad Queen, he could have been here now, he could have ruled with me.  
I was alone, the only Stark at Winterfell, surrounded with people of doubtful loyalty and I have ruled for ten years, ten good years.  
The North has thrived under me, Arya. I have achieved things of which Jon and Robb and our father could only dream of.  
And I will achieve much, much more. To do that, I have no room in my mind or my heart for the things that you obviously do.” 

“Room for family? For loyalty to your own blood?” Arya countered “I share blood with Jon’s daughters and I have shed my blood to save them from Imp and that creature which has overtaken our brother’s body. And I would do it all over again if I had to. Because those mongrels as you call them, I love them the same as I love their father.”  
“And that is why you would never make a good ruler.” Sansa replied with cold voice.  
“It does not matter. I never wanted to rule over anyone.” Arya shrugged and then said, with defiant tone:  
“But my father was a good ruler, all of North loved him and I know for certain that Eddard of House Stark would never risk a war to gain more land, that he would never break old pacts before counselling with those he made the pacts with. You did just that. You are smart, dear sister, mayhaps the smartest person I know, but even the smartest among us should listen to counsels. You have not.”  
Sansa’s face changed to pure anger: “One kingdom has already accused you of treason.  
What you’ve just said gives me enough reason to treat you as a traitor of Kingdom of the North as well.”  
Arya shrugged again: “My father was beheaded falsely accused as a traitor. If my fate is to follow his footsteps, so be it.”  
“Do not insult the memory of our father!” Sansa nearly yelled.  
“I don’t need to. Since we came to this room, all that you’ve done was insulting his memory.” dark-haired Stark replied to her sister. 

Arya could restrain herself; Sansa was her sister but she was also her queen, with power to have her locked in the dungeons or kennels of Winterfell, but Arya did not want to.  
She loved Jon more than Sansa, ever since they were children, and she was not ready to quietly listen the contempt her sister has shown for Jon’s daughters.  
She could not believe that Sansa was able to feel such hate for little children. _Years of ruling have hardened her heart, _ Arya thought looking at the Queen,_ she truly is a lone wolf now, no matter how many men or women she has around her. _

A few moments passed in silence, then Queen in the North asked:  
“Why are you here, Arya?” She felt the coldness of those words.  
“My ships are at White Harbor. You are my sister and my Queen; it was proper of me to come here.”  
“Yes, it was proper of you to come and we have met as sisters but you have failed to meet me as your Queen. You have not only confirmed that you acted in favor of Daenerys Targaryen, madwoman that was returned to life by same sorcery Jon was, but you have said that you’d do it again. I should be thankful, actually, for this visit.”  
Sansa grinned at her. “And why is that?” Arya asked.  
“I have no husband or heir yet. And as my sister and trueborn child of Ned Stark you were the most fitting choice for an heir to the Kingdom of the North.  
Till I have children of my own. Most fitting until today, Arya. I had my doubts about you and sadly you have confirmed them all.  
You have betrayed your true family, Bran and me, and embraced dragonspawn as your kin. I cannot risk that Northern crown ends in your hands.”  
“I have never wanted to be a lady, Sansa, why do you think I would ever be interested to be the Queen in the North?” Arya asked  
Then she added: “And yes, if Jon is dragonspawn, he is also a wolfspawn and his daughters are wolfspawn as well. That makes them my family.  
And yours, no matter whether you like it or not. Choose whomever you want to be your heir. I’ll never claim the rule over North.”  
“Then, what are your plans?” Sansa asked.  
“To sail around entire northern Essos, to go as far from Westeros as I can...” Arya replied “…well, unless you decide to send me to King’s Landing in chains, then I’ll have to delay that voyage.”  
Sansa shook her head: “Do you really think I would do that to you? Send you to Tyrion? For you to be put before trial in the Red Keep?  
You’re Stark of Winterfell and sister of the Queen in the North. If anyone is to be your judge, that will be me.”  
Arya nodded, then she looked straight in her sister’s eyes: “Am I to be judged by you, my Queen?”  
Sansa shook her head again and sighed: “No, my lady, you will not be judged by me or anyone else. You are my sister and I love you.  
No matter how wrong and even dangerous your choices may be, I will never stop loving you. It is… we’re just too different, Arya. We’ve always been.” 

She looked at her sister, her eyes were now watery… then she stepped closer to Sansa and hugged her, Arya could tell it surprised the Queen in the North: “Yes, Sansa, we have always been, ever since little children. You are my big sister. I will love you till my last day.  
And you know very well that I would never do anything that would harm you, I would never side with your enemies. But I have more family in this world that I love and you don’t want to know of that family… as you’ve said, we are different.”  
Sansa nodded as her eyes were filled with tears as well: “You can stay in Winterfell as long as you wish. This is your home.”  
“It is my home but it is the capital of your kingdom now. I don’t want for Six Kingdoms to accuse you of sheltering enemies of the Realm…”  
Sansa almost chuckled.  
“I am going back to White Harbor, Sansa. And from there I’ll sail to Essos as soon as I can.”  
“You don’t have to leave right away…I could come to White Harbour, to be with you some more…”  
Arya smiled at her sister: “For us to quarrel some more? Better not… I am a wandering wolf. No place can hold me for long.” “Yes… that is true.”  
“I wish you good fortune in the war you’re fighting, Your Grace.” _You’re going to need it, Sansa. _

Arya Stark rode out from the castle of her forefathers two hours later.  
Winterfell was still home where her sister lived, but not the place where her ruler was.  
She could embrace Sansa Stark, but she could not embrace the Queen in the North.  
Not with her cold ambition and ruthlessness. 


	41. LYANNA

_Meereen, Essos, year 316 After Conquest_

**LYANNA**

She dreamed of the white wolf again, last night.  
She had dreamt of him before, when she did not know her aunt, when she did not yet lay eyes on her father, she dreamt of the huge wolf with eyes red as rubies.  
Those dreams were of woods and mountains, of pine and oak forests, where she ran side by side with the wolf, going after deer and moose, chasing away bears and shadowcats.  
She felt free in those dreams, seeing such lands she could never see when awake, running with white wolf seemed as floating above ground to her.  
Wolf and her were close, as they were one. In those dreams he would go where she wanted and she followed the wolf when she sensed that is what white beast wants. 

That day when she met him, the great direwolf called Ghost, she knew it was him. And the wolf, that could rip the horse apart, let her approach him and place her hand on his head.  
Lyanna felt the bond, it was not strong nor did it overtake her, but it was there. Strong enough to cause her pain when wolf was left behind as they flew on Drogon from north of the Wall to Meereen with her father.  
She wanted to take Ghost with them, he was the wolf from her dreams, but her aunt and later her father told that Ghost was of the true North and he would only grieve in Essos. Wolf was almost twice as old as she were.  
No one could tell her how long direwolves live, surely not as long as dragons, for decades and centuries, but as dragons they thrive when free.  
She cried bitterly when it was time to fly to Essos, hugging that large animal, her tears soaked the white fur and she whispered words in his ear, one that was whole: "I will never forget you…" hoping that he will not forget her either.  
Her aunt told her that Ghost will stay with one of the Free Folk leaders, a red-haired man, friend of her father.  
For some time, she had no wolf dreams and that make her sad. _He should be with us, here, he is my father’s direwolf, he belonged with him. And with me. _

Dreams have returned, half a moon ago she dreamed of Ghost again. These dreams were different, they were savage and colored in crimson.  
This night she was not running beside the wolf anymore; she was a wolf, powerful and large, prowling the unknown fields from the forest. Prowling for men on horses.  
When she would leap onto them, smell of fear from man and horse would fill will her nose. Behind her, the men on foot followed, dressed in animal hide, with spears and axes, boldened by her presence, as she charged on the rider and his grey palfrey,  
bringing both the horse and the man on the ground, man wearing plate armour with green overcoat displaying two-headed horse. She tore the throat from the rider, leaving the fear maddened palfrey to get back on its legs and gallop away.  
Lyanna woke up, her breaths were deep, and sense of fear and anger lingered for some time. Ghost is killing evil men; she would say to herself, not knowing if that was true or not, but she believed that white old direwolf would not harm an innocent. 

That morning she break fast with her sister and mother. Lemon and lime juice, pomegranates, fried bread, sausages, apple cakes, and a double helping of eggs cooked with onions and peppers.  
They ate in silence, Rhaella had her books ready, as that morning it was time for their lessons. Reading from thick books on High Valyrian or Common Tongue, writing stories or poetry, then arithmetic, history and studying the maps of the Known World. 

Her sister was more eager learner than her, she knew that, though Lyanna did not fall behind, her mind was simply wandering away from the lines or words written on paper, wandering to open plains of the Dothraki Sea, she’d think of charging her horse with sword or bow in her hand, other time she would see herself in a swordfight with three or four men, defeating each one as her Stark aunt could.  
Last few days she would try to recall her dreams, the clashes in thick woods between heavy armored men in clothes of vivid colors riding with lances and men in furs with spears and axes.  
That seemed more real to her than book of Valyrian poetry she had to look at. Lyanna prayed to all gods she knew that she would never have to recite any of it to amuse her guests as it was expected of highborn ladies. 

She wanted to be like her aunt, like Arya. And like her grandmother, her namesake, the She-Wolf, first Lyanna. She knew Lyanna Stark was called centaur, that good in the saddle she was.  
_ I wish I could have known her…she would understand me, like Arya does. _

“Lady Lyanna, do you know the answer?” voice of the teacher, Mallaro Deeth, ended her daydreaming.  
This tall, brown skinned man, served as hers and Rhaella’s teacher since they were five years old, when they came to live in Port Yhos.  
Her mother sent for him as House Targaryen made Meereen their residence and he continued to teach the twin sisters.  
Mallaro, though raised as a Qartheen, was of Basilisk Isles which he had no memory of.  
Some other from their household in Yhos claimed Mallaro to be descending from corsairs or pirates whose many lairs can be found at those islands, going back for centuries.  
If that was even true, he had no traits of his forefathers left, he was a teacher, fluent in many languages and rich with knowledge of history, geography and arithmetic.  
His cold, stern stance when lecturing was only mislikeable trait on this man.  
“Well? How many islands in Summer Isles are there?” “Fifty, teacher.” she replied.  
“Fifty exactly or around fifty or more than fifty?” “More than fifty.” Lyana answered though a skilled ear could hear slight uncertainty in her voice.  
“And you could name the largest islands?” “I could.” “Then, please, do so.” Mallaro said.  
“Isle of Birds, Isle of Women, Isle of Love…Singing stones...Three Exiles, Doquu…” she stopped, frowning. “And that, my dear girl, is not even half of them. Can you remember any other?”  
“Forgive me, teacher, but I cannot.”  
“Lady Rhaella?”  
Her sister, ever attentive, nearly sang the answer with cheerful tone: “The rest of largest Summer Isles are Bones, Jhala, Koj, Lizard Head, Moluu, Omboru, Walano and Xon.” Tall Qartheen teacher nodded, pleased: “Well done, my lady.”  
Then he turned to Lyanna: “I expect of you for our next lesson on the Known World to be able to share knowledge about all eight of those large islands you could not remember.” “Yes, teacher.” she said, displeased.

She could never be angry with her twin sister for being more devoted to learning than her. They were twins, in many was same, but in more ways different. Not only by looks. 

“Lya, Rhae, we shall have a guest in our home, a young lord from the Kingdom of the North in Westeros.” her mother told them during supper  
“He has been through a lot of misfortune and is close to your age, you will be his hosts. You can befriend him if you found him agreeable. His name is Hallis of House Hornwood.”  
She chuckled: “Ha ha, the lord Barearse that Rhae fished out of Skahazadhan, he is our guest.”  
“Yes, Lyanna, and what you have just said is exactly what you shall not be saying while he stays in this pyramid.” “I only said what is true, Muña.”  
“No, tala, you’re making mockery of what happened for your amusement. You’ve passed your eleventh nameday, Lya, five years more and you’ll be a woman grown. Mayhaps it is time to let childish things behind you.”  
voice of her mother was serious and warning. “Yes, mother.” she said obediently.

She was at the ground level of the pyramid, practicing the water dance, a style of swordplay her aunt taught her and Arya learned it being younger than Lya was now from the once First Sword of Braavos.  
The water dance was named after the custom of Braavosi swordsmen to duel upon the Moon Pool near the Sealord's Palace in Braavos. It was said that true water dancers can fight without disrupting the water's surface.  
Water dance swordplay required speed, balance and grace for which a slender, pointed blade, far lighter than Westerosi longswords, was required. The Needle, a gift of Arya Stark, was perfect sword for it.  
Lyanna moved gracefully, slashing the air with her thin blade.  
She was barefoot, in grey trousers and white shirt over which she donned sleeveless tunic of black colour with red tree-headed dragon on the chest. Her leather necklace with Stark pendant was always around her neck. 

She saw four riders coming, three were grown men in the robes of City Guard and one was a boy, dressed in black trousers and shirt with pale orange overcoat. _Someone did him a favor_, she concluded,_ vesturing him in the colors of his house_.  
Lyanna continued her practice, not giving much attention to the newcomers to which she had her back now. They have dismounted and walked towards the entrance to the pyramid.  
As she turned on her heel and faced the guardsmen and the boy, he was looking at the pyramid, his gaze going to its top in wonder.  
He has never stood so close to such building before, the black stone blocks left him in awe, or mayhaps it was for the black dragon banners waving on every floor of it.  
“Riña Līāna, nyke jaelagon ao sȳz tubis, emi maghatan ābrītsos āeksio Hallis naejot Targārien dōror” said the leader of the guards upon seeing her. (_Lady Lyanna, I wish you a good day, we have brought young lord Hallis to Targaryen pyramid._)  
She nodded in courtesy: “Nyke ūndegon.” (_I see._)  
Then she addressed the young Northerner: “As a young lord, you should greet a young lady properly. Mayhaps I do not strike you as a lady, but I am.”  
He blushed hearing those words and hastily paced to her: “My lady, forgive my manners, I… I’ve never seen a pyramid before.”  
He bowed and wanted to kiss her hand but she gestured him not to. “My lord, I wish you welcome to the seat of House Targaryen of Meereen.”  
He looked at her, she could tell he was confused: “My lady, I was… I was taught that Targaryens were gone from this world… seems I wasn’t told the truth.”  
“You weren’t …” she said and then asked: “Is there something on my face for you to be looking at it so?”  
“Oh… I didn’t want… your hair is dark…” “So, what of it?” “Targaryens were of silver hair.” he said cautiously.  
“True, most of us were. But not all. Don’t you see the pendant I wear?” “I do, my lady.”  
“My grandmother was lady Lyanna of House Stark. I take after her.”  
He was surprised with what she said and then gave her a slight smile: “My lady, yes, you have the Northern beauty.”  
She responded dryly: “I thank you for those words. Go now, my lord, they are awaiting you on the uppermost floor.”  
He bowed to her again and left, accompanied with leader of the guardsmen.  
_Yes, Lyanna Stark was beautiful, but there was iron underneath that beauty. And I shall be her granddaughter not only by looks. _

She saw him again at the supper.  
Her parents sat at the head of the table, Rhaella and she on the right side of the table and Hallis on the left. She, as her sister, wore a black short sleeve tunic with red embroidery around her collar depicting dragon scales.  
Daenerys had similar ankle cut loose dress while her father wore black trousers, white shirt and grey overcoat with dragon and wolf heads stitched across the chest.  
Lyanna could tell that Hallis has learned of her mother only today, she needed not to look for too long at him to see how these revelations have left an impression.  
Young Northerner smiled politely at Rhaella, her arrows were his first welcome to Meereen and Lyanna almost chuckled again at thought of lord Barearse sitting across the table.

Supper was a plate of roasted goat served on a bed of sliced onions. The meat was spiced and fragrant, charred outside and red and juicy within. Young lord finished his meal first.  
“Lord Hallis, I am glad to see that Meereen agrees with you…” her father said “…you’ve put some meat on those bones of yours since the last time I saw you. I guess pirates and slave traders do not feed their captives more than needed.”  
“No, my lord, they do not. Nor do the Ironborn.” Rhaella asked: “Were you captive of the Ironborn too?” “I was, my lady, first I was their captive. They raid and plunder the North now.”  
Lyanna saw the grim look on her father’s face. “But why?” Rhaella asked.  
“The Kraken is warring against the North together with the Thenn.” Hallis replied, his voice ringing with disgust.  
She saw the smirk on her mother’s face, Lyanna could swear that Muña liked what the boy just said. “What is Thenn?” her sister asked.  
“Rhae, one of the peoples among the Free Folk are Thenns, but not all of the Free Folk, it’s a name of mockery, as one would say that all of Essosi are Volantene or Dothraki or all of Westerosi to be Valemen.” her father explained. 

“Kraken and Thenn… they say it because it slides off the tongue nicely.” Lyanna added “They hate the Free Folk same as they do the Ironborn.”  
Hallis looked at her: “We cannot love them, lady Lyanna, not after them taking arms against the North again.”  
“Again? They fought with you once, against the Boltons and against the army of the dead… my father was there and my aunt Arya. The Free Folk were your allies.” she replied.  
“Aye, they were and then they’ve become our enemies again, for they went back to their old way, raiding, stealing and killing.”  
“That is not true!” she said aloud. “Lyanna…” her mother said with warning tone “…do not raise your voice at our guest.”  
“The Northerners started it, mama, they went north of the Wall to take the land from the Free Folk.” she said to her mother.  
“It is not so…” Hallis countered “…the North wanted for Free Folk to live as we do, to be one land and one people with us.”  
“You wanted them dead! Your soldiers were hunting women and children like animals because your queen ordered them to.” Lyanna replied, she was loud again.  
“Queen Sansa never gave such order, nor did lord Karstark who commands the Northern soldiers.” young Hornwood said with certainty. 

“Liar! Liar!” she rose up from the table “I saw it, at Antler River, those were Karstark men who cut down a mother of two babes, they would’ve butchered the babes too, but we have killed them first, me, Rhaella and aunt Arya.  
You weren’t there, I was! Your queen is an oathbreaker! She stole land from the Free Folk!”  
“Lyanna!” Daenerys yelled at her “Apologise to lord Hallis for calling him a liar, now!” “I will not! One who speaks falsehoods is a liar.” she insisted.  
Her sister said to her mother: “It is true, mama, what Lya says, the Northerners were hunting a wildling family like they’re beasts… I took one down with my bow, Lya killed the other. And aunt Arya fought the third in a swordfight and won.” 

She could see that both Papa and Muña were surprised hearing this.  
And Hallis looked at twins in disbelief. Antler River to him was as distant as Asshai, he was never supposed to see either of those places. 

Jon sighed and then said with calm voice: “Lady Lyanna, Lady Rhaella, you may retire to your chambers now. Your mother and I will stay with our guest for we wish to speak with him more. In the morrow you, Lyanna, will apologise to Lord Hallis.  
Whatever crimes some of the Northerners may have done against the Free Folk, he is not to blame. He is only a boy. And you’re only a girl.” 

She and her twin paced quickly from the terrace, each to her room. Lyanna could see the discomfort on the face of young Northerner.  
She hated him at that moment, for being a liar and speaking in favor of the evil men who served their queen by killing helpless wildlings. 

That night a wolf dream came to her again. She tossed and turned in her bed. She dreamt of men on horses wearing armor and cloaks in all kinds of colors, they charged across the field and ground swallowed many of them.  
There were other men, in leather and hides, with long spears and thick shields, she saw horses impaled on those spears shrieking as demons, men were killing each other with swords and axes and maces, there was mud and heavy rain and blood everywhere…a sense of dread overwhelmed her and she woke up, her body was covered in sweat.  
Lyanna left her bed and walked out on the terrace, she took of her nightgown and went into the water pool.  
She was swimming for a while, even dived couple of times, cold water felt good on her skin, cooling her. She walked out of the pool and dried herself, there were always towels ready at the terrace. Lyanna leaned at the terrace wall, holding towel in her hand. 

Then she heard footsteps and wrapped herself in it, to cover her nakedness, she knew father disapproved of her being in nameday suit on the terrace, though she did not understand why, she was not a woman yet and Meereenese children of her age were bare even on the streets. Lyanna turned to see who is it. It was her mother. Daenerys gave her a stern look at first but then smiled and Lyanna went to her, to embrace her Muña.  
“Mama…” “Lya, why are you not sleeping…you were in the pool, two hours have passed since midnight…this night is not so warm.”  
“I had a dream and it has troubled me greatly.” Daenerys caressed her hair: “It was only a dream, Lya…”  
“Muña, my dreams seem so real. Whenever I dream of Papa’s wolf, of Ghost, it seems as true.”  
Even by the dim light of the torches that were placed on the terrace, she could see that her mother was concerned:  
“You dream of Ghost? What do you mean, dōna tala?”  
“I dream of Ghost…sometimes I am with him, sometimes I am Ghost, I see all around me with his eyes.”  
Daenerys sat at the stone bench and Lyanna sat next to her, placing her head in mother’s lap. “What do you see when you dream to be Ghost, Lya?”  
“Death, mama, I see death most of all… sometimes it is Ghost who is killing men and their horses, but this night I have seen a battle… I don’t know where and when it was, but I was frightened. And I don’t frighten oft.” 

Lyanna heard how her mother sighed: “My sweet…I pray it was only a dream. But our family had those with visions of things that were yet to come. I had visions too, Lya, some more clear, some unclear.  
And many of our ancestors had them, the dragon dreams… you know the story of Daenys the Dreamer, she had a vision of Doom of Valyria and our family left the Freehold to Dragonstone. Twelve years later, her visions came true.  
My sweet daughter, dragon dreams may come to you. Fear not when they come, no matter how much terror you see in them, you have me and your father to tell us of your dreams and to cry when they frighten you or sadden you.”  
Lyanna rose from Daenerys’ lap and nodded, she was calmer now. 

Then her mother said: “Lya, I must tell you this as well. You have both dragon and wild wolf temper…soon you’ll be a maiden, you must learn not to act as you did tonight. You must rein your impulses, it is not easy, trust me, I know.  
I know that all too well. But, you must.”  
“That boy lied, mama.” “Ñuha tala, when one does not know the whole truth, is he a liar or just an ignorant? Poor Hallis knows what he’s been told and that is not much. I wish you to make peace with him. And that, my sweet daughter, will not come without apology.” Lyanna frowned: “Muña, yn eman daor pirta zirȳla.” (_Mother, but I have not wronged him._)  
Daenerys replied with seriousness: “Ao gōntan. Se ēza botagon rōvēgrie syt iā valītsos hen zȳhon jēdri. Sagon zȳhon raqiros. Ao se Rhaella. Iksin nyke epagon tolī olvie?” (_You did. He has suffered a lot for a boy of his age. I want you to be his friend. You and Rhaella. Am I asking too much?_)  
“Daor, mama, kesan gaomagon hae ao epagon.” she obeyed. (_No, mama, I will do as you ask._) 

Hallis, a boy of twelve, was sold and resold as a slave and Lyanna knew her mother loathed slavery more than anything in this world. She kissed Daenerys on the cheek and went back to her chamber. Soon she fell asleep but she did not dream.

It was late morning when she came to the kitchen to break fast. Her father was already gone, to one of City Guard barracks and her mother was in her solar, conducting her affairs.  
Though heavy with child, Daenerys worked every day, receiving reports from merchants and caravan traders and sending messages to all sides of Essos.  
Lyanna heard Muña and Mallaro Deeth talking about the Iron Bank of Braavos, they did so oft lately, but mind of an eleven-year-old girl cannot grasp the meaning of those talks.  
She asked one of Ghiscari handmaidens where is her sister and learned that Rhaella and Hallis went to Archery Range. 

_I hope she won’t hit lord Barearse in his arse… _ Lyanna chuckled at this thought.  
Till noon she was reading about those eight large Summer Islands she could not remember of during last lesson of the Known World.  
She went back to the kitchen where she was given sausage and boiled eggs, to take the edge off her hunger, she would dine with the rest of her family much later.  
Lyanna then went swimming in the pool, she was alone on this floor of the pyramid and did not bother to cover herself but lied on the warm tiles, letting the sun to dry her.  
An hour or so passed, when she had enough of sunrays browning her skin, she went to her chamber, donned underclothes, white shirt and grey trousers, she took two wooden swords, blades thin as Needle was, and stepped out on the terrace to practice.  
She wanted to wield two swords, like the greatest swordsmen did, but it was not easy, Arya told Lyanna not to do that before making her other hand just as good as her swordhand, but she wanted to try despite her aunt’s counsels.  
_I must look clumsy, _she mused while trying to gracefully dance across the tile floor, slashing the air with her wooden blades, spinning around herself. 

“I’ve never seen a lady wielding two blades.” she heard a voice. A boy. Northern gruff, same as her father and Arya.  
She knew who that was and did not bother to turn to him: “I guess it is not a common sight, east or west.”  
“You’re good at it, lady Lyanna.” Now she turned to face him, his light-brown hair was cut short and his eyes which she could not tell were they brown or dark-green seemed bit blurry to her.  
Same as her, he wore only trousers and shirt, both of dun color. “You don’t have to call me a lady every time you say my name, Hallis. We’re of same age almost. And you don’t have to praise me when praise is not earned. I am not good with two swords.”  
“I saw you with one, yesterday, briefly, I’ve never seen such swordplay.”  
“It’s Braavosi water dance, my aunt Arya Stark taught me.” Boy’s eyes glowed: “You’re niece of Arya Stark. I’ve heard so many stories about her growing up. And about your father. I’ve never dreamed that I will meet him. And in Meereen of all places.”  
She smiled at him: “I believe you’ve never dreamed of being in Meereen.” “No, I did not, that is for sure.”  
“My aunt was here as well, but she left two moons before… before my sister captured you…” she chuckled saying this, but so did he.  
“Aye, she did capture me. We went there today, to shoot from bows. Lady Rhaella is very good archer.”  
“She is… where is my sister, I don’t see her with you?” “Your sister said she has to rest for a while.”  
“And you’re not tired after archery?”  
“Mayhaps I am but all this is new and strange for me, I’d like to see as much of Meereen as I can before going back home.” he said with tone of excitement.  
“When will that be?” Lyanna asked. “First, my family must learn that I am alive and here, then your lord father and lady mother will decide how shall I travel to Westeros. Lady Daenerys said it would be wisest to travel by land to Braavos and from there it’s a shortest voyage across the sea to the White Harbor. Your mother has been very kind to me. And your father, too.  
He is of Stark blood, as you are. There are bonds between our families thousands of years old.” 

When he said that, his eyes were upon her and she saw warmth in them.“I was not kind to you last night, Hallis.” she said.  
“No, you were not, Lyanna.” This was first time he did not call her a lady and she liked it.  
“If you’re not tired and you can spare an hour or so, practice with me.”  
“You want me to do swordplay with you?” he said, surprised.  
“Does young lord Hornwood think it is beneath him to cross wooden swords with a girl?” “I surely do not!” he said loudly and started to take off his linen boots. She laughed: “What are you doing?”  
“You’re barefoot so it is right for me to be as well. Now, toss me that thin blade.” 

“Missed me!” Lyanna shouted as she ducked, dodging backwards with content laughter as sword moved half an inch over her belly.  
She was back on her feet, leaping into the air as boy’s sword attempted to slash her legs.  
She held wooden blade over her head at the same time that Hallis used a stone bench on the terrace to leap up, clanging one sword into the other which made both weapons shaking.  
The shaking of her sword made Lyanna to stumble, she ended up on her back with Hallis’ sword pointed at her. He stared down at Lyanna, his face glowing with victory. “Yield,” he demanded.  
She stuck her tongue out and that move was enough for her to get back on her feet out and push him onto his arse. Next she held her wooden sword, pointing it at him: “No, my lord, it is you who should yield."  
_He is angry_, she thought, _for being beaten by a girl_.  
“I shall yield… for now.” He got on his feet and placed the thin wooden sword on the terrace wall, soon hers lied beside it as well. 

“I have enjoyed this greatly, Lyanna.” he said.  
“I did as well, even more than you since you had to yield three times and I only once.” she replied smiling.  
“I told you that you’re good, now you see it was not a false praise.”  
Lyanna’s face was serious now: “I’ve called you a liar. Forgive me.” “I can't.”  
Anger came to her right away: “Why? I want to make peace…”  
“I cannot forgive you since I did not take your words as an offence. Your father is right, Lyanna, we’re still only a boy and a girl. You don’t have to apologise to me. Just promise me that we shall do this again.”  
“Oh, so lord Hallis likes crossing swords with a girl.” she grinned.  
“He does, lady Lyanna.” Northern boy said and then he kissed her on the cheek, making her eyes widen as she did not expect that.  
“Till supper, my lady.” He politely bowed and walked away. 

_Mayhaps he could be my friend,_ dark-haired Targaryen thought contently.


	42. BRONN

_Brandon’s Gift, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest_

**BRONN**

Three-hundred-sixteenth year after Aegon’s conquest has counted eleventh day of its eleventh moon.  
_Ten. I’ve been here for ten bloody moons, _thought repeated itself in his mind.  
When he dwelled more upon it, oft he would think what in the world lasts for ten moons…  
_I’ve been here longer than it needs for a woman to conceive, bear and give birth to a babe. That is how much of my life I had spent here, in the north of the North._  
It was not a place of his choosing.

True, the weather was not as it were in the Reach; or Dorne where he briefly was before coming here, still it was not winter either but autumn which somehow started after ten years of proper summer season.  
Snow was rare and it stayed only on the mountain summits. Everywhere else it was green, the hills, the forests, the meadows. Rain came and went every day.  
So did the sun, but his warmth was tenfold weaker than one in Dorne or Highgarden. Enough still to burn the skin on man’s face, he soon learned. 

He never complained about the food. Fried bread, fried eggs, blood sausages, barley porridge, salt cod, salt beef, hard cheese; on a good day he’d eat a saddle of lamb or salt mutton, goose or quails, all drowned in mulled wine or strong ale.  
Once he tried the sour goat milk that men from north of the Wall carried in their waterskins and regretted for trying it. 

Womenfolk were another matter. He was partial to Dornish girls, their olive skin and soft bodies with plump curves.  
Here only women he encountered were wildlings, brown or red haired, seldom of golden hair, their bodies slim, skin pale, breasts small and arses bony.  
Benefit was that they were willing, modesty and moral codes of the south did not exist here, these women were lured to seasoned warriors as night butterflies to the burning candle, oft he would come into his tent and found disrobed wildling spearwife waiting for a night of lust with Bronn the Black as many have called him due to color of his clothes. He denied none of those women, though sometimes imagined there was a Rhoynish tanned beauty moaning under him instead of red-haired wildling. 

War, only reason why he still lingered in the lands of the Gift, dragged on.  
He recalled the parlay he had with that young man, commander of the Northern host, which took place four moons ago.  
Since that meeting, the Mole’s Town still stood as did the Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, both Northern garrisons besieged and of no much use to their Queen.  
There were no more attempts by wildlings to take either of the two, warring shifted southwards. 

The Ironborn raided, plundered and set to torch both shores of Stark kingdom, including every castle or holdfast they could seize.  
Northerners were unable to guard and defend the very heart of their lands. That was humiliating, for that young lord and his queen of which every living soul north of the Neck knew he was bedding. She resorted to mayhaps only solution she could, being short of men at arms. Foreign help.  
Foreign, since for a decade North and the rest of Westeros were separate countries. 

And that help came. In shape of men who were in search for new life chances, from titles and keeps of their own to farmlands.  
Small lords, hedge knights, freeriders, once sellswords, survivors of many wars that came ever since King Robert Baratheon died…  
hundreds of men went North, lured by these prospects, by tales of vast green lands waiting to be conquered, tales of enemy who is half savage and knows no armor, has no cavalry nor siege weapons. Easy victory in a short war, a dream of every man who lives of the sword.  
Not even the knowledge that sons of kraken, a fierce lot of killers might face them had not discouraged them and why it should?  
Kraken is formidable giant beast of the seas and mere carcass the moment waves wash it ashore. So are the Ironborn in the land battles, that was believed, at least.

Southrons in service of Queen in the North crossed the swords with both wildlings and the Ironborn at the Last River, not only repelling their night attack but soundly defeating them. That victory in the very first battle only encouraged the men from the southern kingdoms to believe that they will trample over northern land with no effort, some already saw themselves watering horses at streams near Hardhome.  
One could hardly blame them for such belief, wildlings were on the run before them, they have vacated the Queenscrown, a Stark banner waved again over the lake tower, albeit it was ruin now and all the flatlands in both the New Gift and the Brandon’s Gift were under grasp of Southron cavalry which ranged the fields in search for the enemy.  
Wildlings retreated further west, into the forests and hills where no hedge knight nor freerider dared to venture. Truth be told, some did, those with small wit and that was the end of them, their dead bodies left to rot in the plate armor or chainmail, their horses taken or killed alongside the rider. 

The new host that fought for the North relieved the Mole’s Town as well, making attacks on it more difficult.  
The place itself could not accommodate the southern horse and foot, but they have made camp not even twenty miles south of the Mole’s Town, enough for the heavy cavalry to descend upon anyone attacking the Stark garrison there.  
It seemed that bringing the Southrons into this war of Kingdom of the North against the _true North_, as wildlings called themselves, was giving first fruits, much to the pleasure of the Queen in Winterfell whose decree calling the warriors from Six Kingdoms to come north was frowned upon by most of her bannermen.  
Some frowned, some were much less mild in questioning that decision.  
_Half-fish, Tully girl, southern mind…_ those were the words that some Northern lords use when talking about their monarch. 

_Northern fuckers. Kneelers and Free Folk alike… _Bronn thought.  
He felt the same distrust from the wildlings. It lessened with time, but it was always there.  
_They hate strangers, _he knew, _no matter if those strangers are here to save their ugly faces and hairy arses, they’ll never like anyone who is not them. _  
He knew Northerners nearly spat in the face of the Dragon Queen and her armies when she came North to fight for them against the White Walkers.  
_Now these fuckers that serve the Starks curse the Southrons and wildlings, curse me and the Ironborn. We’re not the blood of the First Men, we do not pray before those white trees that bleed red sap. Fuck them and this shithole they call home. _

Word came to him that Broken King stripped him of his titles in the Reach.  
He did not care. If this war goes as it should, no decree of that king will matter. And he will have the might of Dorne to support him as the King of the Reach.  
Dorne can even carve a chunk of the Reach, he did not care, as long as he could count on Highgarden and Oldtown.  
A big castle and a large city with just as large port. What more can a kingdom need. Once he strengthens his rule, he’d threw the Dornish out of the Reach.  
That would get him love of the smallfolk. People of the Reach hated the Dornish same as Northerners hated the wildlings.  
_Nothing makes a ruler more popular than killing the ancient foes, _Bronn mused. 

_Before all that, I have these foes to kill, _ he whispered to himself looking at the encampment of Southrons in the lower part of the Brandon’s Gift, few miles west of the Kingsroad. It was not as big as the camp south of the Mole’s Town, still enough to keep the wildlings away from the Kingsroad.  
The lands of the Gift east of the longest road of Westeros were already under Northern sway.  
Not that it mattered much to the Stark Queen, only a handful of villages were there while the shores were at the mercy of the Ironborn.  
For the wildlings to lose the western Gift, would mean that Winterfell had driven them from the lands south of the Wall.  
That would bring the Northern kingdom merely a step from the victory in this war.  
With all the wildlings north of the Wall, the wolves could plan the next step, retaking Hardhome. The Free Folk were thin in numbers already and they could not respawn like flies. 

"Aye, it seems that bringing these southern cunts on the battlefield worked good for the Stark bitch. There must be a way to remedy that." Bronn said to the wildling leaders.  
And to the Meldred Merlyn who commanded all of the Ironborn in the Bay of Ice. Merlyn took the Bear Island as his seat.  
He had to send more than half of his ships back to the Iron Islands as word of fleets from Arbor and Lannisport are ordered to lay blockade of Pyke and other main isles.  
Dorne breaking ties with the Six Kingdoms delayed that as new Lord Paramount of the Reach wanted the Redwyne fleet to harry the Dornish coast and some of the ships that were already sailing to Lannisport turned about and went back home. 

Meldred was convinced that he has enough men to aid the wildlings in preventing the Southrons in Stark service to conquer the western Gift.  
“Then you’ve got more balls than Earl Harlaw. He wasn’t that eager to meet the armored knights in the open field.” Bronn said to him.  
“Fuck Earl Harlaw. My five years old daughter has more balls than him.” Ironborn captain replied.  
“I’ve battled with the knights of the Vale at Eastwatch. A proper knight army, not those poor shits in rusted armor and freeriders who smell of horse dung.”  
“I like your spirit, Merlyn. Still, we need a battle plan, wildling arrows don’t pierce even the rusted armor nor can their spears stop the charge of heavy horse.”  
Ironborn grinned: “They need longer spears. And a courage to face the cavalry charge. As your men did, Bronn, at Hardhome when wolves were running from their fort.”  
“That was no heavy horse and no charge, but shit job of a retreat.” he replied.  
Meldred insisted: “Heavy horse can be stopped, just as anything else made of flesh and bone. Question is how.”  
It was Bronn who grinned now: “No, the question is where.”

On the sixth day after his talk with Meldred, one of the men which came with him from the south, Carter Tholte, short muscular fellow with a crooked smile, returned from scouting the encampment of the southern host in service of the Stark queen.  
With him he brought a prisoner, one of the camp followers, reckless enough to wander a bit too far from the tents.  
Camp followers were in whole truth whores who followed armies during campaigns and this one in the west of Brandon’s Gift was no exception. 

Carter and two more of Bronn’s men dragged the woman into his tent, her wrists bound with rope. Her hair was messy and face smeared with dirt, she was sobbing and shaking like a leaf. He saw right away that she’s been hit across the face, the red mark on her cheek spoke of that.  
“I’ve caught this whore outside their camp, m’lord, she was washing her cunt in the stream, she was…” Carter laughed.  
Bronn sneered at that: “Was she truly or you only saw what you wanted to see?” “I’ve seen it as I see you now, m’lord.”  
Bronn frowned: “Aha… she’s bit overdressed; wouldn’t you say?”  
Right after hearing that, Carter tore the light-blue linen dress that woman wore with fierceness, bearing her upper body, soon the underclothes followed and she was naked before Bronn, sobbing even louder and covering her womanly bits with bound hands.  
“A shy camp follower??” he laughed “World is full of wonders!”  
“Please…my lord…have mercy…” woman sobbed, but the plead was cut by Tholte’s hard slap which made her head veer left with painful cry.  
“Carter, would you call this wench a comely one?” Bronn asked, while his naked captive sobbed even more, head lowered, gazing at the floor.  
“I would, m’lord.” “So would I.”  
Bronn having her whole nakedness in front of him could tell that this woman is nicely shaped, with full curves and the tone of her skin told him she was not of the North.  
A smallfolk girl from the Reach or the Riverlands, mayhaps even as far west in the south as Lannisport, followed the soldiers that came here.  
The tresses on her head had a lovely shade of brown and he saw that eyes, now red of tears, were green. “Carter, you’ve caught a camp bride…” 

Camp bride was a woman, most often a camp follower that would attach herself to a single man for the duration of a campaign.  
Bronn grabbed the woman’s chin and lifted up so that he could meet her gaze: “Am I right, girl? Are you a camp bride of some knight or other noble fuck?”  
She nodded, crying: “I am, my lord…”  
“Good. Mayhaps the two of us have something to talk about then.” He let her chin and she looked down at her feet again. “Bear in mind girl, I lead an army of savages here, wildlings whose customs are peculiar to say it in fancy way, if you do not show will to share with me what you know, well… I’ll give you to them. Some only fuck, some fuck then flay their victims alive, some even eat manflesh and those will eat those lush teats of yours first.” 

A despairing howl burst from the woman, her bladder lost strength, soiling her legs and feet. Tholte laughed mockingly until Bronn gestured him to leave.  
“Cover yourself, girl. And wipe that piss off your legs while at it.” he said and then sat on the folding stool. 

She did as he told her, covering her body with her torn dress after she used smallclothes to clean her legs. “Was I right, eh? You’re a camp bride, aren’t you?”  
“I am, my lord.” she nodded, her sobbing ceased, but she trembled still.  
“And I can tell that you weren’t a whore before that… you’re too modest to be one. A proper whore would never cover her cunt, even when in ropes.”  
“No, I wasn’t…I am not a whore.”  
Bronn grinned: “Allow me to guess how you ended up here, far north… you were a smallfolk maiden who got bedded by a hedge knight or a free rider, I’d say it was a knight… for you call me my lord and not m’lord; he fancied you talking properly. And when he went to fight for the Stark Queen, you followed him. Have I told the story of your life well, girl?” 

Tears went down her face: “You did, my lord.” “And you’ve been with him ever since he has taken your maidenhood, right?” A slight sob escaped her as she nodded.  
“Did he sired his bastards with you?” “He did, my lord, a girl. I’ve left her with my mother.”  
“Where are you from?” “From a village near Goldengrove, my lord.”  
“A Reach wench, then. And this knight you’ve been fucking with? Is he of Reach too?” She wiped her tears and said: “He is. Ser Josian Cruenen is his name.”  
“Never heard of the fucker. Is he young?” She nodded again. “And how old are you, girl?”  
“I don’t know for sure, my lord, Ser Josian said I should be one and twenty.”  
Bronn looked at her: “Something about that age, aye… what is your name?” “Munda, my lord, Munda Tomley.”  
“All right, Munda, now you shall tell me all that you’ve heard from that hedge knight whose camp bride you’ve been. All of it, understand?  
Or I’ll throw you naked among the wildlings. Come dawn and you’re still alive, you’ll be begging for someone to slit your throat. Is that clear, girl?”  
She sobbed: “Yes, my lord.”  
“There’s another way for you, Munda. If you tell me all what you know and I find it to be true… well, I might decide to keep you.  
I am a knight as well… or I was… it matters not, but you could remain a camp bride, even in this camp. I find you comely, far more than wildling womenfolk. Please me in every way that I shall ask… and no harm would come to you, you’d fare even better with me than with that cocksucker Josian or whatever his name is.”  
Munda looked at him and nodded, she trembled less now. “Good…” he said “…now come, kneel next to me and start talking.” 

She talked, horrified from the thought she could be raped and tortured by the wildlings, a folk of which she only heard gruesome stories growing up in the Reach, just as any other Westerosi living south of the Wall. People of the South had tales of wildlings that spoke of savages who even feasted on human flesh.  
Munda was now captive in the camp filled with them. She talked. 

When she was done talking, Munda was ordered to wash herself in the small pond close to camp, Bronn made sure two wildling spearwives keep watch over her and then she was again naked in his tent, pleasing him in the ways she has pleased her hedge knight for many years.

“Two thousand. And growing still… that is what we stand against.”  
Bronn said to the wildling leaders the next day, as they stood on the hilltop looking at the Southron encampment which was miles away and to them only small freckles of brown, red, black and white on the green background. Tents of the encampment had coatings in all colors.  
He saw Tormund frowning. Other wildling chieftains were troubled as well, he could read that from their faces.  
Dim Dalba, Sigur the Owl, Joser, women chiefs Yrelsa and Ilga, even Thenn whose name Bronn never tried to remember.  
Wildlings feared the armored cavalry.  
Ever since Stannis Baratheon and his knights broke them at the Wall many years ago, when they were assembled in tens of thousands and yet cavalry broke them with ease. 

Meldred Merlyn was there as well. “Of these two thousand, how many is heavy horse? How many mounted men in whole?”  
Ironborn captain asked. “One rider comes on every third footman.” Bronn told him.  
“That is five hundred men on horse, Bronn. At Last River, not even half of that number has run over our men as if they were made of straw.”  
“I know.” “Nah, you don’t know, Bronn, you weren’t there… I was, I saw what them southern knights with lances can do.” Tormund said.  
“I was not there because someone had to make sure that you don’t get fucked in the arse by the wolves coming from the Last Hearth.” he snapped at the red-haired wildling.  
“It does not matter who was where…” Yrelsa, woman one could easily mistake for a she-bear, such was her built and voice deep as she were a man.  
_If she had a cock between her legs, I would not be surprised, _Bronn thought the moment he lay eyes on that wildling woman.  
“…Aye, it does not.” he agreed “What matters is that we have to meet that army down there on the field before they take over the entire Gift for the Wolf Queen, as you call that ginger bitch in Winterfell.”  
“In the open field?? We have no chance in the open field. Hit and run, that is our way, bleed them slow…” Dim Dalba, an elderly man of messy hair and beard said. 

“Forget that, old man, you’ll never bleed them slow.” Meldred gestured his hand in dismissal  
“There’s more of them coming here, the word of how they’ve beaten us at Last River is spreading. You’ll soon have four thousand Southrons serving the Stark queen here. That is more than all the warriors your Free Folk has, men and women. There must be a battle. A proper battle.”  
"We can’t meet hundreds of men on horse on the open field, only a madman would do it.” Sigur the Owl said, with most of the wildling leaders nodding. 

Bronn looked at each of them and then spoke: “Let me tell you what will happen if you do not meet them head on. They will march all the way to the Wall and take all the castles that _crows_ as you call them once held, all of them. They’ll cut you off from your people north of the Wall and soon you’ll have to retreat beyond the Wall as well. Your hit and run ambushes will mean nothing. And then, those thousands of southerners and whole of Stark army will come to Hardhome to threw you out of there as well.  
That will be the end of this war. Wolf Queen wins. You’ll have to kneel to her. Is that what you want?”  
“We shall never kneel to southern king or queen!” Yrelsa almost yelled. “We kneel to no man!” Tormund added.  
“Good. Then we must have this battle fought on our terms. And soon.” Bronn said “We shall meet at sundown at my tent… Meldred, before you go, a word…” 

He called the Ironborn leader aside: “How many archers can you bring to this battle? I need a hundred bowmen at least. I need a storm of armor piercing arrows. Wildling arrows are of no use against armored men.”  
Merlyn grinned: “You need steel arrowheads, Bronn, with bodkin points and even those will not pierce the breastplate armor.”  
“No, not the plate armor, but it will pierce the chainmail and the hide of every horse. I need to break the cavalry charge. And without archers, it won’t happen.”  
“I’ll bring as many archers as I can, but even that is no warrant of stopping the heavy horse…. Who commands those Southrons, have you learned of that?”  
“Aye, I did. Men who know of war. Men who are no fools… but many of their lieutenants are different lot, young, proud and arrogant bastards who think this is a fox hunt and not a war. Their stupidity might be our chance.”  
“Bronn, if the wildlings falter before the armored horse once again, we’re doomed. You know that as I do.” Ironborn warned him.  
“I do know that, all too bloody well.”

Heavy rain had returned to the lands of Gift, soaking the hill and plain alike. 

Clouds came from the south and east, with powerful gusts of the wind blowing all the way from the Narrow Sea.  
With wind and rain the chill of northern days and nights turned into proper cold, men wrapped themselves in thick wool.  
Campfires burned throughout the night. With rain came the mud as much of the ground was now waterlogged.  
Pockets of woodland interspersed with bare grasslands and uneven, rocky terrain. 

Bronn sat atop his horse and stared across the field. The ranks of Southrons fighting for Sansa Stark were arranged in a single block with heavy cavalry in front. Ready to charge up the low hill on which his men were positioned, blocking the Kingsroad. For a sennihgt, wildling skirmishers, mounted on their garrons, probed around their camp and then fleeing before pursuit. It annoyed the southern freewills as _savages_ will not gave them battle. Even pursuits were done without eagerness, knights would ride after the wildlings for barely a mile before returning to camp.  
It annoyed them. And made them believe these _fur wearing savages_ are nothing but cravens. 

There they were now, mounted on their formidable warhorses, destriers and coursers, banners fluttering, banners of the Northern queen and the banners of their southern houses or those some knight styled for himself. Riders held lances upright, it seemed as a fence of spears, and their shields, displaying many colors and many sigils; all kind of beasts and birds, painted weapons or trees, skulls or flowers. Behind them were lined men on foot, archers held the first ranks. On each flank were the freeriders and other light horsemen.  
He could tell there was near two thousand men there. 

It seemed as this army stretches from one side of the battlefield to another. And the battlefield was near the Kingsroad, twelve miles south of the Mole’s Town. Both wildling and Ironborn force marched overnight to reach the ground where they were now positioned, on the Kingsroad itself and in the fields on both sides of it. Road was now turned into mud, while land around it was drenched with water. The host Bronn was part of counted not even eight hundred, wildlings held the center with weapons they never used before, while Ironborn archers were on the flanks, behind the Free Folk shields.  
_Should our lines break, if wildling pikemen flee before knights in full armor, this will not be a battle, but a carnage, _ he thought. 

“Take the day!” Bronn heard the command from the other side of the field.  
The mounted men went ahead, with slow canter at first, gradually turning into gallop.  
Riders in plate and chain armor lowered their lances, the banners waving in the wind, ground shook under the hooves of their mounts.  
He could see the fear on the faces of younger wildlings as they watched the might of men and horse descending upon them.  
“Close the ranks! Keep tight!” came the commands of the Free Folk chieftains… 

Horses were closing in; it was easy now to see what sigil which shield bore. “Now! Now! Pikes!”  
First three ranks of Bronn’s men went down on their knees and raised thick wooden spears, twenty feet long, tens…scores of them.  
First wave of cavalry that reached the wildling front was impaled on the pikes, men and horses alike, riders behind first wave managed to halt their horses, there was slamming of animal into animal, men falling off from their saddles, but most did clear away from this wall of pikes and now were riding right and left, even with more blood lust.  
“To flanks! To flanks! Ride to the flanks!” he heard a knight shouting at his men. Full strength of this cavalry charge was gone, every man who fell of his impaled horse met his death by axe, mace or bludgeon. Shrieks of wounded horses filled the air… “Archers! Now!” Bronn shouted right and left. 

The Ironborn bowmen, lined up in three ranks on both flanks, released the first volley of arrows, soon the screams of men filled the air, arrows slamming into flesh, spraying blood over the soggy ground. Many rider ended in mud, with or without that one last sound on this world. Freewill cavalry went for the flanks of the Free Folk. 

There were only but few pikemen at the flanks and their foe on horseback saw the chance there, but soon they faced a worse obstacle.  
The ground itself, turned into maze of mud and water, it bogged them down, enough for Free Folk to spear them off their horses or Ironborn archers to shoot at them over and over again. Axes hacked, swords slashed, blood and entrails spilled upon the dead grass as corpses began to pile up, men from both sides came at each other with a beast like ferocity. All blades were now painted in crimson, the very midst of battlefield turned into a hellish melee, men in armor and men in animal hide coats tried to finish each other.

Arrows of the Southron host came at last, aiming at the rear of the wildlings, daring not to strike at the center or flanks and killing their own men along with the foes. It was only a chaos now, a bloody mating of steel, iron, flesh and bone.. Ironborn leathers and Free Folk hide coats adept to the thick mud better than plate armor and chainmail.  
Bronn saw Tormund hacking his way through the carnage, the battle madness of this Free Folk leader was wholly shown. Red-haired man was covered with blood, both of foes and his own as crimson fluid sprayed all around him.  
"Hold the line!" gripping his longsword with both hands, Bronn removed the head of freerider who strayed upon him with lowered guard.  
"Take down their banners!" he yelled at the wildlings, unused to fight with southern armies, and then blocked a sword blow before cutting the leg of the man who held that sword below the knee, he did not bother to end man's misery but went for another foe. The next volley of enemy’s arrows flew over his head and then saw their footmen charging.  
Lines of shields and spears were coming to join the fray in the knee-deep mud and water. 

He could see the man leading the charge, a towering form of Ser Culler Tarwick, of whom he learned from his captive, Munda.  
Bronn barked commands which soon came to be, the Ironborn archers, those that were still at their posts, less than half of them as others were now part of the raging melee, rained down their steel-tipped arrows upon the charging Southrons, cutting down many of them, but not slowing the charge at all.  
All around Bronn, the stench of death overtook the air. It seemed to him that everything was slower now. He saw a southerner who stumbled through the mud, struggling to lift his bludgeon and smash the head of Ironborn who was crawling on all fours and spitting blood... wilding spearwife was kneeling on the ground as well, hitting the head of already dead knight with the rock she found somewhere in the blood coated mud. Yet, both sides fought on, driven by battle fever and will of their leaders to claim victory.  
Ser Culler Tarwick was breaking wildling skulls with his bare hands as he tried to break the right flank of Bronn’s men, Tormund hacking with axe despite crossbow bolt protruding from his right forearm, bearlike Yrelsa piercing leather armor with spear as blood stained her dark hair, men all around him fighting as possessed by demons.  
This was not even battlefield, not anymore, but a mud bath of men killing, men dying and men already dead. All that with screams of dying horses that added to terror. 

Battered, bloodied, and exhausted, the wildlings and Ironborn stood their ground. No matter the resolve of their commanders, the remaining Southron footmen were too tired and small in number to make difference, they could only collapse on whatever dry ground there was left.  
Bronn barely get his remaining archers positioned in the rear, not even a score of them, to shoot at those men, to chase them far from the heart of the battle.

“Retreat! Retreat! There’s no wining here!” he heard someone shouting.  
It was Ser Culler, on someone’s courser he managed to mount up, the animal was covered in mud and bleeding from many wounds.  
It will be dead before the end of that day, but the horse was enough for Tarwick to lead his men from the battle.  
"Seven fucking hells…" breathed Bronn in disbelief, not aware of his left arm being cut and bleeding “…we've done it! We have done it!”  
He hoped for this battle to end as stalemate, to slow the Southron advance into the Gift. To seek victory seemed to him as a fool’s dream.  
_The rain and the mud fucked them just as our spears did…_flashed in his mind. 

“Free Folk! Free Folk!” wildings shouted, spending their last remaining strength. “Kraken! Kraken!” followed the battle cries of the Ironborn.  
For both this was the first time they have owned the day against the mounted knights. 

Battle of the Muddy Hill, as it was soon named took place on day six and twenty of eleventh moon of three-hundred-sixteenth year after Aegon’s conquest. It claimed lives of nearly six hundred southern men at arms in service of Northern Kingdom and over three hundred of their enemies, most of them Free Folk.  
Southron heavy cavalry suffered great casualties, many knights perished in that mud halted charge.  
Their commanders decided that very same day to use heavy horse in forthcoming battles in much more cautious way, until ranks of cavalry are replenished. And never again to underestimate their enemies, the _backward savages_ from beyond the Wall. They knew pikes were awaiting them, pikes on the higher ground and still they charged arrogantly convinced that sight of the ground shaking under hundreds of armored knights will make wildlings to run from the battlefield.  
Brandon's Gift, west of the Kingsroad remained firmly under sway of wildlings and their Ironborn allies, but price that was paid was not iron, it was bloody. And costly for the Free Folk.  
They were people large in numbers once. Thousands, tens of thousands.  
Now, there was almost tenfold less of them than in days when Mance Ryder united them and marched on the Wall. 

"To whom will this land remain should we win?" Tormund asked, his left hand was of not much use to him anymore. "To children and crones?"  
Once sellsword and former Master of Coin did not reply.  
_I don't care. Even if I would, what to say to that.  
It is truth. Which ever side of once Wall is to win, "kneeler" North or "true" North, this will be land of old folk and bawling children._

Two weeks after the battle, Bronn released Munda Tomley, gave her a pack mule to ride and told her to go all the way south to Winterfell, join with the first merchant going to Six Kingdoms and return to Reach to her child, far from the battlefields of the Gift. He took pity on her; such moments of kindness were rare with him.


	43. HAND OF THE KING

_King’s Landing, Westeros, year 316 After Conquest_

**HAND OF THE KING**

Tycho Nestoris. Representative of the Iron Bank of Braavos.  
_Tycho and Tyrion. Tyrion and Tycho. As we are a pair of mummers or jesters. But one thing that bankers from Braavos do not do is jesting. _

Nestoris was a tall, thin, and gaunt man, of narrow clean shaved face with dark eyes. He wore robes of a sober purple trimmed with ermine.  
Banker spoke the Common Tongue fluently with only a faint accent. He sat patiently in the Hand’s chamber waiting for Tyrion to receive him. It was an unexpected visit and Braavosi was willing to wait.

Tyrion was coming back from his meeting with Monterys Velaryon. Master of Ships brought good tidings from Dragonstone.  
The island was once again vacant as Yara Greyjoy ordered her fleet to abandon it merely hours before the sails of the royal fleet could be seen on the horizon.  
Good news for one are bad for another. 

Most of the Ironborn ships went northwards, to Three Sisters isles, from where both North and the Vale could be attacked.  
A whole fleet of kraken vessels in the waters of the Bite were a bad herald for the White Harbor whose taking Queen of the Salt and Rock desired for a long time.  
She sent some of her ships further north, to the Bay of Seals, to strengthen the naval siege of the Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.  
A word came to Tyrion of Sansa Stark wanting to employ the Lyseni pirates as sellsails to fight the Ironborn at the sea, yet no news came of battles on the waves of Shivering Sea. 

Monterys informed him of Battle of the Muddy Hill which took place three weeks ago. A freewill host of Southern knights was defeated by the wildling footmen.  
That was as strong blow to the efforts of Northern kingdom to swiftly end the war for the land of the Gift and beyond the Wall.  
Tyrion noted this information and gave it a little thought. He could not care less of the Gift and Hardhome or whatever place Kingdom of the North had ambition to rule over. 

His concern was to keep the Six Kingdoms in one piece and that became a task which seemed nearly impossible now. Iron Islands ruined coastline of the Vale.  
To try ending that conflict was hard enough as it was closely tied with the war in the Northern kingdom.  
When Dorne proclaimed that it is cutting ties with the Realm and the very next morrow begun the campaign of raiding and burning of the Reach from Three Towers to Horn Hill, the notion of saving the Six Kingdoms as true one kingdom sounded as sheer madness. House Hightower, the new lords of the Reach, demanded for an invasion of Dorne from two sides by land and by the sea, as it was done by Daeron Targaryen century and a half ago. 

Only this time they spoke in favor of slaying all the noble houses of Dorne, ripping their nobles out root and stem. Tyrion had no issue with that plan as a thought. To bring it to life, there were so many issues.  
One was Stormlands, their Lord Paramount was silent for weeks now. He did not deliver Arya Stark to King’s Landing, claiming she slipped out on the open sea once her ships were repaired.  
He lied; Tyrion did not need to ask King Bran to confirm his doubts. Lands of young Baratheon lord were not attacked by the Dornish and Storm’s End had little interest to wage war on their southern neighbors.

Ever since the open rebellion of Dorne started, Tyrion lost many night hours gazing over the map of Westeros. Swift and sound defeat of Dornish rebels would cause for Ironborn to lose their hearts as well, leaving them alone against the Realm. _But what is Realm now? _he dwelled upon. Vale is warring in the North and is ruined, Riverlands are still licking wounds from ten years ago, Stormlands are reluctant, Reach is shadow of its once strength as is Westerlands.  
True, Dorne could be defeated at cost of all loyal kingdoms to lose its able-bodied men. Arianne Martell knows of this, lords of Dorne know of this.  
If we’re to assemble an army and march on Yronwood and Starfall and Kingsgrave and also sail against Sunspear… thousands will die and even then Dorne might not be conquered. And Westeros would be nothing more than a graveyard. 

Ghost of Varys did not come to him to argue, not since Tyrion parted ways with wine nearly one moon ago. He knew that truly it was no ghost but his own thoughts dueling with one another, one part of his mind taking form of long dead eunuch.  
When sober, Tyrion was sure Varys was not haunting him. When drunk, he did not burden with origin of Varys’ voice, was that creation of his own or visitor from afterlife.  
_You have no cock and you’re dead. I am alive and still have a Realm to govern. Me. Not the king. _

Ever since weirwood tree in the royal gardens was burned down by dragon, a message of warning from Targaryens, King Bran went in seclusion of his chambers, away from the tasks of daily governing, away from court and events of here and now.  
Reports were sent to the king, some would say it was a fool’s errand as Bran’s powers make those reports unneeded, but Tyrion would perform his duty as a Hand nonetheless.  
And he knew that king’s powers were not near as strong being without the weirwood tree. His powers as greenseer were closely linked with those trees, of red leaves and white bark. 

_Bran is not able to see the future_, Tyrion oft reminded himself, _not as clear as he can see the past or present. King told me that. _  
Bran once explained to his Hand how gazing in the future is as when you throw a rock in the pond or a lake and circles appear on the surface, blurring everything.  
King’s powers in dealing with the Dorne would give knowledge where their armies are, but not where they’re headed.  
Also, in Dorne, there was strong presence of eastern demon as Bran called the sorcery that could block his view. The plans of Dornish rebels and their princess were hidden from Three Eyed Raven.  
Ironborn sometimes used same dark magic, but not as oft. 

Tyrion’s plan for ships of Arbor and Westerlands to go against Pyke was delayed by Dornish rebellion.  
He accepted that delay as Dorne was more threat to the survival of the Realm than Ironborn ever were.  
He begun working on the new plan, to lay blockade of the entire Dornish coast, to slowly but surely choke the rebels by cutting them of from the rest of the world. 

Kingdom of the North and Dorne had one thing in common, though many Westerosi would laugh at anyone saying such words.  
That common trait was weakness at the sea.  
North had two coasts and save the fleet and the port of White Harbor, no other ships or ports whatsoever. Dorne was the same. No large ports and no true fleet.  
Descendants of First Men gave up seafaring ambitions when Stark king Brandon the Shipwright was lost at Sunset Sea thousands of years ago.  
Descendants of Rhoynar fleeing from Valyrian dragons burned their ships after reaching the coast of Dorne following the order of Princess Nymeria. It was thousand years ago.  
After that burning of Rhoynish ships, Dorne had no strength at sea. And no mean to lift the blockade of its shores. No foreign goods could come to Dorne, nor Dornish goods out. 

North already danced on the edge of starvation, its both shores ravaged and plundered, with inland intact but deprived of all the food and merchandise that in peacetime would come from the rest of Westeros and across the Narrow Sea.  
Dorne’s weather was far more suitable for both raising orchards and tending cattle, but many other things Dornish did not make themselves, relying on trade with lands north and west of them and with Essos as well. 

_History teach us of swift victories over Dorne turning into swift defeats_, he mused, _a long-lasting conflict with draining of their land and wealth could soften the Martell princess._ Attrition.  
Leaders of armies hated such war, but oft rulers waged such wars gladly. 

Monterys Velaryon, crown’s Master of Ships, shared that view. With one caution, though.  
Iron Islands were allies of Sunspear and blocking Dorne from the sea could prove to be far more arduous with kraken ships running through it or even breaking the fleet of the Realm that would do the blockade.  
_Well noted_, Tyrion thought.  
Albeit youngest member of Small Council, Monterys has proven to be skillful Master of Ships and savvy in the game of ruling.  
Tyrion did frown at one detail, young lord of Driftmark remained aloof after learning of the House Targaryen existing still, far east in Essos.  
He was not yet entirely certain was that true stance or well put mask. 

Velaryons were of Old Valyria same as Targaryens and their first and oldest allies for entire rule of their dynasty, oft marrying among themselves.  
Lord Monterys seemed as he could not care less of three-headed dragon house living in Meereen, house with whom he shared blood and old allegiances. Tyrion watched him and his actions ever since that Small Council meeting on which it was disclosed that Daenerys Targaryen lives and has a family. Master of Ships acted the same, his routine did not change nor did he make any effort to reach Essos in any way, be it from King’s Landing or his home at island of Dritfmark.  
That was enough, to some measure, for Tyrion to believe that Monterys Velaryon is loyal to the King Bran. But, years of playing the game of thrones taught last remaining child of Tywin Lannister never to grant whole trust in anyone. 

He learned from Monterys that Horn Hill, a holdfast of House Tarly, was attacked by large Dornish cavalry.  
Tarlys led by Little Sam, a young son of archmaester Samwell, banished from the court, managed to defend the inner castle, but all else around Horn Hill, villages, fields and forests were sacked and burned.  
_He won’t be homeless, that fat fool, his wildling son saved the roof over his head… _ was the only thing Tyrion could think of when he heard of Dornish raid on Tarly’s lands.

Tycho Nestoris. His coming to the capital of Six Kingdoms puzzled the Lannister. _The Iron Bank will have its due_, was the common saying with which the bank oft reminded its clients who failed to repay their loans. Indeed, the Six Kingdoms were not among the exemplary clients, but still far from one that must be beaten into paying its debts by hired assassins or sellsword armies, all means to which the bankers from Braavos resorted when debts were not paid with swiftness of their liking. 

“Lord Tycho, forgive me for making you wait for this long, but my schedule of this day was such.” he said while shaking hands with the tall Braavosi.  
“Think nothing of it, my lord. I used the time recollecting when I was last time in the Red Keep. The dragonflames rearranged it somewhat, but twelve years ago I was here conferring with your late sister, queen Cersei. A very able woman, indeed.”  
Tycho replied with slight grin. Tyrion gave a slight frown: “Able… I guess one can say that for her, when her own interests were of the matter, she was very able. Which however did not save her from her fate.”  
“I was merely talking of her as a client of institution I represent. The manner in which she paid the debt of your Realm to us twelve years ago,  
in single installment, is still recalled as rare example in many years.”  
“Sack of wealth of House Tyrell and Highgarden had a lot to do with that exceptional payment, I am sure you know.”  
Tycho made a weaselly smile: “The Iron Bank does not burden itself with the way how our clients raise funds to repay our loans, I am sure _you_ know.”  
He nodded to that which made his guest to continue:  
“Mayhaps your sister’s example should have been a guide to the new rulers of the Seven… apologies… Six Kingdoms on how to pay the old debt.” 

Tyrion tapped his fingers on the table: “I have to remind you that after my late sister paid the previous debt to your institution, in one installment, she right away took another loan used to hire a sellsword army, the Golden Company. The Iron Bank was more than willing to grant her that loan, despite the knowledge that Cersei had no legitimacy as queen and more than half of Westeros fighting to remove her from the power. Yet, you have invested that gold in her, counting that she will remain the queen. An unwise and risky investment, if you want my opinion. Iron Bank was aware that Cersei Lannister twelve years ago hand single ally, Euron Greyjoy and no one else. The rest of this continent, save Westerlands of course as Lannister hold, was against her. And she had to wage war against three dragons and the Dothraki horde and the Unsullied army. In the end, single dragon and half of Dothraki and half of the eunuch soldiers were enough to end her rule. In a single day. Giving loan to my sister was unwise from your part.” 

Tycho sighed: “You have missed the key point here, my lord. The Iron Bank did not give loan to Cersei Lannister.  
It was given to the Queen of Seven Kingdoms, regardless of the manner of her ascent to the throne, she held that title.  
And, after her demise, a new ruler followed, one elected by your most high noblemen, proposed by you, if I was told correctly.  
The debt made by Queen Cersei of Seven Kingdoms was passed on to the King Bran of Six Kingdoms.  
A proper succession of both rights and duties, including debts, wouldn’t you say?”  
“I would. And for the past decade, the Six Kingdoms made effort to return that loan my dead sister took.” he replied to smirking banker.  
“To one man, effort is to dug out a thirty feet deep water well. To another, effort is to scratch his head. Now, in all honesty, my lord,  
would you compare the efforts Six Kingdoms made to return your loan with digging a deep well or with scratching your head?” 

Tycho countered, not losing the smirk from his face. Tyrion felt this as an insult, but kept his calm: “To some measure, I can agree with you that Realm made return of that loan in slow and unorderly pace. Unfortunately, the person that held the position of Master of Coin during last ten years was… well, not so skilled in matters of financial dealings, to put it mildly.”  
“Yes, that much was obvious. Though, I was informed that he was named to that position by you. I refused to believe that, knowing that Tyrion Lannister is a man of great intelligence and knowledge in ruling.” 

_Oh, how I would like to take that smugness off your face with a well place blow of a fist_, Tyrion pondered while he looked at the Braavosi in silence for a heartbeat.  
“Not that it matters now…” Tycho said “…as Iron Bank has no due with your Six Kingdoms anymore.”  
His eyes widened: “Forgive me, have you just said that…”  
“The debt your sister has made was repaid to the institution I represent in full, with all interests.”  
“That is impossible. As I serve as Master of Coin, I would know about it.”  
Tycho nearly chuckled: “My lord, I have not said that it was paid by the original debtor.”  
Tyrion was now even more surprised: “By whom then?”  
“By a third party which demanded to remain undisclosed as a part of the agreement. A small concession, one Iron Bank was more than willing to give. As I’ve said the debt made by late Cersei Lannister, that has significantly grown in the meanwhile of over ten years due to mounting of interests, is now paid.” 

“You mean to tell me that Six Kingdoms have a benefactor who wishes to remain secret?” Tyrion blurted in disbelief.  
Tycho laughed openly now: “My lord, when I share the other terms of that contract, I doubt you will call that third party a benefactor, unless you have a very wide understanding of it.” “What other terms?” he now wondered.

Tycho’s face was now serious: “Iron Bank was paid in full, but to reach that agreement it was asked of it to cease giving loans to Westeros all together, from the day of signing the contract onward, until that third party informs us otherwise.  
Loans will not be given neither to Six Kingdoms nor to the Kingdom in the North.  
As an unstable continent, prone to wars and rebellions, Westeros has proven itself as place of a too high risk for our bank to conduct its business with. Also, all traders from Essos that are clients of the Iron Bank, that is as you well know most of them,  
will reduce or end its dealings with Westeros henceforth. Narrow Sea has become a place of war and trade is no longer safe. Following our agreement, the undisclosed third party will ensure new markets for their merchandise to bring their losses  
to the smallest amount. After my visit, Lord Tyrion, you can expect very few ships crossing the Narrow Sea in the coming weeks and moons. Also, merchant ships from Westeros will not be welcome in the ports of Essos as they were.” 

Hand of the King could tell his face has gone pale upon hearing this: “That… that… how can Iron Bank… it will make this entire continent to starve within a year. You’re a bank, not a kingdom that is warring against us… this is not how you do your usual business.” “Mayhaps is a bit unordinary, but I assure you the Iron Bank is very pleased with this contract and it will see it through to the letter.” Tycho said unaffected by the prospect of Westeros starving.  
“Surely the Iron Bank is aware that this paying of our debt by someone else is an act of enmity towards the Realm.” Tyrion pointed out.  
“My lord, as I have already told you, our bank does not burden itself how our clients find coins to return their debt, so it is very naive of you to expect that we shall be giving a second thought to the motives of why someone was willing to pay your due to us. Iron Bank got what we wanted and more. For that we were ready to accept the terms proposed by that third party.”  
“Those terms will ruin Westeros. I am sure that Iron Bank has a notion of the chaos that shall ensue.” Tyrion’s voice was now angered.  
“Lord Tyrion, a year ago you had peace in Westeros. Now you have war in the North, war of Iron Islands against North and Vale and recently the Dornish rebellion. All of it Westerosi brought to themselves. Iron Bank had nothing to do with it.  
Nor did the third party, of that I am very much certain. Your misery as ever before in the past of this continent, is your own doing.” 

Tyrion gave a deep breath: “I wonder what kind of a money lending institution would shun an entire continent based on a single agreement with some obscure _third party_… The Realm was a steady and decent client of the Iron Bank.”  
Tycho shrugged: “Iron Bank invests in endeavors that we deem likely to be successful. Your Realm, Lord Tyrion Lannister, does not give us the impression of success. As hard as that may be to accept, the Six Kingdoms are in state of slow but sure falling apart. If you were in my place, would you give substantial loans to such country? You know the answer well enough, just as I do.”  
Tyrion shook his head: “Six Kingdoms are not falling apart.”  
“No? When one part of your Realm is waging war against the other unchecked by the Crown you serve, that is clear mark of lack of authority. Then you have another part of the Realm which has proclaimed independence and also makes acts of war against the other, neighboring part again unchecked by the Crown you serve.” Tycho spoke of dire state of Six Kingdoms well known to Tyrion “Iron Bank does not live off political schemes, my lord, but neither we ignore them when they affect our interests.” 

Tyrion said bitterly: “Political schemes benefited your bank greatly for centuries.”  
Tycho sighed: “I beg to differ.  
Stupidity of those making political schemes did that. I want to share something with you, my lord, before we part our ways.  
Last time I was here, your late sister made a convincing case for her to get our loan. She warned me of a young Dragon Queen.  
That she is more revolutionary than a monarch with which the Iron Bank would fare badly. And she was wholly right.  
Lord Tyrion, same as young slave freeing revolutionary queen which you’ve served then, now you serve a monarch who, based on all that Iron Bank has learned of him, spends his day detached from the world you and I live in.  
A monarch who has little interest in ruling. I guess your late sister would give my bank the same warning in regard of King Bran.  
A king who does not want to act as king…well… the Iron Bank shall always frown upon such. Until proven wrong.” 

Right after saying that, tall Braavosi banker stood up and made a slight bow to Tyrion who was barely able to return the gesture. His mind was in turmoil. 

_Seven hells… someone paid our debt to the Iron Bank only to see the Realm brought on its knees. We must do something… but what? The Iron Bank is pleased with this deal and every attempt to undermine it will only bring more misfortune to us.  
First thing we must do is to learn who that obscure payer is…I need to talk with the king. Right away._

Tyrion rushed to the royal gardens. There, right next to the place where weirwood tree once stood, King Bran would be spending most of his time.  
He was there, in his chair, still as a statue. When Tyrion approached him, king barely acknowledged his presence. 

And when he was told the newest development with the Iron Bank, the ruler of Six Kingdoms, King Bran, First of his name said nothing more than: “Chaos is a ladder.”  
“I don’t follow, Your Grace.” he said. “No, of course you do not.” king replied “Chaos is a ladder, my Lord Hand, chaos rearranges the world as we know it into something new.  
To some, chaos is an abyss which swallows them, to others is a ladder that brings them to heights of power. It is that simple.”  
“Our goal is to prevent the chaos, my king, for that reason you have named me your Hand.” 

King gave him a cold look: “No, it was not for that reason, Lord Tyrion. It was for I saw fit to have you as Hand. A man atoning for his mistakes and wrong judgments could make a good servant of his king. You are such a man.”  
“Your Grace, it is of utmost importance for the Realm to find a way to convince the Iron Bank in abandoning this agreement with that third party as they call it. Can’t you use your powers to see who that party is?”  
King shrugged: “My lord, I have told you more than once that spells of eastern demon obstruct my sight. That one who persuaded the Iron Bank in turning back to Westeros, is hidden by those spells. It matters not, in the end.”  
“Your Grace, without knowing who paid our debt only to see us break…”  
A cold reply came: “If we’re to break, we shall break. Poor is the Realm that shatters after one paid debt and a bank that no longer wishes to lend us coins.” 

“My king, should all terms from that contract be fulfilled, within less than a year, all of Westeros will be short of everything, from food to clothes.”  
“Then, Lord Hand, it is your duty to see that not coming to pass. You’re Hand of the King, you lead the Small Council. Act, Tyrion of House Lannister.”  
“Realm needs our King to act.” Tyrion cautiously reminded him.  
“Bran Stark never wanted to be a king; don’t you remember? And Three Eyed Raven is something far more than any king.” young man in the chair with wheels replied with even tone.  
“And I am withering here in the Red Keep. Only there were Three Eyed Raven has its true strength, where I could thrive. In the true North. Among dozens of weirwood trees.”


	44. JON

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Of course it's not enough to be a good man to be an effective ruler and it never has been." (George R.R. Martin)
> 
> "He who is to be a good ruler must have first been ruled." (Aristotle)

_Meereen, Essos, year 316 After Conquest_

**JON**

“You shall never do it again and that is my last word on that.” he said to his raven-haired daughter who looked at him with defiance.  
“Papa, I haven’t done anything bad. I love to play in the water pool, what angers you about it so?”  
“Lyanna, you have allowed Hallis to see you in the pool, you were bare as on your nameday. He is a boy; you cannot show yourself as that before him. You are a lady and soon you’ll be a maiden.”  
Her face and grey eyes were to Jon as he was looking at his mirror image, but her voice was of her mother: “Papa, I am still only a little girl. My breasts are flat and I had no first moonblood yet. I am no maiden. And Hallis is no man. He is more of a child than I am. I have done nothing shameful.”  
His eyes widened upon hearing these words coming from his daughter: “Lya, you cannot talk with me like that. I am your father.”  
“I have said the truth, as you’ve taught me to, father. Always to tell the truth.”  
He shook his head and then spoke with stern voice: “All right, Lyanna. As is seems you are well learned of what makes a maiden, the same day when you show first traits of becoming a maiden you will not use the terrace pool again. You shall have one within the pyramid where only other maidens or women can see you.  
Till then, you can bathe or swim on the terrace, but only with your sister or mother. If you disobey this, I will lock you in your chamber for a sennight.  
And I will take the Needle from you. I gave it to your aunt, so mayhaps it is time for that blade to return to the one who had it forged.”  
She gazed at him with a glint in her grey eyes, well known to him, he has seen it in the eyes of Arya, Robb, Sansa…  
“Mirre paktot, kepa. Nyke kessa dohaeragon aōha udrāzma.” Lyanna replied with bitter voice.  
Whenever she ought to do as told and misliked it, dark-haired girl would use High Valyrian. (_All right, father. I shall obey your command._)  
“Sȳz. Nyke ūndon daorun qitto.” (_Good. I expect nothing less._)

He went to the ground level of the pyramid, to the stables.  
He mounted the Dothraki stallion, a splendid animal that to him seemed as fruit of mating the courser from the Reach with sand steed from Dorne.  
In his years in the Night’s Watch he rode only garrons, animals fit for the roam the North and lands beyond the Wall, but not the breed for the tournaments or carrying armored knight into battle. This black coated horse from the Great Grass Sea was his favourite mount now.  
As he rode out from the stables and slowly trotted across the clearing, Jon looked up to the top of the pyramid.  
His dark-haired daughter stood at the terrace wall and waved him, smiling. He returned the gesture. 

_Was it like this with my father and Arya…_ Jon pondered riding through the eastern part of Meereen…  
_ she loved him more than anyone in the world, but she was not an easy child. Oft Ned Stark had to chide his youngest daughter as I have chided now Lya. _  
_She takes after her aunt, that is sure. I hope that when she turns into a maiden, that likeness shall lessen. I love my sister greatly, but I don’t need another Arya growing in my home. Lyanna must live her own life, not mimicking her aunt’s. _

His mind was troubled for weeks now, ever since Dany and him learned that she was with twins.  
Her belly was now swollen so that even those uneducated in childbearing and healing were able to tell his wife will give birth to more than one babe.  
“Should it go for worse, save the babes. Save the babes.” she demanded from him.  
He would not hear it: “It is you who must be saved. You. I am not losing you once again.”  
Then he felt the dragon’s rage of his wife: “You have killed our children once before. I am not letting you do that again. You will save the babes!”  
“I will not live without you, Daenerys Stormborn. You cannot condemn me to that hell, I’ve been in it for ten bloody years!  
And how do you think I will raise four children on my own? How? We shall not discuss the perils of your birthing ever again.”  
“We must!” “We shall not! I will speak no more of it.” “You stubborn fool!” she yelled at him as he went out of their chamber.  
“It would be wiser for you to think where we shall put cribs for two boys.” Jon could see she smiled at the thought…  
“And what if we’re having two girls again?” He sighed: “I hope gods are not that cruel to leave me with five women.”  
“Jelmōñe mittys!” she shouted again (_Northern fool!_) 

Despite acting offended by his words, she wanted son as well and Jon knew that. And he knew that at age of four and thirty, giving birth to twins again could bring peril to Dany’s life. When he first heard that two children are to come in his life, he rejoiced as if he were a child himself. It was all clouded by the thought of his beloved suffering at childbirth. 

He was deep in his thoughts that his mounted escort of twenty guardsmen, led by Tumco Lho, rode at his side in silence, daring not to speak to him.  
Jon made his horse go in slow canter, the pyramids of Hazkar and of Galare were already behind him, each dominating over the city quarter where it stood, he crossed the bridge over the Skahazadhan river and entered the part of the Meereen over which towered the pyramid where the Harpy's Gold barracks were.  
This pyramid was once the seat of House of Zhak, a slaver family that supported the Sons of the Harpy and was from the very beginning hostile to the rule of Daenerys Targaryen over Meereen. On their own accord, before the attack of other slaver cities on Meereen and with the leave of Daenerys herself, that family abandoned their pyramid and went to their estates in nearby hills. They’ve never returned to the city, there were some claims that on those estates Zhak family continues to uphold the slavery in all but name.  
Council of Citizens made few investigations in the course of years, none of which confirmed those claims, but they were not proven false either. 

Pyramid of Zhak was in the easternmost part of Meereen, on the right bank of the river, only pyramid that was built on that side of Skahazadhan, close to the eastern gate of the city. Only for a small portion of its flow did this brown colored river ventured within the city gates, to some it was the most pleasing part of the city, with colorful bridges and tavern boats, even one brothel was afloat, others did not saw the appeal of life close to the water.  
Men of Volantis would strongly disagree, but Volantis was thousands of miles to the west and Skahazadhan save being a river, shared nothing with Rhoyne. 

Faez lo Quazzar was commander of the Harpy’s Gold, a man close to Jon’s age, coming from once slavers family, whose own pyramid was north of the Daznak’s Pit, biggest of the fighting pits of Meereen. One of the few remaining. Old habits die hard, saying goes but fighting pits were slowly but surely coming out of fashion.  
Faez was not an outwardly man nor he was loud one. He spoke softly, his face never betraying what is in his heart or on his mind.  
As all Mereenese noblemen he spoke classic High Valyrian, not the corrupted Low Valyrian that former slaves and other smallfolk of the city used. He had Ghiscari features, dark hair and amber skin. His garments differed not from the garments of guardsmen under his command, save green silk sash he donned over his leather jerkin.

His second in command was also present, Bannen Ashdown, once of the Golden Company, now with the City Guard.  
Bannen was born in a peasant family on the lands of House Ashford in west of Dornish Marches, those under Lord Paramounts of the Reach, but when he reached the age of manhood, he left for the Free Cities with desire to be something greater than a farmer. His skill and determination were noted by serjeants of the Golden Company, who recruited him during his first year in Essos. Bannen was a skilled soldier, but not very likable man. City Guard recruits in this barracks feared him.

“Commander-general, it is good to see you again, I greet you in the name of the garrison of Harpy’s Gold.” Faez lo Quazzar bowed to Jon as he dismounted speaking in High Valyrian. “To some of us, this is known as Eastern Barracks.” Tumco Lho noted, standing next to Jon.  
“Some of City guardsmen should accept the nomenclature such as it is, lieutenant.” Faez countered in Common Tongue knowledge of which he got as a child from his teacher-slave. Tumco wanted to reply, but after getting a look from Jon, he remained silent.  
“Commander Faez, how this barracks progresses?” he asked. “My lord, since your last review, one moon ago, I am glad to report you that on the ground level the works on stables and granary are over, the first level holds the guardsmen quarters and the main armory, second level are the kitchens and pantry, third level are officers’ chambers and additional armory, on the fourth level we have installed scorpion ballistae and watcher posts. The top of the pyramid holds three trebuchets.” 

Meereenese nobleman nearly recited his report, much to Tumco’s amusement, even Bannen smirked. Jon did not find it amusing, he approved Faez being so dedicated:  
“Excellent work, commander. How many guardsmen are here today?” “Five hundred-forty-seven, my lord. If we’re to go over the seven hundred one day, this pyramid will not suffice to accommodate such garrison.” Faez informed him. Jon nodded: “Hopefully, by then we shall have one more barrack on the eastern part of the city…” he then turned to Bannen: “Lieutenant Ashdown, how are things with the recruits?”  
“Well, my lord, a day has not gone without ten of them coming to this yard. Of those ten, five are turned down the very next day, but the other five, I sweat them good.  
And those five will be good guardsmen.” “Among those already trained, any interest of going further with training?” he asked.  
Bannen made a slight nod: “There is. It is not a lie when I tell you that among our five hundred men there are seventy of those willing to learn how to be a spearmen and light horse in the same time.” “That is very good to hear, lieutenant.” Jon was pleased.  
“My lord, if I may…” Bannen begun to talk with caution. “Of course, you may…”  
“…well, Commander-general, most of Essosi armies or free companies have a name.The City Guard is also a name for a host. But, inside that host you’re about to found a smaller host of highly skilled warriors. They deserve a name, my lord.” Bannen pointed out, with Faez lo Quazzar nodding in agreement: “I stand behind every word my lieutenant said, this chosen guardsmen deserve a particular name. But, by all the gods, of Ghis and of Westeros, do not seek that name among plants, my lord.” 

Jon laughed: “I shall not, you rest assured. Indeed, as we shall soon have almost five hundred guardsmen passing that harsher training, a name under which they shall march and fight is needed.” “Dāez perzyssy. Freeflames.” Tumco Lho said aloud.  
Jon turned to him: “Freeflames? I favor that, but it should be those five hundred men themselves choosing the name.”  
“They will favour what name you favor, my lord.” Tumco replied “You are our leader.”  
“I agree. There would be no City Guard in these numbers had it not been for you, lord Jon.” Faez lo Quazzar added “If Freeflames is to your liking, then it shall be Dāez perzyssy.” Bannen also spoke out: “My lord, many of us from the Golden Company would not have come here had it not been for one of dragon blood commanding the City Guard. Freeflames is a proper name for a host that was your making from the beginning.”  
He nodded: “All right, then a word must be sent to other barracks. The five hundred chosen shall bear the name Dāez perzyssy hen Mīrīn. The Freeflames of Meereen.”  
He was pleased with that name, but did not want to show it outwards.

Jon greeted his hosts and mounted his Dothraki horse, preparing to ride back with his escort to the Targaryen pyramid which was on the south side of the city when a man wearing the red robes, on a grey mare, approached and making a deep bow said:  
“Rigle āeksio, Eglie Voktys Kinvara jaelagon naejot ȳdragon ao naejot.” (_ Honorable lord, High Priestess Kinvara wishes to speak with you._)  
“Lo ziry kostilus Eglie Voktys, nyke kessa māzigon naejot se rijībliot hemtubis.” (_If it pleases the High Priestess, I shall visit the temple tomorrow._)  
“Eglio Vokto vestās īles adere.” (_High Priestess said it was urgent._)  
He shrugged: Pār, ivestragī īlva daor gaomagon zirȳla umbagon.” (_Then, let us not keep her waiting. _)

Jon and his escort led by Tumco Lho now rode to the southern end of the city, making their way through the broad streets, passing by the carts, palanquins and people on foot. This was the part of the day when the heat was still bearable and Meereenese were on the streets and squares, most with purpose, other wandering about.  
A band of twenty City Guard horsemen made some of them to vanish in side alleys, those have done or were about to do acts that lead to gaol. 

The temple of R’hllor in Meereen, place where Jon briefly lived with Dany and their daughters, was once the pyramid of House Uhlez, another noble family that has made a wrong choice and during reign of Targaryen queen over the city aligned with the Sons of the Harpy.  
When slavers lost that war, the Uhlezs lost their titles and holds and went to Tolos or even further west, to Volantis.  
The priests of the Lord of Light, who firmly stood by Daenerys, were rewarded for their allegiance with Uhlez pyramid.  
During last decade, it served as the temple of red priests, as they were known in Westeros, hosting dozens of priests and temple servants.  
After the attack of Second Sons on the temple, there were also the warriors known as the Fiery Hand. 

Jon could not guess why is Kinvara summoning him with such urgency, but he has never taken her advice lightly.  
“Jon of House Targaryen. There are nearly two moons since you have last been in our temple. One could be forgiven for believing you’ve forgotten us.” a woman in long red robe greeted him on the pyramid’s ground level, her light green eyes meeting his. Around her neck as ever was the necklace, encrusted with a red gemstone.  
“It does seem so, High Priestess, I haven’t called in here and in some other places in the city that I should have.”  
“Yes, word has come to me of you being invested wholly in the City Guard and what is left of your day you spend with your family. A proper husband and father.” she smiled.  
“I strive to be, my lady. I was not there for my wife and my daughters whole ten years.”  
Jon and Kinvara walked over the pyramid’s courtyard which was empty, reaching the entrance of the temple.  
“You did not know of them. Do not burden your mind with the past. Past is written, ink has dried. I wish to speak with you of the future.” priestess said, it was plain she shrouds something. “Then you have already bested me… I cannot gaze into the future using flames as you can.”  
Kinvara shook her head: “For what I am about to tell, you don’t need to… Galazza Galare, one that serves in the Ghiscari Temple as I do here, has died in her sleep last night.  
A death which could have been expected in her age. She was close to her one and ninety nameday.”  
Jon was surprised: “No word has reached the City Guard yet.”  
“No, the priests in her temple have not informed the Council of Citizens nor anyone else in the city. They’ll do it tomorrow. It’s a sad tiding which will affect Meereen greatly.”  
“I am sure you don’t speak of faith now, but of ruling.” he said with tone of certainty.  
She chuckled: “Of course I speak of ruling, my lord. When it comes to faith, Galazza and I were not competitors. She had her believers, I had mine. Her role in ruling over this city, another matter wholly…for thirteen years she managed to keep peace between once slavers and once slaves. There is one and score councillor but Galazza steered them all.  
She was able and dutiful and a woman of peace. This death will shatter the Council of Citizens. Old enmities will return. And then…” Jon stared at her for a while: “And then…what? I don't like riddles and clouded words."  
Priestess answered with even tone: “What is come to pass is not yet written. But we can see the glimpses of it in the flames. With a drop of blood of kings, the fire will show us very clear picture of things to come… and you, my lord, have blood of two royal lines.” “And if I have no wish to gaze at the future in the flames?”  
Kinvara gave him a grin: “But you do, Jon Targaryen, you do.” 

Both of them now stood over a brazier, she uttered the prayer causing flames to move and twirl.  
He cut his palm with dragon-hilt dagger over the fire and the flames rose high.  
“Look now, my lord, look closely and carefully.” 

He walked out from the temple, half an hour later, immersed in his thoughts. Kinvara followed. “You’re troubled with what you’ve seen.”  
“It might not be true; it could be a crooked image of things that are yet to happen.”  
“My lord, you and your family are alive for the power of R’hllor. Would Lord of Light show you the crooked future?”  
“And if I were to choose not to believe what I just saw?”  
Kinvara looked at him and said with cold voice: “You’ll be gambling with lives of your whole family, Jon Targaryen.”  
His face became even more grim.  
She placed her hand on his shoulder: “This city needs peace. With its ruling council divided between once owners and once owned, there will be no peace. First mistrust will come, then hatred, then first blood shall be shed. And then hundreds will perish. Not only here, it will spread to Yunkai and Astapor as well."  
Jon remained silent for a heartbeat, then he said: “People of Meereen are not that foolish. For years they have kept their peace.”  
Red priestess laughed aloud: “Being a son of dragon, there is a lot of Northern fool still lingering on within you, my lord. Your wife would not like this hesitance. She came back to you as a true friend and wife. She gave birth and will give birth to your children. She is at your side now for being zoklīzaldrīzes…dragonwolf. Daenerys detests weakness in men. Luckily for you, yours was burned away by Drogon.”  
Jon grinned: “So, for my wife to like me even more, I should do as the flames have shown me.”  
Kinvara grinned back: “Indeed you share blood with Arya Stark, she used to mock in same fashion. She is in White Harbor now; I ought to tell you this.” He was surprised now: “Arya is in Westeros? I expected her to be somewhere in the Shivering Sea right now, sailing to Ibbenese isles.” 

“She wanted that to be, but sometimes Lord of Light choses another course as he did for her.” “You saw that in the flames too?”  
Kinvara smirked: “A fellow servant of R’hllor who is in Westeros learned of that and thanks to the power of Lord of Light, two of us are able to share words no matter how much of Known World parts us, same as you and I are speaking now.” Jon shrugged, then priestess continued:  
“White Harbor. That is seat of House Manderly, right? Family of the mother of that boy you foster…”  
He grinned again: “The flames informed you truly, this time.”  
High Priestess smiled: “Flames? Ah, my lord, for such knowledge I do not use flames but ears and mouths of the living.”  
“I see. You have your spies in the Targaryen pyramid.” “Mayhaps I do, if so, it is only for the benefit of your family. The Lord of Light values you highly.” “And what does the Lord of Light want of Hallis Hornwood?”  
“The boy is of little matter himself, but he must be restored to his own and that must be done by you… you have to go to White Harbor with the boy. Do not delay that for more than few weeks.”  
Jon shook his head: “My wife is to give birth in the course of few weeks. I am not leaving her and my daughters alone.  
Not for purpose of escorting anyone, no matter how I respect Hornwoods. And Manderlys.  
Dany will not bring another two children into this world with me not being there.” 

“Jon Targaryen, you shall feel two newborn babes in your arms, that much is certain. Will you see those babes as grown, that depends of you acting wisely.  
He sighed and then spoke with solemn tone: “To secure the wellbeing of my children and to keep my wife at my side is what I intend for the future.  
To some this might not seem as manly talk, but to ensure House Targaryen to live on, that is my single goal in life.”  
Priestess gave him a sincere smile: “You are a noble man, son of Rhaegar and Lyanna, you keep best traits of both dragon and wolf family in you.  
Traits needed for one to wield power, not to shun it. Indeed, be wise, Jon Targaryen. And Lord of Light will be at your side.” 

He was riding home, to the other end of the city, again silent. Tumco Lho and other twenty riders were used to that. Commander-general was never a man of many words.  
It suited most of them, once they have learned that Jon Targaryen being silent did not always mean he was angered or troubled.  
Today, riding back from once pyramid of Dhazak in the south end of the city, to once pyramid of Yherizan, dark-haired son of dragonlord family was troubled and was pondering about what he has learned. As mounted column approached the tall construction made of black stone blocks, his eyes caught the banner with three-headed dragon waving three hundred and fifty feet above the ground. Every time he saw the colors of his House, a sense of pleasure came to him. 

_One child hidden as a bastard, other child living as a beggar in exile, we have renewed the line that goes back to the days of Valyrian Freehold. _

“Iksan Hallis hen Hornwood Lentor.” he heard Rhaella’s voice as he came to the highest floor of the pyramid.  
“Iksen Hallis hen Hornwood Lentar.” boy’s voice repeated wrongly, with strong Northern accent, which made his daughter to laugh:  
“Daor, daor iksen. Iksan. I am… Iksan Hallis. I am Hallis. Hen Hornwood Lentor. Of House Hornwood.”  
Boy tried again: “Iksan Hallis hen Hornwood Lentor.” Rhaella clapped her hands: “Much better. But, aōha elēni qupēgrie issa.”  
“What does that mean?” Hallis asked. “Your accent is terrible.” silver-haired girl replied.  
“And you sound like a southerner when you speak Common Tongue. As you were from the Highgarden or Oldtown or one of those fancy flower places.”  
“I speak the tongue of Westeros as it should be spoken. Don’t call me a southerner. I am not. I am of Dragonstone and of Winterfell.” Rhaella was now bit angry.  
“Dragonstone is south…” Hallis countered.  
“To Hornwood castle it is, but it is also north to King’s Landing and to Highgarden and to Sunspear…” she pointed “…Zaldrīzesdōron iksis jelmor naejot Vēzosegrio.” Hallis’ eyes widened: “What?!”  
“Zaldrīzesdōron iksis jelmor naejot Vēzosegrio.” Rhaella repeated smiling “Lord Hornwood, you shall use this thick dictionary of High Valyrian and learn what I have just said.” 

_Dragonstone is north to Sunspear… _ Jon smiled as he walked towards them, his silver-haired daughter and heir to the House Hornwood were sitting at the stone table on the terrace with half a dozen books before them:  
“Well, lord Hallis, I see you’re in the good hands. And after looking in that thick dictionary, also use the map of Westeros, you shall see that Rhaella is not jesting with you.”  
“Papa!” the girl shouted and ran to embrace him. “Perzys hen ñuha ābrar…” he said softly in her ear “Fire of my life...”  
She kissed his cheek: “I thought you will not be home before sundown, Papa.” “I thought that as well, but I must see your mother and that cannot wait.”  
“She is in her chamber, resting. Lyanna is there, aiding her.” Jon chuckled: “Should I ask if that was punishment for something?”  
Rhaella shook her head: “No, Papa, Lya and I decided to help Muña with whatever she may need, she does it today, tomorrow will I.”  
His eyes widened and then he kissed girl’s brow: “Iksan sīr hoskagon hen ao se aōha mandia.” (_I am so proud of you and your sister._) “Kirimvose, Papa.” she thanked him. He shook hands with Hallis who greeted him cordially, one could tell that young Northerner was savouring in his stay at the Targaryen pyramid, and then walked inside, heading to the lord’s and lady’s chambers. 

As he entered, there was Daenerys lying on the bed, her belly was swollen so that Jon sometimes thought their new twins will come to this world as big as a five-year-olds, she was reading some parchments, not noticing him at the door. Lyanna was placing the papers back in the leather covers as her mother was done reading them, standing attentively at the bedside. Jon coughed, they both looked at him, dark-haired girl as her sister rushed to embrace him: “Papa! How is all at Harpy’s Gold?”  
He could see Dany’s smile as he placed his arms around Lyanna: “All is well, my sweet wolf child… and you, have you been of help to your mother?”  
“Your daughter was very helpful.” Daenerys said “She deserves a reward.”  
He nodded: “She does.” He looked at Lyanna: “You may go now, to do your water dance or to swim in water pool… alone, remember what we agreed this morrow.”  
Girl smiled at both of them: “I remember… Muña, Papa…” Lyanna bowed and rushed out of the chamber.  
Daenerys frowned: “She takes after you and your Stark kin. The more she grows, the more that is plain.”  
“Does she now? Oddly, I see a lot of Targaryen hiding beneath those dark curls.” he said as he sat down at her side and they shared a passionate kiss.  
“You’re still running your affairs; you know that rather soon you’ll have to pass that to someone of the household, Mallaro or Azzak zo Ghazeen, both of them are able men and have good understating of trade, coins and wealth.” “I know Jon, but for last three weeks I had to deal with the Iron Bank of Braavos and that I cannot leave to neither of them. Iron Bank will not take me seriously if I am to let my underlings to talk with them, no matter how able those underlings are…”  
He nodded: “You’re right. Are you having trouble with the Iron Bank?”  
She smiled: “I do not, truly. They’re pleased with an arrangement that I have reached with them and it is already being carried out.” 

Tone of her voice then changed, eyes glowing: “And, my love, that means House Targaryen of Meereen will make our enemies to tremble. As it is proper.”  
“Should I ask what you’ve been preparing for our enemies?” he now smiled at her. “Let me surprise you, Jon, with this. I promise you’ll enjoy it.”  
“All right.” dark-haired Targaryen nodded “I have some news for you as well… to begin with, Dāez perzyssy will be the name of the finest and chosen soldiers of the City Guard.” “Freeflames?! I like it, I like it a lot. Did you propose that name?”  
“Tumco did, but I supported it wholly.” Daenerys smiled: “A proper name for men led by the son of Last Dragon.” “I thought we were the last dragons, Dany.”  
“No, we’re not. There are two more just outside of this chamber and two more soon to come.”  
She passed her hand over her belly. “Six Targaryens… and some still believe our house has gone from this world. How wrong they are.” he said, his eyes glowing.  
She nodded smiling: “Never again will a Targaryen be alone in the world. And… the other news?” 

Jon paused for a while: “Kinvara summoned me to the R’hllor temple to tell me that Galazza Galare has died last night, of old age…”  
Daenerys was saddened: “Oh… she used to give me a good advice and I don't think she was my enemy when I took Meereen all those years ago.”  
“I know. She was kind to me as well.”  
He took a long stare at the floor after saying that. Dany frowned: “Jon, I know you too well, something is on your mind, something that burdens you. Speak already.”  
He smiled at her and kissed her hand: “Indeed you know me well. Kinvara fears that city could sunk back into the unrest, even into war between once slaves and once slavers.  
She is certain of what flames have told her, that without Galazza the Council of Citizens will be in no shape to rule.”  
She sighed: “That could come to pass, Jon, don’t let these many years of peace fool you.” “Now you sound like Kinvara.”  
“Oft I don’t agree with her, but she is wise. Very wise.” “She and I looked at the flames and I saw councilors locked away and death dancing on the streets. ”  
Daenerys’ eyes widened and she looked at him silently for a while, it was not more than a few moments, but to Jon it seemed as forever.  
“Who would imprison the councilors? And death dancing?” she asked with serious tone. “That’s what I have seen in the flames. It made no sense to me either.”  
_Kinvara spoke of how wrong decisions may threaten the future of our family... I am not going to burden Dany with it..._ he said to himself. Instead, his words were:  
"Flames can't be wholly trusted, same as any other gaze in things that are not yet came to pass, visions that Melisandre has shown to Stannis Baratheon were..."  
_...were not wrong, only she mistook their message as related to him..._ was his next thought. He did not want to speak more of his meeting with Kinvara. 

Galazza Galare, the Green Grace, high priestess of the Ghiscari Temple of the Graces in Meereen was laid to eternal rest after a sennight of mourning.  
The end of an era for Meereen, some said. She was from the family of slavers, yet wise enough to recognise that Slaver's Bay is coming to an end when she saw a young silver-haired woman entering the city with her army and three then still small dragons. Once slaves respected her for that wisdom. Conciliator of Meereen, should have been engraved on her gravestone. After mourning, city returned to its routines. For first few days. 

Council of Citizens failed to elect a new leader as they reached an impasse.  
Ten once slavers and ten once slaves refused proposals for new head councilor brought by other side.  
It lasted for days at first, then it turned into weeks, as they isolated themselves in the Great Pyramid. Election of new head councilor dragged into last moon of the year.  
Tired, angered with each other, filled with doubts of true intentions of that other side, they resorted to violence. Fists flew first, then chairs, cups and bottles, some heads were bloodied. It did not take long for news of brawling within the Council to reach the streets. 

Riots started when false word was passed among Meereenese that Galazza Galare died not of old age, but was poisoned.  
By once slavers and once Sons of the Harpy, said some, by former slaves, said others. First death came when mob has beaten to death a nobleman near Temple of the Graces.  
It did not take long for vengeance, two once slaves, man and woman, now servants at that same temple were taken from the street, brought to an abandoned fighting pit, nailed to the ground and left to bleed to death. More killing followed in coming days. Two sides clashed in a market on the northern side of the city.  
Five and forty lives were lost, scores wounded. 

Then butchery in one of the Meereen's many baths took place where all killed were nobles.  
Soon, during day, city was no longer teeming with people and after sunset Meereenese were locking themselves in their homes, be it the pyramids of nobles or shacks of those poorest among once slaves. As Council of Citizens was still in deadlock, hidden behind the walls of the Great Pyramid, fear reigned the city. Rumors of once slavers reviving the Sons of the Harpy were also heard. Some believed it to be true, others saw that talk no more than spreading of fear among once slaves and other lowborn. 

Jon ordered whole of City Guard on the streets.  
Before that he gathered the commanders of all four barracks and ordered that any guardsman who deserts his post or joins those who make havoc in the city to be executed where he stands. Only few such cases happened in the following days and none among the Freeflames. City Guard patrolled the streets and squares, breaking the mobs that formed in the markets and other public places. Jon ordered the punishment of death by sword for any citizen caught in looting and burning home of others.  
Those guilty of killing fellow Meereenese would be hung publicly. 

_Only iron fist, commanders, will avert the people of this city from becoming beasts. Behead ten to save the lives of hundreds and waste no time pondering of it…_he told them… _aye, it may come to pass that men and women you know or even are friends with shall be among those you must punish. A duty of city guardsmen anywhere in this world is not easy. Now you know why. _

Day after first blood was shed, Daenerys ordered almost all of her Unsullied to come to Meereen, of six hundred that returned from Naath seven years ago only fifty remained in Port Yhos and none in her manse in Qarth. Six scores of Dothraki were also at Targaryen pyramid now and her home resembled more of a fortress.  
Drogon appeared over the city on some nights, a large winged shadow flew over the empty streets. _If masked killers who think of harpy as their mother have returned, I want them to know they shall taste the same dragonflame as they did four and ten years ago,_ she said to Jon.  
He proposed for her and children to leave for Port Yhos or even Qarth, she refused.  
"Dragons do not flee from danger. Nor do direwolves. Our children are both. I shall stay. And born and unborn Targaryens shall stay too. " 

Daenerys was less than a moon away from birth when four councilors came at the pyramid that was home of Targaryen family.  
Marghaz zo Loraq, Marselen, Eraz lo Hazkar and Hezzata, two nobles and two once slaves.  
They asked to speak with Jon, all four appeared tired and distrustful of each other. Daenerys received them in the hall of the pyramid, offered refreshment and then all waited in silence for Jon to come. He was patrolling the eastern side of the city that day with fifty of the Freeflames. She sent one of the Dothraki from their household to bring him home. 

“My lords, my lady…” Jon addressed to them in High Valyrian as he entered the hall and sat next to Daenerys “…I shall not ask to what my wife and I owe this visit. I was just in the city and saw the state of affairs. It’s a ruin. The citizens you answer to are today killing each other in tens, tomorrow it will be in hundreds and before this sennight ends in thousands. You’ve given them a bad example with your brawl. As if you were a band of drunks in a road inn. And you remain locked away in the Great Pyramid for three weeks already without decision that may bring an end to the madness that rules Meereen instead of you.” 

His harsh tone took them by surprise, but not her. She could tell that Jon is aware his guardsmen are too few to keep the peace in all corners of the city and that knowledge angered Jon. Men and women of the city were dying under his watch and he could not bear with it lightly.  
Marghaz was first of the four to speak: “Commander-general, we came here to prevent our great city from falling into chaos and civil war.”  
“If you truly want to do that, choose your leader already, no matter was he or his father a slave or a slaver, the Council of Citizens needs a head councilor. The more you delay with that, the more is Meereen closer to utterly ruin itself. And City Guard cannot do much to stop that from taking place.” her husband replied dryly.  
Hezzata, a Lhazareen born woman, said to him: “My man and two brothers serve with the City Guard, my lord, I do not wish for them to dip their swords and spears in the blood of their own.” “Their own? Former slaves, you mean.” Eraz lo Hazkar hissed at her. “For guardsmen, every Meerenese is his own.” Hezzata countered. 

“Why have you come here?” Daenerys ended their quarrel before it went on. “How shall this visit prevent chaos in the city? So far the only thing you’ve brought here is a bickering from your endless meeting in the Great Pyramid.”  
Marselen nodded: “You’re right, my lady. Though we didn’t mean to do it. We came here with a proposal.” “An offer.” Marghaz added.  
“Unless you’re offering five thousand already trained men to be taken into ranks of City Guard, what else could halt Meereen crumbling from within.  
Save you finally naming the new head of the Council.” Jon replied to him.  
Marghaz looked at dark-haired Targaryen: “Our offer is exactly that. We offer you to lead our great city, my lord.”  
“One who commands the City Guard cannot lead the councilors.” Jon said.  
“We do not offer you to lead the Council of Citizens. We cannot, you’re not member of it.” Eraz told him. 

“What do you offer then?”  
“My lord, all the members of the Council came to see that electing of the new head councilor will not take place, not before Meereen falls wholly into riot and bloodshed of which it cannot recover. For that, we have decided that city needs the highest authority. Authority as it once before had.” Marghaz spoke looking right at Daenerys.  
“And that decision brought us here. We offer you the crown of Meereen, Jon of House Targaryen.” 

Daenerys sneered at all four of them: “Have I heard this well? You offer the crown of Meereen to my husband and not me, your once queen?”  
She could tell Marselen and Hezzata are ashamed with her words, then he spoke: “Our half of the council was proposing you as our ruler, my lady. Other half disagreed.” “Is that so? Well, Marghaz zo Loraq and Eraz lo Hazkar, I see that noblemen of Meereen, that once lived of slavery still see me as… enemy?”  
Eraz, stabbing both Hezzata and Marselen with his gaze, tried to explain: “No, my lady, councilors from the ranks of noble houses shall always appreciate what you have done for Meereen in the past, but it is our belief that our city now needs someone who has no past here.”  
Marghaz nodded: “And who better meets those requirements than lord Jon. A proven leader here as well as in Sunset Kingdoms, seasoned warrior, tempered man who understands both highborn and lowborn.”  
Daenerys scowled: “From what you have just said I can only tell that I am not a proven leader, that I am ill-tempered and with no understanding of highborn or lowborn or both? Which of that am I, Marghaz zo Loraq?”  
Nobleman sighed: “My lady, you are all that your husband is, but he is more acceptable to nobles.  
Meaning you no offence, those Meereenese who are not once slaves, are keener on having Jon Targaryen as ruler than Daenerys Targaryen.  
We may pretend that we, nobles of Meereen, and you don’t have certain not so fortunate past between us, but that would be lying to ourselves, would it not?”  
She gave him a cold look: “Indeed, it would.” 

Then she turned to Jon: “My lord husband is being very quiet since this offer was laid before him.”  
He gave her a look and then turned to four councilors: “This offer... It is not what I expected of you. Part of me finds it in bad taste even. Nearly a poor jape. You shall wait here for my lady wife and me to discuss among ourselves. Refreshments will be served to you." 

Dany and him went to her solar.  
“You were just offered to rule the city...” she said with serious tone.  
“Dany... I saw a glimpse of it in the flames that day with Kinvara. It seemed as nonsense to me, I didn't want to tell you of it."  
“And yet, flames were not lying...” her tone was even. “Dany, you were the Queen here. They should have asked you first.”  
She nodded: “They should have… nor will they. Once masters do not want me as their ruler again. And merchants of Meereen mislike me for other reasons. They prefer you, as me you’re also of the noblest ancestry, you command the city host… They prefer you. Same as Westeros did all those years ago.”  
Her voice was one of disillusion and Jon sighed: “You should rule here, not me. I’ll refu…”  
He did not get to finish for her hand came hard across his face. 

“Do not dare to say that you’ll refuse!” Daenerys said loudly “Or that you don’t want it, I’ll slap you again, Jon.  
I swear it by Arrax of Old Valyria.” Arrax was the first among gods of their Valyrian forefathers, god of strength, order, law and justice.  
“You shall accept that offer. Or Meereen could get a ruler that will not look kindly on House Targaryen. I am not going to gamble with our future. You were king once; you can be king again.”  
“Gods, Dany, this is folly. Can't you see they are doing this out of despair... I don't care what flames have shown.” he said, his cheek still stinging from her slap.  
Daenerys replied dryly: “Flames never mislead Kinvara. When we return to the hall, you will answer to those councilors – yes.  
Simple yes, Jon, no explaining, no second thoughts. You and I could have been King and Queen of Seven Kingdoms.  
Destiny took different course, aided with stupidity from both of us. And madness from my side when I’ve burnt what our ancestors have built…”  
“You weren’t mad…”  
“…I was not wise or sane either, Jon. But, it appears that destiny has provided House Targaryen with another possibility of kingship. And you shall take it. You were born for far greater purpose than to command City Guard, no matter how elite warriors they’ve become.  
Be a dragon, Jon. Be a dragon.”  
He sighed deeply, still uncertain what to do.  
“Jon, I am at your side. Till my last day. They have come to lay the City of Meereen at your feet, take it. Take it for yourself, for me and for our children. I am with you. All the power that I have shall be behind you. Ñuha valzȳrys, ñuha dārys. My husband, my king.” His lips were on hers again.  


_Love is the death of duty, _said to him his great-great uncle Aemon Targaryen. _Sometimes duty is the death of love,_ said to him Tyrion Lannister.  
Jon has finally risen above those doubts. His duty was to those he loved. 

Jon and Daenerys returned to the room where four councilors were waiting for him to give his answer. He could tell how unease and troubled they were.  
_Fear marks their faces. They are afraid. For their lives. Rightfully so. Riots will soon come to the gates of the Great Pyramid._  
He stood before them, his hand around Dany's waist. His eyes did not look at them with approval. 

"My lady, my lords... you honor me with this offer and the trust the Council has placed in me. Merely moments before coming to this meeting, I saw the shape in which Meereen is now. Three and twenty deaths only in the port between sunrise and noon. Without someone to rule over this city, it shall only be worse. Much worse. How long before you, councilors, will be dragged out of the Great Pyramid and butchered on the streets? Citizens of Meereen deserve peace and safety. A decent life.” 

He paused for a heartbeat, then he said:  
“I, Jon of House Targaryen and of House Stark, accept the offer of Council of Citizens to take the reign over the city of Meereen as your king.” 

Daenerys could see the relief on the faces of three men and woman who came to her home with proposal of kingship to her husband. Then, that husband spoke more:  
“I have only one condition. My wife, Daenerys of House Targaryen, shall rule with me as Queen of Meereen, as she did once before. Not as queen consort, as a true Queen.  
Are those terms acceptable to the Council?” 

Marselen and Hezzata were pleased to hear this, while Marghaz and Eraz were taken by this: "Lord Jon, we must discuss this condition you have made, all twenty-one councilors... then we can give you our answer." Hezzata shook her head: "That will not be necessary. Council has bestowed us with authority to present this offer to lord Jon and to negotiate it if needed. And I speak for all ten of freedmen councilors when I say that Queen Daenerys of Meereen is what we want." 

No matter how unkeen they were of having Daenerys as ruler again, choosing between Mother of Dragons and civil war that would be the end of city's nobility was in truth no choosing. Out of ten Meereenese, only two were once masters. Even with whole of City Guard to defend them, noble families would be wiped out in matter of weeks. 

“Naejot Dārys se Dāria!” Marselen said loudly “Bōsa kostagon pōnta ondor ōregon! “  
To King and Queen! Long may they reign! 

When councilors have left, content as their offer was accepted, Jon returned to the hall after escorting them to the ground level and sunk in the chair:  
“And now what?”  
She shrugged: “Now you will do what kings do. You will rule.”  
"That is is not what I asked. What if this doesn't end the riots... to be named king because group of people got scared... Folly, I say it is a folly."  
Dany smirked: “ Jon Targaryen, first you will end the riots. And then you will learn that being a ruler in the times of peace is all but easy.”  
“If I am truly to lead this ancient city, I find comfort in knowing that I shall have it easier than you did four and ten years ago.”  
“How so?” she wondered.  
“I’ll have another Targaryen at my side.” 


	45. SUN OF WINTER AND THE SHE-WOLF

_White Harbor, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

**ELRIC**

“I do not need you here, Ser Malcolm. I need you and your men ending the siege of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.” he said to the southern knight who commanded the host that made camp on the bank of lake where burned Queenscrown tower was.  
Two of them sat in the command tent, under a light blue coated canvas.  
Tents spread in crescent shape around the lake, with ruins of the nearby village used as place for horses and pack mules. One would expect more noise in this large encampment, but save yelling and curses not much was heard.  
These men came here after a defeat that left a deep mark. 

Branfield man was unmoved with his words as he replied: “Eastwatch is besieged from the sea, my lord. Some say two score of longships and a dozen of Iron Fleet warships are in the waters before Eastwatch.  
Siege on the land does not even take place properly.”  
“Northerners that serve under me would not agree with you, there was no ride to Eastwatch that passed without some of them dying by arrow or spear. Road to there is under siege that lasts for too long now.  
And that road is the only way we can reach our garrison at Eastwatch, send them supplies and relieve the men. Till that kraken scum is chased away from Shivering Sea.”  
“Wall, my lord.” Ser Malcom said. “What now, Ser? The Wall?” Elric frowned.  
“Yes, lord Elric, the Wall. At Eastwatch, Wall was torn down, as stories and chronicles tell us by a wight dragon serving the one called Night King. That is now only open passage to the lands beyond the Wall.”  
“I know that very well, Ser, better than you.”  
“Then you also know that wildlings do not use that passage to come south of the Wall. Fort at Eastwatch prevents that. Smaller groups can sneak during night, but no larger numbers. Your garrison is making sure of that.”  
“Say your mind, Ser, instead of telling me old news.” 

Branfield made a single nod: “Wildling use the Wall to come south, Wall which is wholly under their sway, from Westwatch-by-the-Bridge to Greenguard, all once castles of the Night’s Watch are now serving wildlings and the Ironborn.  
As it goes side by side with your road and they can march across the top of the Wall and bring tens, hundreds of men where they like. Leaving the Wall to them, that was a mistake.”  
“We did not leave it to them. We left it to the Night’s Watch. That indeed was a mistake.” young Karstark said to Malcolm.  
“Why did you make it, my lord?”  
He shook his head: “Ser Malcolm, half of Northern lords were unkeen of North expanding to the Gift, an act of taking command over the Wall from the Night’s Watch would turn even more of them against this campaign.  
Old beliefs and oaths die slowly in the North. Wildlings on the other hand took the hold over the Wall with no issues. Now, to push them away from the Wall…” 

Malcom finished his sentence: “…You need thousands which you do not have.”  
“That, Ser Malcolm, is why it is necessary that this army moves north to the Eastwatch as soon as you can.” he pointed.  
“Lord Elric, this army is still recovering from the defeat that occurred seven weeks ago. We lost over six hundred men at that battle, of which nearly half were knights and other riders. After the battle some lose their heart and left our ranks, returning to Six Kingdoms. Now, I have here mayhaps twelve hundred men of which every fourth is a horseman and that may barely be true. We’re in no shape to march north and east to relieve Eastwatch. Not until our ranks are replenished.”  
“And how do you plan of doing that if some of your men scurry south with tales of defeat?”  
“Yes, that is a good point. Luckily for both of us, Westeros will never lack poor knights or once soldiers seeking wealth, land or titles. Surely, some will be discouraged when learning how wildlings and the Ironborn hold their ground against armored horse.  
But more will come. Some even to avenge fallen kin.” “That may take weeks. I don’t have weeks.” Elric said, his tone spoke of impatience.”  
Branfield nodded again: “I hear you, my lord, but with this small number of mounted men, we shall be of poor use to Queen in the North. Wildlings are emboldened after their victory over my men, Ironborn as well.  
I would advise restraint of seeking another pitched battle.”  
Elric shrugged: “Well, Ser Malcom, I do not seek your advice. I seek of you to slaughter the wildlings and though you had a good beginning at the Last River, you failed in following the suite. I have expected more of southern knights.” 

Branfield acted as these words and some said before were not wounding his pride, insulting him even.  
He was nearly twice as old as Elric, years of warring and dealing with eager young lords as this Northerner was taught him how and when to meet insult with insult. This was not the time. Instead he merely said: “White Harbor.” Karstark raised eyebrow: “What?” 

Malcom sighed: “Sea, my lord, next great battle of this war will be at sea. I trust you know that Ironborn have retreated from Dragonstone and now their main port in the Narrow Sea is Sisterton.”  
“Of course I know that.” Elric hissed.  
“Then you may safely assume that Yara Greyjoy will attack the White Harbor with aim to take it. Or sack it. Losing that port… Vale in truth has no sea now as Gulltown was sacked and krakens are returning every week to ruin what Vale repairs.  
For same to happen to the North…” “It will not. Not with me commanding our host.”  
“White Harbor, lord Karstark. Next time the swords cross it will be there.” Branfield said. “Let me trouble with that, Ser Malcolm. You see that this camp moves towards Mole’s Town before new moon starts.” 

He was half a mile away from the Queenscrown, riding south with an escort of two dozen men, all Karstark soldiers wearing dark and brown leather with white sunburst over the chest, a black banner with same sigil waved over their heads along the grey direwolf on white cloth of their Stark queen. “Are we riding to Winterfell, my lord?” asked the leader of his men. “No, we’re going to White Knife river.”  
“My lord?” the man asked, surprised. “We shall take a river runner and sail down to White Harbor.”  
“Aye, my lord. Should I send a rider to Winterfell with the word of this?” Elric shook his head: “No, it’s not needed. I will send a raven to our queen when we get to White Harbor.” 

_I will not report her of every step I make…_ Elric thought as they advanced down the Kingsroad. He disappointed Sansa Stark.  
Her lust for him lasted for many moons, close to a year almost, but victory in this war eluded them and she was more and more displeased with everyone around her, not sparing even him.  
And when displeased, she was the most unpleasant person from Wall to Dorne. Or he saw her that way. She did not talk of their wedding anymore as if Elric bringing the victory over _kraken and Thenn_ was a condition of it. 

_I promised the Gift as wedding gift, was she waiting for that…_ was next on his mind… _what’s the point of marriage when there may be no heirs. After ten moons of fucking her, she was not with child. Barren as a brick, that would Gawen Glover said if he were still alive. And he’d be right. Queen in the North cannot give heirs. The House Stark dies with her…_ then he thought of younger sister… _Arya Stark. She is at White Harbor. She came to Winterfell and left the same day. Ruling North is not what she desires, only to climb to her ship and sail as far as she can. _

He had enough time to ponder as he rode southwards with his men. They have spent the night at the shore of Long Lake before returning to Kingsroad to continue their journey.  
Sixty miles north of Winterfell Elric and his escort left the road and turned east towards the White Knife river. 

The White Knife was the largest river in the north. At its mouth, sat the White Harbor. To traverse the swift stream of this river, long and lean boats, called river runners were used.  
Sailing ships could navigate the White Knife up to its rapids, after which travelers that were headed to Winterfell had to proceed overland. In time of peace, hides and timber from the north were brought down the river for trade in White Harbor.  
As this port was now blocked and no northern goods could be delivered by ships to rest of Westeros and across the Narrow sea, there were no traders coming down or up the river. 

Elric sat at the prow of the river runner, his men took their seats along the boat. They left two men from his escort with the horses to wait until they return with the same boat. He did not want to linger among the Manderlys more than it was needed.  
That House was not keen of the North taking the Gift and spreading on the lands north of the Wall. They never cared much for Sansa… and him… he knew they despised him. Old fat Wyman, his just as fat son Wylis… all that lot. To them he was only a bed warmer of the Queen. No betrothal was ever made, no wedding announced. He was in truth only sharing lust with Sansa Stark. 

_I was the first one that fucked her as woman should be fucked. Lust. Never love. That would be enough if she were able to give him heirs. Heirs to the House Stark and Karstark and to the northern throne. She was not able. Her child was to be the greater North. That was her legacy and that would mark her place in the chronicles of the direwolf family. She was not able to deliver that either. Should this war end with no victory or with defeat, she will throw blame at all those around her and I am commander of the Northern host. And a Karstark…_

Elric knew that even with him bedding Sansa for moons now, she hated his family, that hate was well concealed, but he knew that Queen in the North would not mind if Karhold were in hands of some other noble house.  
His siding with Sansa in this war with wildlings softened her towards Karstarks, but Elric get the know the mind and heart of his queen, she was not the kind that forgets or forgives.  
Thanks to hers now disappeared bastard brother, who ruled the North before her, Karhold was left to Karstarks. That was not to her liking. It mattered not to Sansa that Karstarks died at Winterfell fighting the dead and the Night King.  
Much before that, in front of all the Northern lords, she advised her bastard brother to take Karhold away from his family and give it to someone else, more loyal. Bastard refused. Sansa was not pleased with that. Elric was aware of it. 

Thoughts came one after another in his mind, making a course of future events that will get him what he wanted. Rule over North.  
_What I need is one victory. In true battle, not some skirmish or repelled raid. A victory that will give us the upper hand. Then, I will speak in favor of parlay with the wildlings to end this bloodshed.  
Sansa may not like that and she will oppose to concluding of peace that does not bring more lands to the North. That will make her a warmonger and nearly all the great houses are now weary of this war.  
And smallfolk will soon starve, they will be cursing her for that. A queen with no husband, not able to give heirs but with thirst for blood and death… Northern lords will withdraw their support to her and she’ll have no other than to abdicate.  
Then, a man who brought end to this war with North suing for peace not beaten or ashamed but victorious… that man could be the new King in the North. _  
He grinned at this thought. _What is more, by marriage I can get alliance of any great Northern house which has daughters grown to be wed. _

Elric hoped that battle he needed will come soon. Without it, the lords of the North will cast him aside together with his lover, the Queen. He went to White Harbor to see the state of affairs for himself, was the city able to defend itself.  
It took seven hours for his river runner to reach the broadest part of the White Knife, one at its mouth. From afar he could see the whitewashed stones of which the city walls were made, on the eastern bank of the river.  
He could also see the jetty that parted inner and outer harbor, it was fortified by a long stone wall, stretching for nearly a mile, thirty feet tall with tower being raised at every hundred yards. 

And warships. There were war galleys. Built by House Manderly five and ten years ago, for another war. Over a score of them he could count, anchored in the inner harbor, but also along both river banks going three miles upstream.  
Those vessels, though only of their kind in the North, were poor match for the Iron Fleet. One attempt Manderlys have made to end the kraken blockade of their port and failed.  
War galleys are larger than Ironborn warships, but slower which made them easier prey. They fared even worse against the small and swift longboats which would encircle the galley, and then aimed her with barrels of oil and rain of flaming arrows.  
After losing three of their ships with two more damaged, House Manderly did not try to meet the Ironborn on the open sea.  
They were repelling their attempted raids on the White Harbor itself with ease, though both Wyman and his men same as Elric knew that Ironborn were just after small taste of city defenses.  
Those were scouting attacks which thus far kept Yara Greyjoy’s men away from the walled port at the mouth of White Knife.

Thus far. But, thus far the bulk of Iron Fleet were not at Sisterton, those ships were much further south, making trial of will of King Bran and his Hand, the Lannister Imp.  
When King’s Landing had enough, Yara ordered for her fleet to leave Dragonstone and sail up north. Now, some claimed that close to four scores of Ironborn ships were at Sisterton and in the coves of Three Sister isles. 

Oldcastle, the seat of House Locke faced the kraken axes three times already, closer to falling with every new attack. This holdfast lied on the northern shore of the Bite bay, south and east of White Harbor and north of the Three Sisters.  
Locke’s castle was closest Northern castle to these islands. The kraken sails came thrice before its walls, with sundown or with sunrise, castle burned after every raid but its defenders had not yield.  
Lord Locke, man older even than Wyman Manderly, had his wits despite old age and he reported to his liege lord in Merman’s Court that fourth assault of the Ironborn will be the last and Oldcastle will meet the same fate as Deepwood Motte, Dreadfort and Bear Island. With Oldcastle made a ruin, the path to White Harbor will be open for Ironborn fleet. 

_That will rob those walruses of their sleep, _Elric grinned thinking how father and son Manderly are now certain of krakens coming at their gates, _it serves them well, cunts. I wonder how long it will last before they begin asking for more men. _

He and his men disembarked and aimed towards the Merman’s Court, walking across the city. Behind the thick white walls, the New Castle stood proud and pale upon its hill.  
Elric’s gaze fell upon the domed roof of the Sept of the Snows, with by tall statues of the Seven. The Manderlys had brought the Faith of the Seven to north when they were driven from the Reach.  
This city had a godswood as well, behind the black and crumbling walls of Wolf’s Den, an ancient fortress which was now used as a prison. Young Karstark knew that septons ruled over this place.  
The merman banner of House Manderly was everywhere, flying from the towers of the New Castle, above the Seal Gate, and along the city walls. Next to it, flew the white banner with grey head of a wolf. 

Two spearmen had been posted at the Seal Gate, sigil of House Manderly upon their chest, at first they pay no mind to Elric and score of Karstark men behind him as they were flirting with some fish market wench, until he barked at them:  
“I am Elric of House Karstark, commander of the Northern host. I am here to see lord Manderly. Take me to him.”  
Castle Stair was a street with steps, a broad white stone way that led up from the Wolf’s Den by the water to the New Castle on its hill.  
Marble mermaids lit the way as lord of Karhold climbed in company of Manderly guards and his own men, each marble statue held a bowl of burning whale oil cradled in her arms.  
When they reached the end of this street, he turned back. A view of both harbors offered to him.  
The inner harbor, behind the jetty wall, sheltered war galleys, those he saw coming down the river, but also two ships that were not made for war, one with swan or some bird of that kind as a figurehead and a carrack that had prow bared of figurehead. 

The gates of the New Castle had been closed, but a postern opened when two spearmen shouted, and another guard emerged. His brothers in arms told him: “Lord Karstark to see lord Manderly at once.” they said.  
He gazed at the walls and the ceiling of the Merman’s Court, their wooden planks and sea creatures that decorated it. The paintings on the walls and ceiling kept his interest briefly as he was aimed towards the dais where stood a large throne…  
_a bloody cushioned chair…_ Elric thought walking to it.  
There was no one in the hall, sun went down while he was still pacing up the Castle Stair. _Truly they’re dumb cunts, they know I am here and yet not one of them came to meet me. Do they believe this will annoy me? _

“Lord Elric…” voice came from behind the dais as bald, fat man came to the hall using the side entry.  
“Ser Wylis.” he replied looking at the greasy moustache of his host…_fucker was surely supping when they told him I was here…_  
“We weren’t expecting you at White Harbor, my lord.” “Apparently not.” Elric replied with even tone.  
“Commander of the Northern host and envoy of our Queen is always welcome at Merman’s Court.” Wylis spoke with courtesy that was well acted.  
“I am not here as envoy of Her Grace, but on my own, Ser.”  
Manderly’s face lost courtesy in a heartbeat: “And the reason for this coming, Lord Elric?”  
“To see first-hand how things are at White Harbor.” “We send reports to Winterfell every sennight as it was demanded from all holdfasts.”  
“I have seen them. I do not find them lacking, still they do not paint the state of affairs wholly. They do not tell of what may come to pass.”  
Wylis face stiffened: “No, reports are not prophecies.”  
Elric smirked: “Yara Greyjoy coming at the mouth of White Knife with eighty ships…one need not to be a seer or prophet to say that shall occur.” 

Wylis dismissed it: “Same accounts of dozens Ironborn ships around Sisterton came to us. Either krakens spread these tales themselves to bring fear among those of weaker will or they came from the mouths of those who never learned how to count.”  
“Ironborn scum left Dragonstone in haste and with all their ships. Some sailed from the north, leaving waters around Eastwatch. Four scores of ships at Three Sisters may just as well be true.”  
Manderly’s face was now stern and displeased: “Lord Elric, should your sudden coming be for purpose of assessing how White Harbor has readied its defenses, that will not fall well with my lord father nor with me.”  
“I assure you, Ser Wylis, this is no assessing, no review, nothing of the sort. I am here for it is my strong belief that next battle with the enemy will be the one for White Harbor…” Elric spoke in calm tone  
“…and that battle we, the Northerners, shall win. Kraken scum will not hoist their banners at your walls.” 

Wylis gave him a slight nod: “No, they will not. No matter the cost. Though I do not see that battle taking place here. Ironborn charged three times at Oldcastle and failed. This city and port may for them be that bite with which they’ll choke.”  
Elric had not agreed: “Wildlings have defeated the southerners in service of our kingdom, Ser Wylis. That was their victory. Yara Greyjoy will now seek hers. She craves for this city, taking it would be her main spoil of this war.  
She will not spare men or ships to get that spoil.”  
“And your coming here, my lord, should mean that Northern host will follow?”  
“Ser Wylis, you know the numbers of our men at arms. No more than quarter of thousand can I spare to send here. And I shall. But, when that happens, I as commander of all Northern forces will take the command of White Harbor defense.” 

Fat, bald heir of House Manderly denied him with coldness: “That, lord Elric, will not come to pass. Not without Queen’s decree. For centuries and more, Manderlys were charged with defense of this city and this port. It will remain so for centuries to come.”

**ARYA**

_A week, no more…that’s how long I planned to stay here. That week passed over three moons ago. A new year has begun. It’s Essos repeating. Anchor in Meereen instead of days lasted for weeks and then moons, same happens here.  
Though Meereen was my own choosing, here I stay for waves of Bite are ridden by four times more of kraken sails than it was when I sailed here. I wonder if stag banners on my masts were still the warrant of safe passage. _

Of small comfort was the knowledge that _Nymeria _and _Rhaelyanna _ were both now wholly repaired and all the scars from that storm in the Narrow Sea removed.  
They were not sailing anywhere from the inner harbor save up the White Knife to move further from the forthcoming battle. It loomed over the city at the mouth of this river for days.  
Arya knew this sense all too well. Riverlands in days of her childhood, Winterfell awaiting the army of the dead, King’s Landing in the last hours before dragon descended upon it.  
A sense of fear, doom, hope, despair, weak heart and strong will. It came over men as veil and many would have that battle, that kraken’s wrath unleashed today just to see an end of these hours of waiting for it to come. 

White Harbor, same as Winter Town, had given shelter to refugees. These were mostly from shores of the Bite, between Oldtown and Ramsgate.  
Many moons of Ironborn raids cleared both of the Northern coasts of its folk, them seeking refuge inland, leaving all those fishermen and farmer villages emptied, plundered and burned.  
What was thought to be an endeavor of this generation of Northerners, taking the Gift and Hardhome and uniting it under Stark banner, turned into a war that lasted nearly a year now, war that took hundreds of Northern lives and consumed the vaults and granaries, cut farming to the half and brought hunger, the traveling companion of every war, to their doorstep. North was tired of this war.  
When she thought of it, and days of lingering in White Harbor gave her a lot of room to ponder, Arya saw the Kingdom of the North as seasoned, weary and scarred fighter whose wounds from previous duels were not yet healed, but he went into fight with spearman and axeman nonetheless and slowly but surely was losing pace and breath.  
Lords of the North mayhaps were not ready to admit it still, but notion of defeat has nested in their minds.  
Of defeat that will leave North not only humiliated for their foe were the wildlings, folk considered to be savages by most, but also dishonored as this war came after North abandoning old pacts and treaties. 

Her hosts were among those who shared not the wishes of her sister to ensure more land for the Kingdom of the North.  
Many of the Stark most loyal bannermen did not share those wishes.  
They have served their queen in this war nonetheless, but not for they believed in the New North, they did it to keep given oaths and allegiances. Now, they were growing weary and expected of their queen to be wise and sue for peace. 

_They don’t know my sister. She will not have peace unless under her own terms,_ Arya was sure of that, _the manner in which she comes out of this war will mark her reign even it if was to last for next forty years, this war will say what kind of monarch she was. She will not agree even on truce if it tasted of defeat. _

Fishfoot Yard. A cobbled square with a fountain at its center. A stone merman rose from its waters, twenty feet tall from tail to crown with curly beard both green and white with lichen.  
Statue carried a trident in his hand, one prong was missing, broken off in days when not even her grandfather Rickard was born. Statue was called by the locals the Old Fishfoot. Hence the folk name for this square.  
The true name of square was known only to few, but all others in this city called him the Fishfoot Yard.

The Yard was teeming with people. A boy was washing his smallclothes in Fishfoot’s fountain and hanging them off his trident to dry.  
Beneath the arches of the peddler’s colonnade the scribes and money changers had set up for business, not that it was blooming but even for this lot it was safest behind the thick white walls.  
Right beneath the pointing trident of the statue one could see an alley where fried cod was sold. There was a brothel, too, cleanest in this port and Arya knew some of her men were spending time and coin there. 

Not Artos Costayne, she knew that. Captain of her swan-ship was in bad shape ever since a raven came from the south with words of Dornish rebellion. Three Towers were set to torch and he lost his close kin in that raid on his family’s holdfast.  
_He burdens himself now with thoughts that he could made difference I he was there. I know those thoughts too well. They’re poison to one’s mind. _  
She found him in a winesink called the Lazy Eel. Renowned for its offer of oldest whores and vilest wine in White Harbor, most locals gave this place a wide berth, leaving it for sailors who did not know any better.  
Artos knew better, but did not care. The place was large, full of nooks and shadowed alcoves where a man could be alone. Arya saw him sitting in one such, with his back to a wall.  
Same as her, he was dressed in seafarer’s garments, dark breeches and leather jerkin over grey shirt. Nothing on them spoke of their highborn blood.  
He barely touched the wine in his cup, not that she could blame him, the vile odour of it came to her as she was two tables away. 

“I should be thankful, I guess…” she said taking place next to him. “Of what, Arya?” he asked. “I am thankful that you have not been drinking that dark piss in your cup. It means you’ve not sunk to the very bottom.”  
He laughed, briefly but he laughed: “Even in sorrow, one should tell the good wine from piss.” Arya placed her hand on his shoulder: “Artos, if you want, I will ask of Manderly’s maester to send raven to Oldtown asking of your family.  
You can’t rely on the hearsay of merchants from Crownlands which most likely retell the hearsay of merchants from upper Reach.”  
“There’s no need, Arya, but I thank you. Three Towers always have and will bleed when Dorne goes on a war path.” he replied half absent.  
“Should you decide to go south, to the Reach, to your family’s lands I will not halt you here, not for a moment. I’ll see that you get proper escort and good horses. And I shall bid you good fortune.” she told him.  
“I cannot desert you; I am captain of _Rhaelyanna. _ My coming to Reach would mean only one more sword for their army. My staying with you means you won’t have to give the swan-ship to Dalton Pyke.” he looked at her, his eyes were sad, but warm. 

“Gods forbid, that kraken bastard would steal the ship and escape to his own. I am keeping my watch on him last few days, ever since he learned how many Yara’s ships are in the Bite.”  
Artos sighed: “So, we’re to a battle of White Harbor?” “Aye, I believe we are. I can feel it coming. I wish that feeling was not there, but it is. These white walls will be coated black by fire and tar and red by blood.”  
“With us in the middle of it.” he said. She looked at the floor: “It was a mistake sailing here. I know that now.” “No, Arya, it was not. We had to leave Tarth in haste and with repairs not wholly done. It was here that we made our ships truly seaborne again.”  
“And now we’re as imprisoned in this port. Things only worsened out there, on open sea.”  
“Yes, they have…” he nodded “…do you remember when we left for west, almost twelve years ago… Westeros was a place of hope then. New king, new queen here for the Northerners. Peace restored… and now… truly it is not easy to come back to place and find it in worse shape than you’ve left it.” Arya took a deep breath: “I remember. I lie you not, I thought Westeros will be a place of peace and boredom, that this whole damn continent will be as dull as Citadel.”  
Artos laughed: “Oh, how wrong you were, lady Stark. And me, one year ago I was whining to you when shall we leave Essos. Well, now I wonder should we not stayed there a bit longer.”  
She laughed as well: “You and me both. There at least one could earn a decent coin from tribute running.” “No use in lamenting over past.” She nodded: “No, no use. Not when times to come offer true reasons for laments.”  
They sat silent for a while, their eyes staring away. “I think we should return to our ships, Arya.”  
“Aye, we should. Though, I have to return to the city before sundown. Our host invited me to Merman’s Court. He needs to speak with me on some matter, as it seems.” 

Arya donned leather boots, brown breeches, grey-blue surcoat and brown leather jerkin, followed by belt and scabbard with Rhoynar sword.  
She was dressed almost the same as she were more than twelve years ago when she sparred with Brienne of Tarth in the courtyard of Winterfell. Lord Manderly sent four of his guards to escort her from inner harbor to the Great Hall of New Castle. 

The walls of Manderly castle were decorated with faded banners, broken shields and rusted swords from battles won in ancient times and with wooden figures from the prows of ships.  
Men who escorted Arya had swords and spears, but guards within the castle, in their cloaks of blue-green wool, carried silver tridents in place of spears. 

Great Hall, also known as Merman’s Court, had only four men and a woman sitting at the table beneath the dais. It has suited Arya better than the whole court as it were last time she came to this hall. She knew lord Wyman and Ser Wylis right away.  
The man and woman which sat beside each other had not been known to her, but one look told her who they were. Man had dark brown gambeson with orange coated shield with brown bull moose on his chest. 

_Larence of House Hornwood, _ flashed in her mind. _And that must be his wife Wylla, born in House Manderly…_ Arya’s eyes were now at the blond woman whose dress was of same color as her husband’s attire, with blue-green scarf around her neck. She was of blonde hair that was adorned with merman pin. Fourth man locked his eyes on Arya and she felt it. Returning the gaze, she saw a brown-haired man, younger than she was, his beard trimmed. He wore a dark grey shirt under a black sleeveless surcoat with white sunburst embroidered over the chest.  
_So, this is Sansa’s lover. And most trusted ally. _

“Princess Arya, I am glad that you could come. Please, join us at supper…” Lord Wyman spoke “…are you familiar with lord Larence of House Hornwood and his wife Wylla, my granddaughter?”  
Arya nodded: “Lord Larence, lady Wylla… No, my lord Wyman, I have not met lord and lady Hornwood till now. Though lord Larence fought at Winterfell against the army of the dead, somehow our paths did not cross in those days.”  
Larence returned the nod: “Indeed, Princess, we haven’t got to know each other back then. I guess we should not wonder, Winterfell was filled with men at arms in those days, thousands of them and I was only a boy.”  
Wyman then said: “I have the honor to host the commander of the Northern host, lord Elric of House Karstark. If I am not mistaking, you as well have not met Princess Arya before, lord Elric?”  
Karstark nodded, looking at her: “No, I have not met lady Arya of House Stark before today. And I say lady for our Queen has not named anyone as her heir. North has no prince nor princess.”  
Wyman gave him a look: “Any sibling of the King or Queen is prince or princess. Naming heirs or not does not change that.”  
Elric returned the look for a brief moment, then looked at Arya again: “That is how succession lines are thought of in the south.”  
Wyman rebutted: “That is how dynastic lines are thought of anywhere where royal families exist, my lord.”  
Arya smiled at this debate and then said: “My lords, should you find proper to call me a princess or a lady, you may do so, though in truth I am neither nor do I aspire to be.”  
Wyman shook his head: “One can’t escape his or her blood, Princess.” Arya frowned: “Mayhaps you’re right, but our Queen. my sister Sansa, does not have an heir in me. And she heard these same words from me so I repeat them before you.”  
She caught the face of Elric Karstark right upon saying this. He was content. 

_Surely he is, _ she thought taking place at the table, _as he desires to be king consort, should that marriage end with no heirs and he is the one surviving Sansa, he will inherit the Northern throne. Or that is what he believes. _

Supper was beef-and-barley soup, followed by a brace of quail and a roast pike near three feet long, with mushrooms, and plenty of hot bread and butter.  
_Wyman Manderly’s pantry and kitchens know no war, _she mused.  
They ate in silence; a few questions came to Arya from Wylis and Larence of her travels.  
Oddly, they were more observant when she spoke of Essos, Meereen in particular. Young Karstark enjoyed his meal and did not partake in conversation, still Arya knew he was listening to every word. 

“In dire times you’ve returned home, my lady.” he said at last.  
“Times were direr when I returned home from Braavos, my lord, mayhaps you were too young then to remember when wight dragon tore down the Wall and tens of thousands of dead flooded the North.” she replied, much to the pleasure of others at the table. “Aye, I was a boy of ten namedays then, but I do remember that your return from across the Narrow Sea all those years ago wasn’t marked with charge of treason as is this one.” Karstark said coldly, but he aimed to insult her. All others at the table gazed at him, then at Arya. 

She put down her knife and fork and looked Elric straight in his eyes: “Yes, those who now rule in King’s Landing, the Imp and his raven king, one that stole my brother’s body many years ago, charged me with treason. It seems that doing what is proper and honorable will always be act of treason to some. My father was beheaded for doing what was proper and honorable. I follow in his footsteps.  
To me, that is the best proof that I have not wasted my life so far.” 

Wyman hit the table with his hand thirce, pleased with her answer. His son and Hornwood couple were still bewildered.  
Elric sneered: “Be that as it may, those treason charges may burden our relations with the Six Kingdoms and the relations of our Queen with her brother, the King. She, unlike you, considers him still as a brother.”  
Arya shrugged: “I fail to see where that burden is, my lord. I am not part of Northern rule nor I wish to be. And I enjoy no protection by my sister. So, Winterfell is clear of any accusations which may come from King’s Landing.”  
“King Bran and Imp may not see it that way.” Wyman said with booming voice:  
“Why should Queen and you, lord Elric, and everyone else north of the Neck concern with opinion of Lannister dwarf. They concerned not when their subjects from the Iron Islands came and still are coming in hundreds to loot and burn our lands.” 

Man in Karstark surcoat shrugged: “Those subjects are the reason why we sup together, lady Arya, to make sure that kraken fails here as they’ve been failing at Eastwatch and Mole’s Town. I made sure them fail there, I shall make sure they fail here.”  
Then he turned to their host: “My lord, I shall retire now. Come dawn, I shall go to Seal Rock. I wish to see their defenses.”  
Ser Wylis took a sip of ale from his cup, then said: “You will find them stronger than those of Eastwatch and Mole’s Town put together, my lord.”  
Elric grinned: “Nothing would please me more, Ser.” He rose from the table, bowed and walked away across the Great Hall. 

Wyman Manderly looked after him and when he was gone, said: “Arrogant and poor company, that one is. Sadly, he placed himself close to our Queen, but not for her good. Or the good of the North.”  
Arya wanted to nod at those words, but did not. Elric Karstark was not one whose company she would keep nor seek.  
He was all she did not liked when men were in question, but all her sister preferred.  
Young, comely, skilled both with words and in battle, a northern princeling.  
It was no wonder to Arya that he bedded her sister nor Arya would dismiss the notion that it was Sansa who first bedded him. 

“I care not of Elric Karstark.” Wylla Hornwood said “I wish to talk of this treason you are accused of, Princess.”  
Arya shrugged: “There is not much to speak of, lady Wylla.” Her husband disagreed: “I fear there is. Read it to her, wife, I beg you.”  
Dark-haired Stark frowned, her face now spoke of curiosity.  
Wylla pulled out a parchment from the sleeve of her dress and started reading:  
"_Fear not of my wellbeing, my lord father and lady mother, for I have received nothing but protection, shelter and kindness from lord Jon and his lady wife and friendship from his daughters lady Rhaella and lady Lyanna. _” 

Wyman Manderly explained, his eyes locked on Arya: “This was a message delivered to me and to lord Larence from Braavos four days ago.  
And one more message, written and signed by Jon of House Targaryen.  
Who claims to be no other but our once king, Jon Snow. As the charge of treason against you, Princess, claim that you have sided with Targaryens, well… I trust you agree that an explanation is owed by you. To me and to lord and lady Hornwood.”  
Ser Wylis nodded:  
“It seemed to us as nonsense, that Imp accuses you of siding with house believed to be long gone from this world.  
Yet the messages we have received now speak in favor of those charges.” 

Arya looked at both of them and said calmly: “May I ask who wrote the lines I’ve just heard?”  
Larence Hornwood replied: “My son and heir, Hallis. He was taken prisoner by the Ironborn when they sacked Dreadfort.  
We had no word from him for moons, no demand for ransom came from the krakens.  
We feared that he was dead or sold to slavery somewhere in Essos. Either way, he would be lost forever. Then, these letters came.  
Claiming that he was saved from slavers in Meereen. One is from Hallis himself, other from…Jon Snow. And both seem true to me. Letter from my son was written by his hand.”  
She sighed: “May I see the other message, one from Jon?” Wylla pulled another parchment from her sleeve and passed it to Arya.  
It was a short message, informing both Larence Hornwood and Wyman Manderly of Hallis Hornwood being alive and well and sheltered in Meereen by House Targaryen. One line was intended for Larence, other for Wyman as a proof that message was written by the man they knew as Jon Snow, King in the North. 

“Aye, that is my brother’s handwriting and signature. This is no ruse, my lords and lady.” she said to them.  
Ser Wylis asked: “Why is Jon Snow signing himself as a Targaryen?”  
“It is who he is, my lord…” Arya said “…my father, Eddard Stark was hiding him as his bastard son while in truth he is trueborn child of Rhaegar Targaryen and my aunt Lyanna Stark. He was sired in true marriage, not by rape after kidnapping.”  
“Seven be merciful!” Wyman said aloud. Wylis, Larence and Wylla were stunned with what they heard.  
“Ha, ha…” Wyman laughed now “Ned Stark was hiding a Targaryen right under nose of his friend Robert Baratheon! And our King in the North was in truth the King of whole of Westeros! A wolf and a dragon… I have heard such rumors, Wylis knows of it as well, back in days when Northerners went to King’s Landing to remove that madwoman Cersei Lannister from the throne, yet I have dismissed it for the source was that cursed spider from the halls of the Red Keep, Varys.”  
Wylla shook her head in disbelief: “Ned Stark’s bastard a Targaryen prince… fate does play cruel tricks on men sometimes…”

Wyman paused for a heartbeat: “Ah, for seven hells, my princess, I wanted to ask you why does your swan-ship bear the name Rhaelyanna. Good name for a ship, yet strange. But my mind is not as sharp as when I was sixty. Now, I have my answer.”  
Arya nodded: “I bought it in Volantis and named it after my nieces. Which your great-grandson has befriended it appears.  
Not that it surprises me. Girls are noble and kind. And have a strong Stark blood in their veins.”  
Larence asked: “Then, you would say these both messages are true?” Arya nodded: “Not that I would, my lord. I say they are. My brother is a man of great honor, no matter what name he bears, had he a chance to help young lord Hallis he surely has helped him. Your son, lady Wylla, is safe with the Targaryens of Meereen. Which by blood are also Starks of Meereen. Jon will not abandon the ways of our family, same as his daughters who both are proud of their Northern roots.” 

Wylla’s eyes glowed now: “I hope the gods listen to what you’re saying, Princess.”  
“My lord Wyman, how did these messages find the way from Meereen to here and Hornwood castle?” she asked next.  
Old lord Manderly took a deep breath: “They were sealed by smiths in small iron pipes in Meereen and then given to Braavosi captain who took it to Braavos and was well paid for his service, he passed them to certain merchants I do business with there and a fast ship, pretending to be fishing boat, crossed the Narrow Sea and delivered it to my men in a cove near of Widow’s Watch. For some reason, the Ironborn abstain from any acts against the Braavosi ships.”  
Larence, with relief on his face, said: “Jon Snow… Targaryen… wrote that he will return our son within four or five moons. Moon and a half has already passed since this letter was written. So, my lady wife and I shall have our boy back soon.”  
Arya nodded: “Jon is a man of his word. And your son is greatly favored by the old gods of his father and the Seven of his mother as he was delivered from slavery by no other than Jon of House Targaryen and of House Stark.”  
Ser Wylis smiled at her now: “Princess Arya, as for those charges of treason, the Imp can wipe his arse with it. You have helped those who have helped my daughter’s son. For that you have gratitude of our both houses, I know that my lord father agrees… father, what say you?” 

Wyman Manderly was silent, not paying attention to his son, as he was contemplating something.  
Then he laughed aloud and clapped his hands, making Arya to frown as well as the others at the table.  
“Grandfather, what is it that you find so amusing?” Wylla asked. “Ha, ha, my Wylla…” old man’s voice boomed:  
“…aye, your boy is saved from peril. But, so is the North. Princess Arya, if you be so kind to join me, my son and lord Larence in the morrow. I would like to discuss certain action with you.  
It may seem to you that I ask a lot of you, mayhaps beyond good taste and reason. Yet, I can only ask this from a true daughter of Ned Stark.  
Arya nodded: “My lord, you have given me a place by your hearth and an anchor for my ships.  
Knowing of accusations that were made against me. Knowing that I am not part of Northern court.  
Ask of me what you wish and should it be in my power to do what you ask, I shall do it.”


	46. ARIANNE

_Prince’s Pass, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

**ARIANNE**

Tri-border, that was the fancy word for these lands.  
The hundreds of leagues of the marches made of grassland, moors, and plains, with a portion of the Red Mountains to the east.  
A road runs south from the ruins of Summerhall in the northern marches to Yronwood by the Boneway.  
For over a thousand years the marches were common battlegrounds between the Stormlands, the Reach and Dorne until the last century, when Dorne joined the Seven Kingdoms. Having been conquered by the Storm Kings, marches as an effective borderland between the old enemies.

Many Dornish houses had long history of fighting the marcher lords. The Blackmonts, the Fowlers, the Manwoodys, the Wyls and the Yronwoods. The marcher lords of the Stormlands have a very strong warrior tradition and formidable castles as they defended against Dornish incursions for thousands of years. The marches are known for producing excellent bowmen.

Marcher houses sworn to Baratheons include House Caron of Nightsong, House Dondarrion of Blackhaven, House Selmy of Harvest Hall and House Swann of Stonehelm. The Carons style themselves Lord of the Marches, but they do not have sway over their fellow marcher lords. The Reach included western marches from Horn Hill to Nightsong and the Lords Paramount of the Reach, included Defender of the Marches among their titles.

_Ser Baelor of House Hightower. The Brightsmile or the Breakwind as House Martell knows him. Lord Paramount of the Reach, Defender of the Marches. Though Undefender suits him better…_ Arianne Martell thought of her closest foe. 

Horn Hill castle was sacked save the inner walls which Tarly boy of seven and ten years managed to hold. All others parts of castle were put to torch after plundering.  
And around Horn Hill, from villages to fields and forests. From Tarly’s holdfast to Nightsong in the west. Ser Baelor Hightower remained in the Oldtown, unable to help his liege lords, so there were no castles in the Marches that were sworn to House Hightower and haven’t tasted spear and torch.  
His reluctance to offer battle to the Dornish soon get the corridor of the Hightower castle and the taverns of the Oldtown to speak of Baelor as Donnel the Delayer reborn.  
When those whispers reached the Warden of the South himself, he saw it as no flattery as lord Donnel Hightower earned the nickname Delayer for a good reason and not on one occasion. Baelor would not have it. He summoned his younger brother, Ser Garth who was called Garth Greysteel and ordered him to lead the Reach host against the cursed Dornishmen. Greysteel obeyed. 

Edric Dayne, charged with defence of west and south of the Red Mountains sent a rider to Water Gardens informing his Princess how Garth Hightower is massing men at arms. Baelor’s call was answered by House Peake of Starpike, both branches of House Fossoway, one with red other with green apple on its shield, House Merryweather, House Ashford, House Florent, then lesser houses as House Beesbury, House Bulwer, House Meadows. To them Garth added what men were left of Costaynes, Cuys and Mullendores.  
House Tarly, only one that kept grasp over their holdfast, albeit most of it being a burned ruin, had no men to spare and Horn Hill was important to lords of the Reach as there could they rally their army and march up the western slopes of the Red Mountains. 

“Prince’s Pass.” told her in one voice Tremond Gargalen and old Anders Yronwood “They’ll come over the Prince’s Pass.”  
Arianne had no affection for lord Yronwood._He has whispered in my cousin's ear that he should rule after my father, that it is not right for men to kneel to women ... that I especially was unfit to rule, being the wilful wanton, _ she remembered looking at him, _behold a wilful wanton now leading Dorne to path of independence and fool of my cousin Qoren now dead for as many years as he has ruled. _

“The north end of Prince’s Pass is in Stormlands, my lords. Should the Hightower host come that way it would mean that we’re at war with Baratheons as well.”  
“It need not mean that, Princess, we know that lord of Storm’s End has shown no intent to call his banners against us so far. But, some of his lords are not loyal to him, they only suffer a bastard of a long dead king and some Flea Bottom wench legitimised by mad Dragon Queen.” Tremond warned her. Arianne cut him off: “To us they are King Robert Baratheon, Queen Daenerys Targaryen and lord Gendry Baratheon. Those who call him a bastard, call me a Dornish whore which lays down with horses. And, true, those marcher lords could join the Reach against us. Some in hope they might get a chance to supplant Gendry as Lord Paramount of Stormlands.” she replied. 

Old lord Yronwood thought the same as Gargalen: “Only a fool would try his luck marching an army from Tarly lands up the hill wanting to pass the Red Mountains. It’s impossible to form a battle lines there when ambushed, those are mere goat paths.” Arianne nodded: “Yes, but as we know Daeron Targaryen sneaked upon us using goat paths.” “He sneaked for he was not expected to do so, this Hightower host is. They have no choice but to use goat paths should they come at us from Horn Hill.” Yronwood countered. “You both seem certain that Prince’s Pass will be their entrance to our lands.”  
“Princess, Reach has knights as their main weapon of war. Heavy horse and goat paths don’t go well together. They need wider way to our land.” Tremond insisted. 

Arianne pondered for a while, leaving two seasoned lords to wait, then she spoke: “Very well. Lord Mandwoody and lord Fowler will keep close eye on the marcher lords, Carons, Dondarrions, Selmys and Swans. If not all, at least one of these houses will join with Hightowers.” “It would be safest to strike against them now, all four of them and clean our northern border as we did on the west and south.” Yronwood advised. “It would be, my lord, in case that Stormlands were our enemy. They’re not. With Gendry Baratheon as their liege lord they’ll never be.” “You seem so certain of it, Princess. Men are feeble. And King Robert’s bastard will not risk his titles and holds to help us. He owes us nothing.” Arianne grinned: “No, he owes nothing to Dorne. But I assure you he is indebted. That debt will keep him and his banners away from our borders.” 

Trumpets marked that battle was to begin. Reach horsemen advanced beneath now clear sky as clouds that hid the peaks of Red Mountains have now vanished. Both warring sides were impatient to meet the foe in battle. Ever since dawn, it was plain this will be a good day to die. A good day to claim victory. “Good luck, my friend.” Arianne heard Edric Dayne said, clasping one of his commanders by the arm. The man nodded, glancing over at the lines of Hightower infantrymen lined up before them: “We will see each other again behind a pile of corpses.”  
Lord Dayne bellowed a laugh “I surely don’t plan to be on the pile!” as withdrew back to his command of the Dornish host.

His armor reflecting the sunrays, Ser Garth Hightower rode before his force, the famed knights of the Reach.  
Doing it in ritualistic manner, he drew and pointed his longsword at the enemy. "Forward!" So, the knights went ahead.  
As this was not an open ground, somewhere on green vast fields of their home, yet rocky road in the mountains they were not impressive as usual. 

"Nock!" Archers under banner of speared sun notched their arrows.  
"Loose!" Hundreds of shafts sailed into the air, clouds thick enough in places to blot out the sun before plunging down at their foes.  
Sounds of bodkin tips clashing with shields, armor, flesh. Dornish double-curved bows rained death along the first lines of Reachmen.

Arianne, riding on a dark sand steed, her head covered with chain coif over which she donned a richly ornate halfhelm.  
She wore dun breeches, dark-yellow gambeson under the cuirass armour, she had an orange coated round shield with yellow spear piercing through red sun, a sigil of House Martell, in one hand and a spear in other, with scimitar hung at her side. On her saddle there was a bow and quiver with two dozen arrows.  
She watched as arrows were taking down the enemy, the men holding banners with white tower falling down as well as those with golden flag carrying three black castles, sigil of House Peake. There were Florents too, their red fox encircled with blue flowers on white shield. And red apple of Fossoways. 

She cursed when she saw a flag with black and white shield on it with white bird in black field and black bird in white field facing each other. Birds were swans.  
_House Swann of Stonehelm, may they burn in seven hells! _ She has already cursed the Carons of Nightsong, as they have allowed the Hightower host to came across their holds to reach the Prince’s Pass. Not only allowed but joined their ranks. And Swanns were here as well. There were no banners of Dondarrions or Selmys to be seen.  
And no crowned stags. For that she was pleased though many of her commanders were vary of young lord Baratheon.  
Arianne knew what they did not and that knowledge still kept her in belief that Stormlands will not go against Dorne. Not under lead of their Lord Paramount, at least. 

The first clash of the day began. "Charge!"  
Garth Hightower and Edric Dayne leading the men of Reach and Dornish personally, the armored riders went up the hill being the van of the Hightower host.  
Albeit Dornish archers aimed at them from left and the right sides, from the slopes which towered over the pass, Reachmen advanced with unworldly fury, slamming into the enemy which made a shield of wall and spears behind which horse archers were hidden. Screams of men and horses filled the air as the five hundred knights of houses Hightower, Peake and Florent made a crack in the Dornish defence. Spear broken on the armor of a knight, Gargalen drew his blade and kept the charge while Edric Dayne slashed through nearly six enemies with his sword.

Led by the heavy horse of the House Merryweather, rest of the Reach cavalry, placed on the left flank beneath the mountain pass, came galloping to the aid of their brothers in arms, to make that crack as wide as possible, to tear down the living wall from their path. Nearly fifteen hundred strong, this assault would have overwhelmed the Dornish foot blocking the pass, with five hundred armored knights as striking fist and followed by further hundreds of light horse. 

Seeing how their shields and spears are being slowly but surely pushed away from the mountain road, sand vipers made their move.  
From both sides of the pass, sound of hooves thundering over the dry rocky ground were heard. Dornish cavalry descended down the slopes, raising clouds of red dust tens of feet in the air. They aimed at the rear and flanks of the charging Reachmen column, where both riders and horses were not protected by plate armor.

Trumpeters attempted to sound out regrouping orders, those that would call men to change from attack to defense, yet the spears and scimitars of the Dornish cut and slashed thorough men and horse, giving no quarter nor receiving one. Some died in the saddle, some beneath the hooves, those still fighting hacked with their blades left and right, some grabbed their foes trying to throw them off their horses, only for them both to end up on the ground already covered with dead or dying men and their mounts.

Ser Garth Hightower yelled another order to his trumpeters. “Arrows!”  
Nearly five hundred Hightower longbowmen were now returning the courtesy, causing sky to go black with arrow, aiming far into Dornish lines.  
Placed at the northern end of the Prince’s Pass, in seven ranks with about seventy men each, longbows caused ruin in enemy’s formation, bringing down tens, both foot and horse.  
Arianne and her commanders saw their lines are being decimated by the arrows. Ser Garth was a man who knew of warfare.  
His mounted men but also horsemen of the enemy cannot spread the ranks as rocky hills from both sides prevented it so they rode onto each other in narrow formations with no chance of any side being flanked by other. Such cramped battlefield was given for the archers. And Garth Hightower now laid waste on the ranks of Dornish light cavalry that was deployed on each side of the spearmen wall. 

Edric Dayne found himself among his dying men and that only enraged him more.  
He saw Reachmen charging in a single wave at him, most were now dismounted, plate armored knights now fighting on foot crashed into the spears, longswords and scimitars of the Dornish forces. Men of Sunsper held the line, stabbing forward with their spears and swordsmen hacking in the melee that soon took place.  
Dornish archers, positioned on the rocks above this mess of blood and steel made sure to slow, nearly halt the advance of the Hightower foot that tried to come behind the Dornish spearmen, who albeit dying in dozens, still kept the pass sealed from one side to the other. Garth the Greysteel has sent nearly whole might of his host in attempt to destroy the best Dornish troops. All that toil was aimed to break the wall of spears and round shields. 

Yet, it did not take place, Martell footmen have not yield before assault of dismounted knights and freeriders.  
Ser Garth Hightower knew if he were to take the Prince’s Pass today, the land road to Dorne is open. The battle fever has thrown men of the Reach into madness. They could already taste the spoils of war that awaited them upon crushing the cursed Dornishmen once and for all. But the steadfast Martell spear line and its unyielding defense made many of Hightower soldiers began to fall back, losing the zest of that opening attack.  
Nearly four thousand men have found themselves thrusting vainly in the living wall of Dornish shields and spears, those who tried to go around it by climbing the slopes on both sides of the pass would get cut down by arrows. As Reach archers were alert as well, no further attack by the Dornish on the flanks of blocked enemy was possible.

Edric Dayne and Tremond Gargalen have had enough of this and reserve was called in, rushing into the fray. Fresh troops adding their furor against the tiring Reachmen.  
_This battle would be decided soon, _ Arianne thought as she shot from her double-curved bow at those still mounted enemies which were now in the rear, behind the melee in which tens of foot soldiers were dying. Longbow arrow slamming into the ground just inches from her, she grinned at it, then urged her sand steed forward to the lines of her spearmen and yelled: “Men of Dorne! Men of Dorne! Throw them down the mountain, to the shitholes they crawled out from! Sunspear! Sunspear!” Response came in hundreds of voices: “Unbowed! Unbent! Unbroken!” 

“Forward! For Dorne!” “For Dorne!” In went the last wave of the third line, men-at-arms from Hellholt, Salt Shore and Sandstone, all spearmen with battle shrieks that struck fear into the hearts of many a Reachmen. Fighting for their Princess, their sun and their spear, the Dornish surged amongst the Reachmen. Swords, spears, axes and daggers hacking into the enemy in a steel storm. Qorgyle men and their red shields with three scorpions followed by Santagars and their axe waving leopard flooded the Hightower lines with rage, murder and death. And behind more were coming, from the far side of Dorne came men of House Allyrion and House Dalt, hundreds, they were as if pouring out from the caves and rocks of these mountains. 

“Fall back! Fall back, men!” Ser Garth Hightower shouted and his trumpeters sounded retreat.  
Knights of the Reach, some in saddle, some limping afoot, followed by light cavalry, most of them with no horses, and footmen went down the Prince’s Pass, but not in the direction they were hoping for. They were going northwards, to the marches that were under ward of Storm’s End.  
Behind them more than thousand of their companions were left, dead or dying. Dornish were not renown for giving quarter.  
Today will not be exception, not with seven hundred of their own dead or wounded. 

Few hours after the battle, in the Dornish camp, outside the Skyreach, the seat of House Fowler, Arianne was on her knees, giving water to one wounded man from Hellholt, a spearman of House Uller when Edric Dayne came to her, to report of their victory.  
His armor and clothes were covered with crimson stains, his helm had a dent on the left side, his face was smeared with dried blood.  
“My princess, we took the day. Greysteel and his host are repelled and they’re now retreating back to the Reach.”  
She kissed the Uller soldier on the cheek and whispered something in his ear that made his face shine with pride, then she got up and took Edric by his elbow:  
“Are you sure of that? They’re returning home? Not making camp at Nightsong?”  
“No, Greysteel is leading them to Horn Hill, he is in haste to leave the Stormlands.”  
She smiled: “Sure he is. He is afraid he’ll have to meet the Baratheon host next.”  
“Princess, House Swann and House Caron fought beside Reachmen today. You saw their banners same as I did.”  
“And did we saw the stag banner of lord of Storm’s End?” “No, no stag banners.”  
“See, no Baratheon sigil was on the battlefield and now Hightower rushes to his side of the border as a common thief. Gendry Baratheon is not our enemy. Did your scouts see where Swann and Caron men were headed?” Edric nodded: “They parted ways with Hightower and went to Nightsong.”  
“How many men they have?” “Three hundred, if so. A lot of them fell today, I suppose both houses wanted to prove their loyalty to Greysteel.”  
She agreed: “To him and to the Red Keep. Edric, take five hundred of our best horsemen and ride for Nightsong after sundown. Take both lord Caron and lord Swann or whomever is leading their men and bring them here. I know you fought hard today and it is much to ask, but I need those traitors here. And, do not put castle to torch this time.” “I will bring them before you in chains, for my princess to judge them.”  
Arianne shook her head. “I shan’t be the one to judge them, my lord. I will give them as a token of friendship to Gendry Baratheon. It was him who was betrayed by them.”  
Edric nodded: “As you command.” “Edric…” she spoke softly “…do wash yourself. You’re too comely man to be walking with blood stained face.”  
“I will, Arianne. The first chance I have.” he replied bowing to her. 

Lord of Starfall returned the next day, two hours before noon.  
Arianne came out of her tent, she refused the offer of the Old Hawk, lord Franklyn Fowler of Skyreach to sleep in the castle.  
“Half of Dornish host sleeps on these red rocks, so shall I, their Princess.” she said to him and Fowler took this refusal to his liking.  
“Arianne, a warrior princess you’re indeed. True daughter of Nymeria.” he said praising her. 

Elric laid before her the banners of House Caron and of House Swann. He lost only ten men in his night raid on the holdfast in the Nightsong, but men of both houses were scattered all over Dornish marches now, forty of them remained lying under the walls of that castle. He did not pursue those men, as he took prisoner he was order to take.  


“Princess Arianne, I present you Ser Donnel of House Swann.” he said with cold voice as his two men brought before her a man in chains and forced him on his knees. She looked at the man, he was rather big across the chest, with thick arms, but hardly a handsome man, his features were rough and light-brown hair unruly. He wore black and white surcoat over chainmail shirt. Surcoat had two swans, black and white, facing each other. His clothes were covered with dirt, dried blood and green marks, he was dragged through the grass somewhere. “Well, well…” she said “…Ser Donnel Swan. Or should I say Donnel the Constant.” “Say what you bloody like…” prisoner hissed.  
“Do you know, lord Edric, how this man earned that name, the Constant?” “I can’t say I do, Princess.”  
“Good Ser Donnel here during War of the Five Kings swore fealty to Renly first, when Renly was killed, he crossed to Stannis, when that Baratheon failed at Blackwater Bay, he then bent the knee to Joffrey and later to Tommen. Four kings in couple of years.”  
Edric chuckled: “A busy man indeed.”  
“And, Ser Donnel, it seems that you’ve continued with your shifting alliances. Mayhaps I am wrong but is it not the lord of Storm’s End your Lord Paramount? I have not seen him coming at us with the Reach host, so it is safe to assume that your liege lord did not call his banners against Dorne. And yet, men of Stonehelm were at Prince’s Pass yesterday. Have you bent the knee to Hightowers now and broke faith with House Baratheon?”  
Donnel looked at her with disgust: “House Baratheon…” he spat on the ground “…a bastard which Robert Baratheon sired when drunk with some King’s Landing whore. He is only Baratheon for that mad Targaryen bitch made him one.”  
Arianne stepped closer to him and slapped him so hard his nose started to bleed: “A knight should speak of once king and queen of Westeros in better taste. And of his liege lord. In Dorne bastards are not scorned.” “No wonder, all of you are bastards…” he said “…and whores.” 

His gaze was upon her, eyes shooting her with pure hatred. Edric grabbed the hilt of his sword, but she dismissed it.  
“You’re not a very clever man, Ser. Insulting those who have sway over your life or death. Though I shall host your foul mouth only briefly.”  
“Ah… slit my throat or cut my head off and be done with it.” he said, not willing to listen to her.  
“Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Ser Donnel, trust me. But it was not me that you have betrayed. It was lord Gendry Baratheon. And I shall deliver you to him. If he’s to find you a traitor, as I know he prefers the warhammer as his weapon, same as his late father. Mayhaps he will smash your head with it.” 

_Boneway, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest _

Maesters called this place Stone Way. All others for long centuries called it the Boneway.  
It was a pass that went through the Red Mountains, making overland route between Dorne and the Stormlands.  
Castle Yronwood guarded the Dornish of the pass and House Yronwood held the title Warden of the Stone Way.  
The path ran north past the River Wyl and ended at Summerhall in the Dornish Marches. The holdfast of House Wyl of the Boneway was located along or near the pass.  
Chronicles told that during the conquest of Dorne, King Daeron Targaryen, First of his name, used a goat track to evade the watchtowers of the Boneway.  
And chronicles spoke of another Targaryen king who was a bird of another feather and upon the death of Daeron, his brother Baelor the Blessed was said to have begun his reign by walking the Boneway barefoot to make peace between the Iron Throne and Dorne.

_Dragons respected us more than all those who followed, stags, lions and now raven, _ Arianne pondered as she walked along the bank of River Wyl awaiting her guest to come. Her horse grazed nearby. Not far from the source of this river were ruins of castle of Vulture's Roost. And not far from where river met the Sea of Dorne was the castle of Wyl. _ This lands bears so much history, _ came to her mind, _ it would be a welcome change if nothing was to happen for a couple of decades, a whole generation to be born and to die without nothing at all to put in tales for their children and grandchildren… _

Her advisers were against this meeting. She listened to them, to Gargalen and Yronwood, to Wyl and Santagar, to lord Warder and Ser Manfrey Martell.  
And to Edric Dayne, he too was doubtful of it. She listened to their reasoning and decided not to follow it. Fortnight ago, a rider went north, to Stormlands carrying message of Dornish Princess to the Lord of Storm’s End offering parlay at the border of their lands. Five days later, rider come back with answer. 

She came to River Wyl with an escort of hundred men, as stated in the message and the other party was to come with same number.  
Arianne slowly paced downstream when a man of House Wyl came galloping from the Boneway. “Princess! They’re coming. Stormlanders are coming!” “Is their lord with them?” “He is, my princess. He rides first, beneath the crowned stag banner.”  
Arianne mounted her sand steed and rushed back to where Dornish escort were. “Assemble, assemble!” she shouted  
“Raise the banners! I want this stormlord to see he is no longer in the Realm but in the free country.” 

Soon she could see them. A party of hundred men on destriers and coursers, dressed in gold gambesons and dark leather jerkins, some with chain coifs, some with halfelms adorned with small stag horns on the front side. Black and gold pendants waved from their lances. At the head of this column rode two men, one holding a large banner of House Baratheon and other, a dark-haired man dressed in black breeches and gambeson over which he had a sleeveless tunic of gold colour with black crowned stag on the chest. 

Arianne led her own column to meet them, hundred Dornishmen on their sand steeds, with spears and curved swords, wearing their scaled armour and leather. 

Their princess was dressed the same as she was two and a half weeks ago at the Battle of Prince’s Pass, the first battle of the Fifth Dornish War as this conflict was called in the Five Kingdoms, as Arianne now called those parts of Westeros that were still loyal to the Red Keep.  
Once it would have been said loyal to the Iron Throne, but there was no throne now so name of the castle became the words to use when speaking of those who ruled from King’s Landing. She was about to find out is Lord of Storm’s End loyal to the Red Keep. 

“Lord Gendry of House Baratheon.” she addressed the dark-haired man first.  
He had striking blue eyes that looked at her as he said: “Princess Arianne of House Nymeros Martell.”  
He extended his arm and they shook hands.  
“Dorne and Stormlands meeting not as enemies but as possible friends.” were her words “Enough to bring fear in many hearts and minds.”  
“Is the prospect of our friendship the reason for this parlay?”  


The way he said prospect made clear to her that he was not using this word for many years. She heard stories of him being raised a blacksmith in King’s Landing.  
_ I have no issue with that, he may be more reliable than half of noble born cowards and liars I’ve met in my life thus far._

Arianne invited Gendry to ride along the Wyl River. One of her and one of his men followed keeping enough distance for the two to speak freely.  
He admired her horse and she returned complimenting his mount. Then she told him with sincere tone:  
“Our lands were bleeding each other many times during centuries. We need not to do this now. Dorne wishes to be independent again, as we were until eight score years ago when we married with dragons and became the part of the Realm. It’s my intention and the will of all the Dornish to leave the Six Kingdoms now.  
Though, my lord, should the Stormlands stand in the way of our independence, we fear not of crossing swords with House Baratheon and their bannermen again.”  
He nodded: “I hope it will not come to that.”  
“It already has, my lord, some of your bannermen rode with the Reach against us. House Caron which has no male heirs now and House Swann, a prominent house of Stormlands.” “Prominent in disrespecting and disobeying me. Aye, in that they’re very prominent.”  
He said with his Flea Bottom accent which made her chuckle.  
“House Swann will not trouble you much in the future. Many of their men at arms perished at Prince’s Pass. And that old man who is still head of the family can’t do much against you, young Lord of Storm’s End.” “Lord Gulian Swann is about sixty years old, true, but his son Donnel…”  
Arianne smiled now: “Ser Donnel is chained and waiting for his liege lord to do justice upon him.” “You’ve captured Donnel Swann?”  
“We have. He somewhat resisted, but he is no hero. It is not mine to give you advice, but I will tell you to put Donnel in the dungeons at Storm’s End and old Gulian will be much meeker than he was before. They both deserve to die for disobeying you as their liege lord, but with Donnel chained in some dark cell, that will be enough to keep his father on a short leash. Old lord Swann as well as some other highborn lords who think they do not need to listen to legitimised bastard. Legitimised by last Targaryen queen.” 

“Have you met her, in Ghoyan Drohe? When lord Celtigar was with you?” he asked.  
“I spoke to her as I do with you now. She promised to help us, Queen Yara and me and she did.  
What do the reports from Saltpans to Estermont tell you about moon past?”  
“They all say that where ten ships once were coming from across the Narrow Sea now one comes, two at most. Somewhere not even one.  
Nearly all trade with Essos has ceased. It was so sudden and left many to wonder.”  
Arianne nodded: “Yes, Lord Gendry, Essosi merchants now see the Six Kingdoms and the Stark kingdom up north as places of risk too high.  
Though if you could see the mouth of Greenblood river and Planky Town right now, you’d see many sails from across the sea. Dorne is no longer part of the Realm and traders from the Free Cities treat us so. That we can thank to our once queen.”  
Gendry nodded: “I see. She spoke in your interest with eastern traders as she is one of them now, one of most powerful merchants in Essos. Stormlands, she did not do that for us. Ships do not come to Tarth and Estermont for weeks now.”  
Arianne smirked: “Your lands are still part of Five Kingdoms, my lord. True, you show restraint in doing the raven’s biding, but your king is still in the Red Keep.”  
He replied: “I would not last a day if I were to proclaim Stormlands a kingdom of its own. Baratheons were loyal to Iron Throne even before it truly existed, we’re not Dorne or Iron Islands or North. Most of my bannermen and smallfolk support me now, but very few if any would do that should it declare myself a Storm King.”  


The more she spoke with him, the more Arianne liked Gendry Baratheon.  
_An honest man among great lords of Westeros, a welcome change, _ she thought before saying:  
“I understand. If I were you, I would too tread carefully. That is why I called this parlay. I wanted you to know that Dorne is not your enemy.  
We shall not cross into your lands to raid and burn castles and villages, but respect the border we share. For that reason, when my men went to Nightsong to finish the defeated Carons and Swanns, they were ordered to leave the castle intact. I do not wish to make your burden any heavier than it is, my lord. I offer you even trade with Essosi goods from Dorne to Stormlands using Boneway, should you find it acceptable in price, as ships from across the sea now shun your ports.”  
Young lord Baratheon looked at her, she could tell he did not expect this much from Dornish princess, an offer of peace and friendly relations. 

Her face got a stern expression now as she was about to utter words of warning:  
“Make no mistake, my lord, I offer you this only once. Should you decide to answer the raven’s call and wage war on Dorne, you shall feel the wrath of Sunspear on your lands. I can raise thirty thousand spears and more, and we both know that Stormlands after the wars of past decade can’t make half of that number. It takes time to raise a new generation of soldiers.” He nodded; he knew that all too well. 

Then she was smiling at him again: “Now, Gendry of House Baratheon, I have given you a truthful offering of peace and one of war.  
I guess we should now dine together. A duck in Dornish snake sauce. Fear not, sauce is made only of mustard seeds and dragon peppers.”  
“That is not the queerest thing I’ve eaten in my life, Princess.” lord of Storm’s End replied.


	47. DAENERYS

_Meereen, Essos, year 317 After Conquest_

**DAENERYS**

“On fifteenth day of first moon of year three-hundred-seventeenth since Aegon Targaryen conquered Westeros, two heirs were born in the House Targaryen of Meereen, to King Jon and Queen Daenerys. Prince Cregan, of black hair and violet eyes and Princess Daenysanne, of silver hair and grey eyes. Their coming brought great joy to their royal father and mother, their sisters, princesses and to the people of Meereen.”

“Iksā daor vāedario.” she said to Azzak zo Ghazeen, her aide, with smile. (_You’re no poet._) “  
"Iksan iā bardugo. Ñuhon iksis naejot bardugon ilagon ra hae ēzi māzigon naejot rēbagon” he replied humbly.  
(_I am a scribe. Mine is to write down things as they have come to pass._)

She couldn’t argue with that though his short note for the chronicles of both House Targaryen and City of Meereen utterly failed to bring before those who shall read it many years from that day all her fear and joy she felt in the same time, all the tears and sweat and birthing blood, feeling of how strength has left her wholly only to be replaced by sense of bliss that could move the mountains when her babe son and daughter were placed in her arms.  
Again, she gave birth to twins, again one had Stark and other Targaryen hair, yet this time, Valyrian eyes were looking at her beneath dark velvet and grey eyes of lords of Winterfell beneath Dany’s own silver hair. She cried, same as when Rhae and Lya were resting in her arms. 

Azzak was no poet, nor was her husband yet what he softly told her when he was kneeling at her side as she held newborn twins made her cry even more:  
“Dany, for ten years all I prayed for is that I get to see you once again, in the afterlife and beg your forgiveness for what I did to you…to have you in my arms only once before darkness swallows me. And then… I have got you back, in this new life… and I got more of you in our girls, in Lyanna and Rhaella. Now I have even more of you in them…” he kissed both babes before whispering: “Till my last day, Daenerys Stormborn.”  
Dany’s face was soaked in tears. When Jon would tell her his mind oft it would anger her, for their many disagreements. But when he would tell her his heart, those words always touched the very core of her being. 

That same day, what Azzak failed to note, a loud roar came from atop of the black pyramid, nearly shaking walls of the highest floor.  
It was Drogon.  
He flew to Meereen the night before, as he could sense the new Targaryens coming to this world, from the ruins of Old Valyria or from the Asshai where this dragon was also seen. Dany said to her daughters that it could be Drogon seeks for dragons in the Shadow, many tales claimed that wild dragons thrive there and the egg from which Drogon was hatched nearly twenty years ago came from the Shadow. That roar caused Meereenese healers who attended the birth to leap up, she nearly laughed loudly despite being in midst of labors. 

Drogon’s roars were triumphant and jubilant, the flames from his mouth bursting high in the air. Black and red dragon flew around Essos free, but coming to its feeding place outside Meereen every week. Daenerys, whenever she could, went there to greet him, he was now even larger than when she flew him to Vaes Dothrak one year ago. In last moons of her pregnancy, it was Jon who would go to meet Drogon, yet dared not to fly him again. Daenerys sometimes feared that Drogon, being alone for over ten years, would wither as she believed that dragons could feel pain and sadness just as men can, but it did not happen. He grew larger with every passing year and was stronger than ever. 

_Mayhaps he has found a wild dragon somewhere in hidden corners of this world, _ Jon said to her, _who can tell, a lot of dragonlore was lost in the Doom of Valyria and what our family knew was lost as well, mostly after dragons were locked in that damn pit in King’s Landing._

What was certain, Drogon was growing still and now it surely was the largest living thing in the skies of the Known World. And his bond with Targaryens of Meereen was strong as it was when Daenerys hatched him on that funeral pyre. Dragon stayed on the pyramid for few more days, until Daenerys was able to walk the stairs to the apex and meet the black and red beast. Drogon nuzzled her gently and she spoke silent words in Valyrian to him. As she descended back to the top floor, a triumphant dragon’s roar came from above followed by a large gust of wind as Drogon went up into the sky and flew southwards.

Moon has passed since she gave birth to Cregan and Daenysanne which was already called Little Dany by her father and older sisters.  
Time has come for Daenerys and her family to move again, leaving once pyramid of Yherizan to the City Guard. Unsullied came with her, to her new residence.  
There was still over five hundred of them, fifty remained in Port Yhos. Oldest among them were closing to their fortieth nameday, those were mostly officers and Daenerys made them know that they were free to choose will they stay soldiers or will they find new calling for the remainder of their lives, one that she would help them with. Very few decided to take off the spiked helmet, shield and spear and those who did were aware that their fighting prowess was gone. 

The Great Pyramid of Meereen was built to echo the Great Pyramid of Ghis.  
Like its ancient predecessor, the Great Pyramid has thirty-three levels, a number which is considered to be sacred to the gods of Ghis.  
The foundations of the pyramid were massive and thick, supporting the weight of the huge structure overhead. The interior walls are three times thicker than any castle's curtain walls. Hidden within those thick walls, were the servant's steps. These narrow, steep, and straight stairs were the quickest way up and down the pyramid.  
The outer walls are thirty feet thick; they can muffle the tumult of the streets and keep the heat outside. For that, inside the pyramid is cool and dim within.  
The pyramid's main doors were closed and barred with every sunset to be open again only with the first light the next day.  
On the ground level there were stables, stalls, and storerooms. The stables hold horses, mules, and donkeys, in the past the stables in the eastern walls held elephants. Second level had the armory. The level above it was the training hall. The heart of the Great Pyramid is located deep within the center of the massive structure, on the sixteenth and seventeenth levels. Massive brick walls surround a suite of windowless rooms buried in the very heart of the pyramid. 

On the thirty-second level was throne room and audience chamber. On the apex of the pyramid, the thirty-third floor, were the private chambers of the rulers of Meereen.These chambers are surrounded by greenery and fragrant pools with low brick parapets. Apex also has the terrace garden. From it, one could see the whole city of Meereen and its surroundings, the Skahazadhan river, the dry brown hills, the orchards and the fields of the city. Terrace is furnished with water pool; this one has little fish. 

Daenerys walked across the terrace, remembering her youth when she first lived in this eight-hundred-feet tall building.  
_Not much has changed. _she concluded.  
During last ten years she was invited to meetings and feasts in this pyramid oft, but only once did she went to the apex, too much past was there for her.  
Today she felt different. _Now, future is here for me. Me and my family. Me and my… where is he… _ Jon was not here and this was to be their new home. She already saw herself making love to him in that water pool. _I know where. Where else could he be…_

As Council of Citizens publicly proclaimed that Meereen has new King and Queen, violence ceased. Former slaves were content with their Mhysa ruling again while former slavers greeted the king who not only was of noble ancestry but could understand the highborn of this city. Noblemen serving in City Guard could testify to that.  
A Targaryen king, who lived his entire life in Westeros with no stake in the old strives of this city, was the one behind which all Meereenese could rally. 

Daenerys went down a broad marble stair, to the throne room on the level below.  
There he was, sitting on a plain stone bench that served as throne of Meereen, elevated some ten feet or more above the marble floor of the audience chamber.  
He was deep in his thoughts as she came behind him and leaned on the wall: “There was a true throne in here once, you know.”  
“What happened to it?” he asked not turning towards her.  
“It was a work of true craftmanship. Carved and gilded wood in the shape of a savage harpy. But when I took this city, I didn’t want to use a harpy's lap as a throne so I had it destroyed. It was used for firewood.” Jon laughed: “No surprise there… come, sit next to me.” She sat on the stone bench and placed her hand in his.  
“I like this bench throne…” he said “…two can sit on it comfortably.” “This is your throne, Jon. You see that Kinvara's flames have shown you the right path.” “Not entirely.” he said “What I could see was a dragon atop the Great Pyramid. Nothing else. There were no king and queen in the flames and here we are.”  
“Mayhaps you should not have asked from the councilors to have me as Queen.”  
He looked at her: “No, I should have. Moreover, when I heard that nobles of this city still hold your ending slavery against you. Now, they have you as their queen again.” She leaned her head on his shoulder: “You’re the King of Meereen. Your word shall be the last word. They’ve chosen you.”  
“They did. But half of City Council wanted you. And those ten councilors speak for eight out of ten Meereenese. Their will cannot be ignored.” Daenerys sighed: “What queen has such king in the Known World? We can do this, Jon. Together.” He looked at her: “Aye, we can. And we will.”  
She smirked: “I like your eagerness. You know that dozens of petitioners already have asked for audience with His Radiance, the King of Meereen.”  
“What? Dozens? And I must listen each and every one?” “Yes, my king, you must.” “Surely the queen can replace…”  
“This queen has two babes to take care of. And an entire household to move from our pyramid to here.  
I had my share of sitting on this bench, _Your Grace, _ now it’s your turn.” 

“I shall summon envoys from Yunkai, Astapor and Tolos.” her husband said lying in bed next to her.  
Both were naked, as that was manner in which they slept, yet it was too soon after birth for lovemaking. They felt closer to each other with nothing between them save linen sheets. “Why?” she asked. “We call this part of Essos the Bay of Dragons. Once it was called Slaver’s Bay and that name was well earned. Is Bay of Dragons earned name? Do dragons rule anywhere in that bay? Save Meereen and that barely for two moons.”  
Daenerys rose up, she now sat in bed, loose silver-hair falling down her back and over her breasts, looking at Jon:  
“You will ask them to declare loyalty to House Targaryen, rulers of Meereen.” She shook her head and then looked back at him:  
“Lyanna Stark was no fool when she named you Aegon. For I see Meereen is not enough for you.”  
He rose up as well and now was sitting next to her: “For us and for our children Meereen is not enough.  
Once before this city was besieged by Yunkai, Astapor and Volantis with Tolos aiding them. Once and never again.”  
Her violet eyes gazed at him approvingly: “So, what do we plan?”  
“Yunkai and Astapor will acknowledge the authority of House Targaryen in any dispute which they cannot resolve by themselves.  
Tolos will be offered a treaty of alliance in perpetuity. Should they break it…” “Fire and blood.” she replied.  
Her hand went through his hair: “Are we building an empire, ñuha dārys?”  
“We shall build what is needed to ensure peace and prosperity for us and those who placed their faith in us, ñuha dāria.” 

My king, my queen… they called each other, but words were not void of meaning now.  
They were King and Queen of Meereen. Uncrowned yet, but rule was given to them. Offered was the better term. And that offer was taken.

Two weeks later, envoys Jon invited came to Meereen, save Tolos which was to come few days after.  
“Ghazdor zo Ahlaq of Yunkai.” man presented himself to Jon and her.  
She acted as he never knew of him till now. _Lord Wobblecheeks,_ he was called by the sellsword company Yunkish hired to fight against her when they besieged Meereen. As his part in the war against her was befitting the nickname given to him by sellswords, he was able to be member of the Council of Citizens in Yunkai. Former Wise Master.  
That was the name under which slavers of the Yellow City were known. Ghazdor was no master now and he was never wise. 

“Samazza Mellhan, the Blue Grace of Astapor.” woman spoke next. Blue Graces were healers which served in the Temple of the Graces.  
Samazza was of Meereen once, Daenerys remembered this healer accompanying Galazza Galare to the Great Pyramid when they came to explain the possible spread of diseases to new queen of Meereen. _Five and ten years ago that was, _Dany thought, _she was a girl then as I was and now, she speaks for the Red City._ Samazza left Meereen to serve as Blue Grace in Astapor. City was ridden with diseases and it took years to remove them, years and hundreds of lives.  
“Lord Ghazdor, lady Samazza, I greet you at the court of Meereen.” Jon said. 

Four of them were seated in the small chamber, next to the council room, on the padded chairs of black coating with golden ornate featuring swans at the small round table made in same manner as the chairs. Council of Citizens was assembling in the Great Pyramid as before with king or queen leading the meetings. Jon now saw the council as bettered version of Small Council of Westeros; it had more members and they in truth represented the people of the city. As king he retained the command over the City Guard. His wishes were to further enlarge the Freeflames.  
“They will be the spearhead of Meereen, Dany.” he told her “A host like no other in Essos.” 

Yunkish envoy had less patience than one of Astapor. Yunkai was the city where former slavers were most numerous among the citizens as Yellow City was spared from killings between masters and slaves decade and a half ago, unlike its sister cities in once Slaver’s Bay. For Yunkai has restored slavery right after Daenerys marched her army towards Meereen. No matter how large number of once masters was, on twenty freedmen of Yunkai came one former slaver.  
Both cities had same kind of ruling as Meereen did, Assembly of Astapor and Wise Council of Yunkai.  
_Their names may differ, but their shortcomings are the same, _she thought, _one small shift in the balance of these councils and their ability to rule first shakes, then shatters. _

“Your Radiance, Astapor has answered your call though we do not know what to think of it. Truth is we hoped for your royal visit to our city, as ruler of Meereen to rulers of Astapor.” Samazza said. “There will be time for visits, still, my lady. As I believe that Meereen bears responsibility for your city. And for Yunkai as well.” Jon replied.  
Ghazdor glowered at this: “His Radiance speaks as if my city and Astapor were children and Meereen a mother when in truth, all three cities are as men grown, siblings as some see them, though I’d call them cousins.” “Should one take the size of our three cities, then indeed Astapor and Yunkai are children when put next to Meereen.” king said “Though I speak not of it. I speak of the same weakness that all three cities have. Weakness of ruling. When Queen Daenerys ended slavery and turned Slaver’s Bay in the Bay of Dragons, all three cities embraced the new kind of ruling, one in which councilors govern the city and those councilors speak for all citizens, noble and smallfolk alike. And all share the same flaw which oft brings what we had in this city two moons ago. That must not befall on your two cities. And it will not.”  
“I don’t understand, Your Radiance.” Samazza said.  
Jon nodded: “It is rather plain, my lady. as you’ll soon hear. Meereen, Yunkai and Astapor will all have the same way of resolving deadlocks in city rule. The King and Queen will intercede.”  
Ghazdor zo Ahlaq was clearly disliking the notion: “Yunkai has no king. What you ask is to affirm your kingship over my city.”  
Jon gave man a look: “Lord Ghazdor, do remind me who kept peace in your city for dozen years? Was it not the Second Sons doing the will of Queen Daenerys? She did not claim her queenship upon return from Westeros and yet Yunkai kept the Second Sons as its guards, with that doing her will. In past dozen years Yellow City did not denied Daenerys Targaryen as ruler of the Bay of Dragons nor it has annulled her decrees. As she is Queen again, her reign extends to Yunkai as well. And thus, does mine as King.”  
Ghazdor remained with no words.  
After she lifted the siege of Meereen with her three dragons and the Dothraki great khalasar which later followed her to Westeros, Daenerys took Yunkai and Astapor and ended the Slaver’s Bay. After she took her fleet to the west, none of the three cities renounced her as their queen, not even after she walked out from the temple of R’hllor alive and decided that her days as anyone’s queen were over. She was the Queen of Bay of Dragons. She was never stripped of that title by anyone.  
And now, sitting with the Yunkish and Astapori envoy, it dawned to her why Jon demanded of Meereenese councilors only to be their king if she will be the queen. 

_Who is this man sitting next to me? Not Jon Snow, that I am certain of. _

Samazza asked: “King Jon, what do you expect of Astapor? Our allegiance with Queen Daenerys stands as it had since she burned Krazyns mo Nakloz six and ten years ago, but what do you want of the Red City?” Jon said in stern voice: “Order and peace, lady Samazza, something that Astapor failed to deliver when Queen Daenerys freed the slaves and removed the Good Masters. Your city provides the best example of what takes place when power grabbing man replaces the council. Cleon the butcher, he was that kind of man, was he not? Yunkai renewed slavery the very next moment they saw the back of last Daenerys’ soldier marching to Meereen, but Astapor, Astapor sunk even lower, birthing rulers that brought only misery and death to your people.”  
“Your Radiance, that was long ago, for dozen years we had order.” Blue Grace countered.  
“Aye, you did. Who kept that order? Sellswords. Not people of Astapor. Sellswords charged to do so by your queen. There’s no more Second Sons. For many moons already. And your order is now frail. Think not that Astapori coming to seek their chances in Meereen are not noticed. Same as Yunkish.”  
He looked at Ghazdor. “Had your cities been a place where one can live decently, would your citizens be coming here? For Meereen pays more coins for same work. And those of your people that don’t manage here, sell themselves back to slavery. To Volantene or Qartheen traders whose ships loom in our waters like vultures around carrion.” 

Daenerys looked at him.  
He was angry and this was his wolf anger as Stark glint was in his grey eyes, one that she saw before in the eyes of his sisters and also in the eyes of her raven-haired daughter. 

“Do not paint me the image of your cities to be better than it is, my lady and my lord. Meereen has lot of betterment to do and Yunkai and Astapor twice as more…” Jon continued “…in that you shall have the King and Queen of Bay of Dragons as your allies and strong support. You will have a proper city council established and a city guards of same skill and strength as Meereen now has. Should you remain true to us. Should you not… both of you were grown enough to remember what happened last time when Yunkai and Astapor failed the Targaryen ruler.”

Ghazdor zo Ahlaq sighed: “Your Radiance, you are threatening us into submission.”  
“Wrong, my lord, I am informing you of what shall come out from your city being true to its king and queen and what shall come if you’re not.  
Do you doubt that my Queen and I wish anything else for the Bay of Dragons save to be the richest and most prosperous part of Essos? And all that achieved without slavery?”  
“No, Your Radiance…” Samazza Mellhan spoke “…we know that your intentions are noble.”  
Jon nodded: “Very well then, stand by us in bringing those intentions to fruit and people will flock to Yunkai and Astapor to live within your walls. Not run as far from your walls as they can.” “When do you expect our answer?” Ghazdor zo Ahlaq asked.  
“On seventh day from now, should we not get any answer, the Queen and I shall consider that you have declined.  
What follow afterwards is... well, queenly and kingly prerogative.” Jon replied coldly. 

Samazza turned to her: “Queen Daenerys, I have not heard you utter a word. What does Queen of Bay of Dragons say of this?”  
Dany gave her a courteous smile, Samazza was a goodhearted woman: “Lady Samazza, my husband the King speaks for both of us. I as Queen wish nothing more for the Bay of Dragons that to be the jewel of this continent. For that to come, all three cities must conduct their affairs in same manner. And all three shall.” 

Ghazdor and Samazza left not long after. Jon was pacing calmly across the council room.  
He was content. She looked at him with frown: “Your insisting on me being the Queen… did you knew that it will make you the King of Bay of Dragons as we share rule.”  
“Aye. I did know that. I knew all your titles ever since I first laid my eyes on you, on Dragonstone. Why not to reclaim your old title. It is well deserved, is it not?”  
Her eyes widened. “A man who came to Dragonstone all those years ago… you’re not that man anymore.” she said pensively.  
“Dany, that man died. Part of him died when he stabbed you, whole of him died that day at Antler River. Bisa vala gō ao iksis daor Jelmōñe mittys. (_This man before you is no Northern fool._) “No, you’re not a fool, Jon Targaryen. The man I knew as Jon Snow was a fool, oft than not, but not you. You have what’s needed for a ruler. You’re noble and wise but there is ruthlessness and cunning in you as well.” 

He was silent, only gave her a smile. Then he said: “Dany, mayhaps this is a good time to address one more issue.” “Tolos?”  
“No, I assure you that Tolosi envoy will leave from here just as… pleased as these two were. I speak of another matter. The Iron Bank of Braavos.” Daenerys smirked at him: “What of it? My affairs did not concern you before. You’ve found them dull merchant talk, those words you’ve used.”  
“I speak not of your treaties with Essosi merchants that involve Iron Bank, but of something that I’ve heard from both Myrish and Braavosi captains last week. They are not to sail to Westeros anymore and that is demanded of them by the Iron Bank. Same traders shared a rumor that debt of Sunset Kingdoms to the Iron Bank was paid whole by someone unknown.” “Strange story, indeed.” she said, looking away. 

“Dany, Westeros has no one who could pay the debt Cersei left in whole. Essos has few men of such wealth. And only one woman.”  
She gazed at him and after a slight smile she nodded: “I was working on an agreement with the Iron Bank. I’ve told you that.”  
“Aye, you have. This agreement will soon bring a good portion of Westeros to starve.”  
“They have raven king and Tyrion Lannister to thank for that. Or do you think my agreement is cruel, evil even to Six Kingdoms?”  
“I did not say that.” he replied. “No, I see it in your eyes. You do not approve. Mayhaps I was wrong. Mayhaps there is still Northern fool hidden within you, with his dumb honor.” He shook his head: “You cannot see it in my eyes. I do not disagree with your agreement. We have two little girls and two babes now. Tyrion and that thing inside Bran wish them dead. Bran the Broken is a failed king.” 

Daenerys agreed: “Yes, a failed king. When I first heard of him being elected by lords of great houses, I truly was glad. A king that was chosen.  
And though I cared little of Westeros in last twelve years, he was a good king for most of that time, all reports I got from there spoke of it.  
Last few years his rule has turned for worse. His and Tyrion’s, they cannot be separated as rulers there.  
Now, Iron Islands and Dorne are in open rebellion while your friend Gendry Baratheon is not doing their bidding.”  
“My friend Gendry and your Baratheon, Dany.”  
“Yes, he is my Baratheon. And he has not forgotten who made him lord of Storm’s End.”  
Jon walked to her and caressed her cheek: “Your reports from Westeros are not old, I dare to say you receive one every moon.”  
She stroked his cheek: “No, husband, since you’ve burned the weirwood tree in Bran’s garden I receive one every ten days.”  
“From whom, may I ask?”  
“You may, my king. From no other than Master of Ships of King Bran.” 

Jon frowned: “Who holds that seat in Bran’s Small Council?  
“Lord Monterys of House Velaryon.” she replied “Head of the house that was Targaryen ally since before Aegon’s Conquest.  
And they’ve kept their faith. So did young lord Monterys.”  
“How can he send you reports being that close to Three Eyed Raven or whatever Bran is now and not be discovered.”  
“Jon Targaryen, you’re not the only cunning person in our family.” she grinned now “Monterys merely keeps records of his work as Master of Ships and sends it to his archives, to Velayron castle on Driftmark island, close to Dragonstone.  
Then someone who is hidden from Bran’s sight reads the records and passes the word straight to me.”  
“Straight to you? From Westeros?”  
She nodded: “There are ways in which one can converse with other, them both being thousands of miles apart.”  
Jon shrugged: “Sorcery? Is that it?” “Sorcery, magic, powers of R’hllor… it matters not as long as it serves my needs.”  
“Those powers serve no one, Dany. Be wary of them.” he said. “Jon, those powers gave us this second lifetime and four children.”  
“Daenerys Stormborn, our four children came as fruit of our love. Without it, this second lifetime would be an empty shell. For both of us.” 

She smiled contently hearing this, then he continued: “You should share the reports from Westeros with me.”  
“I shall take that into consideration.” Daenerys replied “Till then you bring Tolos to heel.”  
His eyes narrowed: “I find little comfort in knowing that my wife still trusts me not in matters of Westeros."  
“Your wife, my king, trusts that we shall do better if I was the one keeping eye on the west while you set things straight in the east. And you shall.”

“Westeros will end up in disarray like Meereen nearly did.”  
“They brought that fate on themselves.” she replied with cold tone.  
“Their fate concerns us still, Dany. Our family made seven kingdoms the Seven Kingdoms.” he said.  
“And we were robbed of it. Need I to remind you that you would be Aegon, Sixth of his name…  
Forget Westeros, Jon. You can’t save them from themselves.”  
"I did all I could to save them once, from great evil. So did you." "And that ended how for both of us? I see that Seven Kingdoms are still your weakness. And that... that both saddens me and angers me, Jon. I thought you have gone pass that. I truly believed you buried your past. In that cabin at Antler River. You're Targaryen when dealing with Essos but Snow comes back whenever it is matter of Westeros. That is weakness, Jon. Weakness. Unbefitting of one with blood of both dragon and wolf."  
“Smallfolk will suffer the most.” he said.  
“Smallfolk can rise against failed king and his lickspittles.” she replied dryly.  
“You hoped to see that to happen with Cersei.” Jon reminded her.  
“And when it didn’t, I’ve burned the city whole and now I am to starve the continent whole, is that what you’re thinking?  
You judge me as cruel and vengeful. Same as then. Luckily for me, there’s no Tyrion here to persuade you that it’s best for all if I were dead.”  
Her tone was filled with anger.  
“You’re unfair, Dany. It is not the same as then.” he replied, annoyed.  
“Prove me wrong, Jon Targaryen, King of Meereen.” she said walking away.


	48. KRAKEN AND MERMAN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Battle of White Harbor inspired by Viking attack on Frankish capital Paris ("Vikings", season 3)

_White Harbor, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

**KRAKEN AND MERMAN**

“Here they come!” shouts came from the city walls as waters before the Seal Rock were filled with dark sails. Dark sails with yellow kraken painted on it. 

The Iron Fleet was coming for the White Harbor.  
On the seventh day of third moon of year three-hundred-seventeen after Aegon’s conquest.  
Across the waves warhorns boomed, deep haunting sounds as some sea monster was letting out its dying call, it repeated from ship to ship. 

“Bring down the sail!” commands were given “Lower mast. Oarsmen to your oars.”  
_Sea Bitch, Iron Vengeance, Maiden's Bane, White Widow, Iron Lady, Lamentation, Reaper's Wind, Dark Wind, Warhammer, Iron Dawn, Dagon’s Wrath, Nightflyer… _ all were coming on oars alone, not providing their sails as targets for scorpions and spitfires atop the fort on Seal Rock.  
Behind that first line of Ironborn warships many more followed, dozens of three times smaller longships.  
And rafts, large rafts upon which siege towers were placed, two dozen rafts with two dozen such towers were towed by longships. 

“Time for axe! Time for sword! For killing wolves!” shouts came, all at once, from hundreds of throats  
“Time for axe! Time for sword! For killing wolves!” A haunting call or warhorns was replaced by battle cries.

The Lockes of Oldcastle could not repel the krakens for the fourth time, their holdfast has fallen six days before, thus leaving the North with no castle or garrison between the coast of Bite and the mouth of White Knife river which was eighty miles northwards. In six days, Ironborn have made siege towers and rafts to ferry them on, using timber from the woods around Oldcastle. Those towers barely resembled those used on land, true siege engines made to conquer walls and battlements.  
Those were makeshift towers, but with height that matched the one of the walls of White Harbor.

Ironborn carpenters have built towers in a manner which enabled men to climb up on it by the outer side, to the level which had a drawbridge ready to drop on ramparts of the Northern port. All were covered in water-soaked cowhides to prevent them from burning too fast if struck by flame arrows or burning oil.  
On land, such towers would be wheeled, here rafts were to bring them all the way to city walls. 

“Time for axe! Time for sword! For killing wolves!” another round of shouts came, soon turning into shrieking with swords and axes batting over the shields. Three and fifty hundred men rowed towards the only Northern port.  
Over half again as many than there were men on the ramparts waiting the cross swords with them. 

White Harbor was defended by three thousand and a half men of House Manderly and their bannermen, men of houses Hornwood and Woolfield, that many as they could spare and send to this battle. Three hundred came under sunburst of Karhold. There were seasoned warriors among them, those who fought with King Robb in the south when young men. They later battled against Boltons and the army of the dead and saw the King’s Landing covered with ash and snow.  
Now, those men were nearing their fortieth nameday and on every one such, two came that were little boys when Young Wolf ruined Lannister host at Whispering Wood and not yet grown men when Northerners were killing and raping on the streets of capital of the Realm. 

Attackers were in no better shape, their decks were manned by more younger men than those who fought first for Balon, then Yara or Euron.  
On the warships of Iron Fleet, one could find men with gruesome scars, those have survived the dragon attack when young Targaryen queen set ablaze all Euron’s ships in the Blackwater Bay. Still, while young Northerners remembered a decade of peace under Sansa Stark, young Ironborn under Yara Greyjoy have spent those same years preparing for another war against the green lands. And that war has now come. 

“Loose!” shout echoed across the water, the _Sea Bitch_ shuddered as her two trebuchets mounted on the forecastle and sterncastle unloaded a fusillade of burning stones at the Seal Rock, followed by her sister ships. Over thirty projectiles struck at the weathered ringfort. Tongues of yellow-orange flame seemed to blanket the old fort, tearing down stones and weapons mounted atop the fort. Four men manning a scorpion ballista were caught on fire and threw themselves into the sea screaming.  
Trebuchets on the Seal Rock shoot back, sending it stone blocks on the Ironborn ships, one breaking the main mast on _Maiden's Bane_ as it were straw, other slamming down on the deck of Iron Dawn with half a dozen men crushed between stone and planks. Manderly men from the fort fired volleys of bolts, striking down tens at once on all ships that came in the range of their crossbows. 

“Loose!” came the new order for the Iron Fleet. This time it was not the large round stones that flew at the fifteen feet high fort, it was wooden barrels. When they met with the grey-green coated stones of Seal Rock, they shattered and oil splashed all over the fort, soaking its defenders.  
“Fire arrows!” shouts were heard on the decks of _Iron Dawn, White Widow, Lamentation, Reaper's Wind, Nightflyer, Hammerhorn, Orkwood Glory_… 

“Burn the fuckers!” Dozens of fire arrows fell upon the Sea Rock whose fort was soon engulfed in fire from ground to top, flames devoured soldiers and weapons, screams of burning men were heard on White Harbour walls and further, inside the city filling the folk with terror.  
Scorpions and trebuchets made cracking sounds as they were succumbing to fire. Another volley of stones came from the Ironborn ships, marking an end of the fort on Seal Rock. 

In moons before, when one or two kraken vessels came beneath this rocky islet, they were short work for the Manderly fort.  
Few of such attacks were raids of Ironborn captains which thought that lack of wits can be mended with excess of courage, but some were done to probe and test the defenses. And as Seal Rock did not halt the advance of the kraken fleet even for three quarters of an hour, the Ironborn have learned its weaknesses well. 

“To the city! To the city!” shouted the captains on the leading ships.  
The _Pyke’s Glory_ was leading the way, its oars pounding the waves in hellish cadence.  
Rest of the Iron Fleet warships followed, widening their line. Behind the largest vessels of the Iron Islands were smaller longships, nearly three scores of them, their crews also rowing as madmen, keeping pace with twenty warships and towing the siege towers. 

For those on the ramparts of White Harbor it was a sight to look upon.  
Larger ships, passing the one-mile long jetty, closing on the inner port as they were killer whales coming after prey with shoal of smaller fish swimming among and behind the whales and within that shoal something towered from the waves as fins of gargantuan sea beast. The light glow from the shipborne trebuchets and scorpions placed as Iron Fleet had begun shooting burning stones and flaming bolts on the Manderly galleys in the inner harbor. The gout of flame raced across one of merman’s ships.

“Shoot! Shoot, you cunts!” captain yelled as the _Sea Bitch_ took the vanguard at the head of the attacking ships, a volley of stones and rocks coated in oil and tar flew towards the vessels anchored, though truth would be trapped, in the outer and inner harbor, an assortment of cogs, carracks, galleys and sloops, all slowly but surely being set ablaze. “No place for wolves on the sea!” someone shrieked from the mast of _Hammerhorn_.

Bows slicing through the dark green water, the larger vessels were slowing down as they came before the city walls, the oars coming nearly to a halt. The Iron Fleet warships that came to attack the seat of the Manderlys, twenty of them were now spread over the mouth of the White Knife river, turning their trebuchets and scorpions towards the city. The waves between the score of warships were crowded with small and swift longships which were still rowing with ramming speed as their crews were headed beneath the walls, with siege tower rafts emerging as vanguard. 

A horn from the crow’s nest of _Iron Vengeance_ sounded three times.  
It was a signal for all twenty warships. “Unleash the kraken’s wrath.” were twenty captains’ to do upon hearing the third blow of the horn.  
Scorpions and trebuchets from the Iron Fleet have released the first volley on the city walls and beyond them. Under so provided cover of bolts and rocks, the longships have reached the land beneath the city walls as well as the rafts with siege towers, four and twenty were now lined up alongside the ramparts of White Harbor. 

“Time for axe! Time for sword! For skinning wolves!”  
Ironborn from the longships and those already on the rafts began to climb the towers, nearly six thousand swords, spears and axes rushed over from one longship to another across the laid down planks that were now joining all sixty vessels, to reach one of siege towers and charge upwards, to meet the hated foe, the wolves of the North.  
Above their heads, flew the long scorpion bolts and large chunks of stones bringing death and fire to the people of White Harbor.

A dance of death between kraken and wolf was beginning, in the courtyard of merman lords.

On the walls, those battle-hardened Northerners kept in order their younger brothers in arms, all facing war and death for the first time, from breaking the lines and fleeing after they saw hundreds of enemies charging at the walls with bloodlust. Sounds of trebuchet projectiles slamming into ramparts and hissing of scorpion bolts dwarfed the cacophony of blades and battle cries as the two hosts embraced.  
The Ironborn were out for blood and Wyman Manderly had ensured that they would get plenty – their own blood. 

Sons of kraken climbed the siege towers whose drawbridges were already dropped on the battlement, first of them were already swarming the city walls, the fury of their charge curbed by the shield wall and spears, arrows, bolts, even bricks and rocks were thrown on the attackers from the battlements. Shields were blocking the Ironborn axes, arrows and blades with swords flashing between shields and stabbing the attackers. Ramparts became slicker with blood as men on it were now killing each other in tens. 

Boiling and steaming, at the order of an officer in colors of House Manderly, three large cauldrons of tar and oil were overturned over three holes in the battlements, pouring its contents on the attackers. Dozens of men, waiting to climb on the siege towers in hope to breech the walls and plunder the white jewel of the North, were enveloped.. Blood-curdling screams came from their throats as scalding liquid was boiling the Ironborn in their leather armor.  
A Hornwood soldier dropped a torch from above the battlements, moments before being impaled on a spear, igniting the oil and tar and turning the ground beneath that portion of the walls into an field of fire. Flames caught few longhsips as well, but as soon as first horror of burning oil and tar ceased, the charge continued, as sight of their burning brethren only added to Ironborn resolve. 

As response, from the warships came a volley of barrels, passing over the walls and falling onto the houses, streets and squares of the city.  
Barrels of oil, same as those that have burned the Seal Rock, were smashing into the pavement, walls and roofs. Following the barrels, came the burning stones from warships and fire arrows from siege towers. Orange and red tongues begun to lick parts of White Harbor closest to the walls, houses around the Fishfoot Yard were on fire.

“Up, up, you bastards!” Earl Harlaw nearly screamed at his crew. The _Forlorn Hope_ made landfall right next to one of siege towers, some two hundred yards away from the longships that went in flames from lighted tar and oil. As defenders rained arrows and bolts and rocks on them, dead bodies piled around him but more were charging upwards, grabbing the wooden bars of siege towers as rungs on the ladder. On every man fallen, two or three more were coming for the walls. Shouts, screams, curses, sounds of steel meeting steel and steel meeting flesh echoed from the ramparts.  
A flag came fluttering down from the walls, falling on the ground merely three feet away from him. Merman banner of House Manderly. 

Earl look up as he climbed the wooden siege engine and saw a line of his men with axes and shields breaking through the defenders, a throw axe splitting the head of a man in Karstark overcoat in two and the banner of Winterfell lords falling in the hands of the Ironborn. “Light it up, light it up!” he yelled “Make them see the wolf banner on fire!”  
Torch was soon pressed against the cloth that bore the grey snarling head of direwolf.  
As flames caught the banner, one of Harlaw’s men jumped on the edge of battlement holding the flagpole high above his head and shouted: “Wolves are burning!”  
The Ironborn on the ships, those making their way up the siege towers and those already battling on the ramparts cheered in thousand voices, though to men defending the White Harbor it sounded as shrieking of sea demons.

“Kraken! Kraken! Kraken!” yelled the men of Iron Islands, hundreds of them now swarmed the walls hacking through Northerners on the ramparts to open their way into the city.  
“To Seal Gate! Open the Seal Gate!” Earl shouted and waved hands to a man on whose chest there was a sigil of skeleton hand on the red shield. Lord Dunstan Drumm of the Old Wyk, captain of _Thunderer_ who wielded his family’s Valyrian steel sword, the Red Rain that was now truly red but not by rain as skies were clear without a cloud. “With me! With me!” Dunstan commanded to his crew, all covered with crimson stains of their own and blood of their foes.  
“We’re taking the gates!” Captain Harlaw watched as Drumm went ahead of his thirty men to take the gatehouse and raise the portcullis of the Seal Gate. With that gate open, the White Harbor would be breached. 

“What are you waiting for?!” Elric Karstark spoke with loud voice, looking at the father and son Manderly  
“The walls are close to falling! Signal your reserves to get up on the walls.” Old lord of White Harbor replied with calmness: “They are not going on the walls, Lord Karstark. My reserves, a thousand men strong, will ride out as heavy horse through the Seal Gate followed by footmen and charge both their siege towers and their longships.”  
Three men were watching the carnage on the walls from the Wolf’s Den castle, where Wyman Manderly ordered his knights and foot soldiers together with most of Hornwood and Woolfield men to hide and wait for the proper moment. Which was nearing, or has even passed in Elric’s mind. 

Wolf’s Den was ancient castle, first one built on the mouth of the White Knife river, it’s weathered black walls were centuries older than White Harbor itself.  
Castle was at the far end of city ramparts which clang to it. Ironborn, familiar with Wolf’s Den now being only a prison, wasted no shot from trebuchet or scorpion on it. “You have left a jetty with thirty feet high fortified wall undefended. A jetty could have stopped the krakens if properly manned. Now you’ll leaving them the city.” young Karstark spoke accusingly. Wylis Manderly responded with notable smirk: “Jetty would suffer the same fate as the Seal Rock. It would’ve lasted longer, mayhaps two or three hours but jetty is not a fort. We do not have numbers to be placing men at arms everywhere in this city.”  
His father added: “What we do have is half a dozen mangonel trebuchets in the yard of Wolf’s Den which will shoot the casks of burning oil and tar on their longships and siege engines the very same moment our reserves burst through the Seal Gate. My lord Elric, do you take this to be my first battle? I have warred with grandfathers of these Ironborn. Which unlike grandsons knew better than to charge on the White Harbor.  
That lot will learn it the hard way.” 

Obese lord Wyman spoke to Elric as he were a child which annoyed him greatly so that he needed to remove himself from their company.  
“My lord, Ser Wylis, I shall join my men on the ramparts. This is no place to be for a commander of Northern host.” “As you wish. I hoped that you will ride out with my son.” “Men of Karhold are dying on the ramparts, my lord. My place is with them.”  
_Your son will ride, seven and fifty namedays and fat as fuck…_

Dunstan Drumm was losing men as he charged along the ramparts towards the gatehouse, he met with stiff defense by Manderly soldiers.  
“Merman is no match for kraken!” he yelled as his Valyrian sword cut through the blue-green coated chainmail of a man which stood before him with shield and short spear. “Forth men of the Wyk!” he called his reavers “Iron price!” they responded with battle cry.  
Axes of islanders from Wyk met with shields and swords of Northerners from Sheepshead Hills, sounds of metal slamming into metal echoed as line of defenders was slowly giving away. Dunstan was to take the gatehouse, open the gates and raise the now lowered portcullis. Then he was taken aback, hearing the chains being pulled on the windlass.  
“What is happening?” he asked aloud “They are opening the gates? Themselves?!”  
Portcullis was raised, Dunstan could tell that even without seeing and then noise of gates being open followed.  
“They’re mad! Fucking wolves are mad!”  
“Captain! Captain! Look!” one of his men shouted pointing towards the city with his bloodied axe. 

“Sons of whores!!! Rotting sons of whores!!!”  
Dunstan cursed as he saw them, men on horses in plate armor under direwolf and merman banners were in full gallop towards the Seal Gate, swords and long axes in their hands and lances, quarter a thousand of them or more, by their side and rushing after them were footmen, tens, hundreds, as they’ve sprang out from the ground itself.  
Dunstan knew what will happen to the Ironborn that were gathered before the Seal Gate waiting to charge into the city.  
He cursed as his sword found another Northerner to spill his bowels on the rampart. Not that it helped the islanders who mere moments later were cut down by lances and swords, dying beneath the hooves of knights of House Manderly, only knights north of the Neck. 

Earl Harlaw was cursing also at the sight of Northern reserve pouring out from the Seal Gate, when heavy horse crushed those Ironborn that stood before the gate, they turned right towards the siege towers, their footmen closely following. Bowmen from the longships have begun to shoot their volleys at the mounted Northerners, bringing many down, still the horsemen were cutting their way through the Ironborn around the wooden towers. 

Next what he saw was a fire cask shot from the far side of the harbor hitting the mast of _Red Jester_, longship of House Saltcliffe, burning oil and tar poured across the deck, fire enveloping some of the crewmen which died screaming. Five more casks came flying, two slammed into the siege tower that was set ablaze in mere moments.  
“Wolf’s Den! They’ve hidden catapults at Wolf’s Den!” he shouted.  
Iron Fleet warships in the harbor retaliated right away, its trebuchets fired full volley of burning rocks on the Wolf’s Den, some struck the walls, some flew over and fell in the courtyard. Wyman Manderly listened how ancient castle was shaking under wrath of kraken vessels. One of his mangonel crews was cut down when large rock fell on them and their weapon.  
_No easy victory…_ flashed in old man’s mind _…not for us nor for them. This day is still no one’s. _

Ironborn have nearly secured the walls, pushing the defenders to the part around the gatehouse from both sides of the ramparts, while beneath them, armored riders and foot battled with the sons of kraken on the ground. Some siege towers were torn which threatened to cut off those on the walls from their boats. This charge, what some would deem as lunacy, surprised the besiegers. Wolf’s Den mangonels shot flaming casks at the landed longships and their siege towers, Iron Fleet was returning the courtesy with burning barrels and stones. 

Elric Karstark was among his men, those in dark gambesons and surcoats with white sunburst embroidered across the chest, they stood ground at the left side of the gatehouse facing the krakens of Old Wyk, led by man with a red shield showing bone hand on his leather armor.  
It seemed that old Wyman’s plan worked thus far as charge of his horse and foot took the Ironborn by surprise and instead of bringing new dozens across the walls, they now had to fight around the siege towers. One third of those wooden constructions were now burning, set on fire by Manderly knights or hit by mangonels from Wolf’s Den. Men were dying by dozens beneath the walls, hundreds of Northerners on horseback have broken the kraken assault but their charge was also halted now as arrows and spears and axes were butchering riders and horses alike.  
_Is this that great battle of the war, one that will end it…_ Elric thought as he was running from the Wolf’s Den through the underground tunnel to the gatehouse. Ancient Stark castle was joined with New Castle of Manderlys by the long passage that went below the Castle Stair. 

He had enough of the mermans, when he came again to the White Harbor, five days before this battle, they refused to commit their ships to the defense of the city saying that krakens will not be broken at the waves but at the walls. Then he noticed how Arya Stark and her two ships are no longer in the White Harbor and his hosts replied that she left for Braavos over three weeks ago, under the banner and sails of House Baratheon which were to warrant safe passage. 

_Lies, filthy lies_ he thought listening to Ser Wylis’ explanations of how they’ve let their Queen’s sister to sail away, going across the kraken infested Bite.  
Absence of both lord Larence Hornwood and Ser Marlon Manderly, Wyman’s cousin and commander of the city garrison was even more puzzling and answer he got was even more horse dung as he declared it in his mind, the very moment he has heard it.  
_Hornwood to be keeping guard at Ramsgate instead of defending his wife’s home… more lies. _  
Elric’s mind was set that one day, be it near or far future, House Manderly will not be seated in the White Harbor.  
_The North remembers,_ they say, _but Elric Karstark remembers and avenges._

Swords and shields were clashing all around him, steel meeting steel, those noises being silenced by men cursing in rage or screaming in pain.  
Staring at the enemy with narrowed brown eyes filling with rage, Elric furiously spun his longsword in the air. There was a snarl on Ironborn leader face as his Valyrian blade clashed against it. Karstark’s weapon went to the left, but he caught the coming slash in a heartbeat. Their blades kissed half a dozen times, slashing both form above and beneath. Young Karstark managed to place his sword at the Dunstan’s unprotected back. Ironborn captain screaming in a fury, rose the Red Rain’s blade upward,catching Elric’s strike and then with harsh kick he sent Northern lord to the ground. Karstark grunted as he fell on the blood-stained stones of the ramparts, his left leg lingered in the air for a blink of an eye, enough for the Valyrian sword to slash at the point of the boot, cutting it off with all his toes.  
Elric let out a booming sound, he did not scream, it was a cry of both pain and anger.  
Two of his men, seeing him lying down, stepped forward and covered him with their shields, blocking the following blow of Red Rain, one that would remove their lord’s head from shoulders. He was pulled away, those two men grabbed Elric by the armpits to take him inside the gatehouse, his eyes were narrow and teeth gritted but he could see the Ironborn leader grinning at him. Battle raged on all around him, metal, flesh, fire, walls, sea… but for Lord Elric of House Karstark it was over. Life as he knew it thus far was over.

Earl Harlaw, Dunstan Drumm and Urek Ironmaker came with the flag of truce before the Wolf’s Den.  
Behind that old castle of black stone and the white city walls, the good part of the White Harbor was burning. 

Same as nearly half of the siege towers the kraken fleet brought with them, others were damaged or torn down and every third longship that made landfall beneath the city walls was burning. Northern heavy horse and reserve footmen forced the Ironborn to break their charge at the ramparts and try to defend the makeshift siege engines and longships.  
Seeing the ruin of siege towers, defenders retreated to the Seal Gate blocking the entrance again while Manderly men on the walls managed to keep the gatehouse under merman banner, rest of the walls fell to the Ironborn, but they were now exposed to arrows from the gatehose and Wolf’s Den.  
Trebuchets from the castle were harrying the landed longships for hours, while same shipborne weapons from the Iron Fleet could not hit the far side of the castle yard.  
Both sides were bled out and in no shape to win the day.  
Ser Wylis Manderly, heir of the White Harbor, defying his age and weight lead the charge of White Harbor knights.  
His horse was killed under him and then kraken axe was buried in Wylis’s back and spear in his gut.  
He died lying on the pile of Ironborn dead, those that were killed charging the city which his forefathers built. 

It was not a long parlay.  
Lord Wyman Manderly with Garth, castellan of the Wolf's Den and maester Medrick of Hornwood castle at his side met with Ironborn captains.  
“You will not take the city.” Wyman said “Not without losing two thirds of your men.”  
“We don’t need to. Half of it is on fire as we speak and we shall burn the rest of it as well before dawn. Without entering. You will be left off with your two castles, but this will not be a city or a port for years to come.” Earl Harlaw replied.  
Wyman, unimpressed, said dryly: “I offer you these terms: till sunrise you can take your longships back to the sea and your men off the walls and then sail away to whatever place you like.”  
Dunstan Drumm sneered: “You offer terms as you have won the day. You did not. Your son is dead. That Karstark pup is lacking half of his foot. White Harbor was breached. Your galleys burned at anchor.”  


Old lord Manderly wished he had thirty namedays less so he could drove a trident through this reaver’s neck.  
“City was not breached. Not one of your men set foot beyond the wall. Nor it will. You came with over five thousand, how many of those able to fight do you have left? Three thousand at best. Storming the walls of White Harbor took its toll. I’m offering you reasonable terms. I have eight and ten hundred men left. Your three thousand will not break them. And as I speak, more Stark men are coming down the White Knife river. There is nothing you can do to stop them, rest of my galleys are in the lower stream blocking all who wish to go up the river, so make no plan to send your longships to meet the coming Northerners.”

Wyman spoke calmly, but struggled hard to keep that calm. These men killed his son and heir, a thought that still did not settle in his mind.  
“Kraken will not take this city, not without reinforcements. And mine will be here sooner than yours.”  
His gaze stabbed the three Ironborn captains.  
They knew he was telling the truth. Then he asked: “Iron Fleet has more than score of ships in the Narrow Sea. Your flagship, the _Iron Victory_, was not here today. Where is Lady Reaper?”  
Earl Harlaw now grinned at him: “Aye, Iron Fleet has forty more warships in the Narrow Sea. Queen Yara has sailed to the Eastwatch-by-the-Sea with those forty ships. Forty ships and two thousand men. As we stand here, Lord Wyman Manderly, the kraken's daughter battles at ruins of the Wall at Eastwatch. There will be no New North for Sansa Stark. Eastwatch is doomed. Even if it doesn't fall, it will be cut off from your lines for good.” 

Wyman looked at his enemies, at their smug faces.  
“Hundreds of your men were killed today or maimed in the battle that you have lost. And this was not that true battle in the end. Yara Greyjoy went for Eastwatch. Do you not value the lives of your own kind?”  
“This was the true battle, same as that at Eastwatch. Our Queen wanted to take both prizes. One we shall take will hurt the Stark woman more.  
You shall keep the burned ruin of your city.” Harlaw answered and then added:  
“True, many of our men have died beneath your walls. But, Lord Manderly, what is dead may never die.”  
“What is dead may never die!” repeated Drumm and Ironmaker. 

“Do we have terms?” Manderly asked no willing to trade words with them any longer “As offered?”  
Harlaw nodded: “We have terms. We shall take our dead from the walls to the longships and you can take yours. I’ll see that your son’s body is returned to you. He was not butchered, my lord, no matter what you may think.”  
“Till dawn, then.” old man said and turned back at three captains from the Iron Islands.

As first rays of sunlight were coming from across the Narrow Sea, old Wyman Manderly, Lord of White Harbor and Warden of the White Knife, watched how warships and longships of the Iron Islands leave his port, aimed towards the waters of the Bite and further away as they have failed to take White Harbor. Paying the price of more than two thousand dead or wounded. That knowledge gave him little joy.  
He has lost his son and heir. The Kingdom of the North has all but lost this war. If what Ironborn claimed of Eastwatch were truth. 

That same morning a raven took flight from White Harbor to Pentos.  



	49. RAVEN KING

_King’s Landing, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

**RAVEN KING**

“Women, my lord Hand, women have brought misery to Westeros.” king spoke in his cold voice, devoid of emotions.  
“Cersei Lannister, Daenerys Targaryen, Yara Greyjoy, Arianne Martell and Sansa Stark.  
A long line of ladies believing that they were born for greatness. All bringing death and ruin.” 

Tyrion was seated at the other side of the small table and was silent. Not for a long though.  
“Luckily for all of Westeros, of all mentioned my sister is persistent in remaining dead unlike some.”  
“Daenerys Targaryen.” king replied “Her gaze will not be on us. For a while at least. She has got her crown back in Meereen.”  
“You saw that using your powers?” “No, as I told you before, I cannot see her. Nor I can see Jon in the east, nor their children. Magic of eastern demon blocks my sight. And all Targaryens in Meereen are marked by it. She is alive for it; he is alive for it and they sired children through that magic. But I can see what they speak of in halls of rulers in Volantis, in Lys, in Myr. And they speak of dragon queen and dragon king of Meereen.”  
“Your Grace, mayhaps we could try and strike at them again. I receive reports from Essos, Jon has created the host of Meereen and many officers of that host were once in Golden Company. We could find some among them willing to avenge his companions who died in this city, burned by dragonflames, by Daenerys.”  
“I want them dead, Lord Hand, same as I wanted them dead last year. Your sellsword was hoping to rule over Slaver’s Bay should he succeed in killing them. He failed. We shall not dwell upon assassinating them again. Meereen and rest of that Bay asks for skilled rulers. Jon was never good in ruling and she… she has taint.” 

Tyrion nodded: “She has. Targaryen madness runs deep in her. It is only a matter of time when it will erupt again.”  
King looked at the Lannister dwarf with that empty stare: “You believed in her once. Loved her once… A fly should not crave for eagle.” 

Tyrion frowned at last words but young king could not care less as he continued: “Now you hate her with same ardour.  
Personal matters should be put aside when governing the Realm, Lord Hand. I was Bran Stark, many years ago. I had two sisters and a half-brother. Or cousin. He is my enemy now. So is one sister. The other serving her great ambitions brought war to her and to my kingdom. Were there any feelings for them left, how could I be able to make decisions that are sound? Three Eyed Raven has no kin. That makes ruling hundred folds easier.”  
“What do you command, my king?” Tyrion asked.  
“We have retrieved Dragonstone without battle. Ironborn are now massed in three places. At Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. At Three Sisters they are gathering after the battle for White Harbor. Rest of them is at Iron Islands awaiting attack from the Arbor and Lannisport fleet. We have bulk of Yara Greyjoy’s men tied down at three possible places of battle. This way we know where most of the Ironborn are."  
“Your Grace, Three Sisters islands are part of the Vale, part of Six Kingdoms. I advise for royal fleet to sail there and forces Yara further north.” Tyrion said. 

“She will not yield this time, my lord. They will fight. And royal fleet lacks strength and able-bodied men to take on with over eighty Ironborn ships. We shall wait. For Yara’s fleet has lost good deal of men and ships against the White Harbor and she is yet to battle against the Lysene pirates hired by Sansa Stark. They’ve sailed along the Essosi coast of the Narrow Sea and now are at anchor in a small bay near Braavos. Sansa sent them orders not to sail to Eastwatch, but to wait till she calls them to attack Sisterton with Greyjoy fleet in the port. And yes, this I have seen using my sight.”  
“Then royal fleet should join that attack of Lyseni pirates. We could break the Ironborn there, break them for many years to come.” Tyrion suggested.  
“Are we in an alliance with Sansa and the North?” king asked.  
“No, Your Grace, but we have a common enemy.” his Hand replied, bit excited.  
“That does not make Sansa our ally. One who came with saying that enemy of his enemy is his friend, that one surely had no friends.  
Sansa Stark scorned your offer to make peace with the wildlings knowing what that war does to Six Kingdoms. We shall not be helping her. Not with Sunspear now rebelling against us.” “Reachmen were defeated at Prince’s Pass nearly a moon ago, Your Grace. Lord Hightower, thirsting for revenge, assures me that whole of Reach can assemble a host of thirty thousand men but I assume only if he were to leave only boys and old men behind. The Reach has now half as many men at arms than it had when War of the Five Kings started.” 

He listened to Tyrion, made a barely visible nod so Lannister continued: “Westerlands has half that numbers as do the Crownlands. Riverlands are even worse. Dorne preserved its host as they took no great part in any of the wars since Robert Baratheon died and in last ten years Ironborn were raising new generation of reavers while rest of the Realm enjoyed the raven’s peace.” Young man in a wheelchair pointed at the map which hung on the wall of his solar: “Stormlands. They could raise a host which will make Dorne to split their forces and guard all the crossings in the Red Mountains. Now, with Storm’s End showing no intent of going against the Dornish they can commit all their men to fight the Reach. Gendry Baratheon is not loyal to me. I can sense the spells of eastern demon near him as well. With different stance from the Stormlands, the Realm would have Dorne attacked from west and north, fighting two armies loyal to the King of Six Kingdoms while royal fleet would ferry men of Westerlands and Crownlands to Dornish coast where they shall land and take Sunspear and Water Gardens.” Tyrion was content now.  
“I am glad, Your Grace, that you have wholly recovered and show interest in ruling again. What you have just said resembles the Conquest of Dorne by Daeron Targaryen.”  
“I have told you twelve years ago in Winterfell that I mainly live in the past.” king replied. “See to it that Stormlands are either obedient to me under this lord or under new one which you may choose by your own liking. I will not suffer disloyalty of Gendry Baratheon for much longer. Is that all, Lord Hand?” 

“Your Grace, as you know, we’re looking for the new weirwood tree to plant in royal gardens. Lord Brynden Blackwood of Raventree Hall informed me that there is no such tree in his lands. As you well know, Blackwoods keep the faith in the old gods. Still, he made a suggestion that weirwood trees exist in one place in the Riverlands and a fair number of them. On the Isle of Faces, on the God’s Eye lake. And that Isle is kept safe by Order of Green Men. Which you well know, I am sure. You could see the isle right now, if you wanted.” Tyrion spoke with torrent of words.  
“No!” king said loudly. “I will have no dealings with the Green Men and the Isle of Faces and we shall not speak of it ever again. Am I clear, Lord Hand?” Sudden change of tone in the otherwise blank and dull voice of his king, startled Tyrion. “Yes, Your Grace. I’ve just wanted…”  
“You should not meddle in the things you have no grasp of, Tyrion Lannister. Old gods and Green Men are not your domain.  
Keep looking for the new tree, but far from the places of ancient wicked sorcery as Isle of Faces is.” “Yes, Your Grace.”  
“Good. Leave me now.” _Cursed halfman. Isle of Faces… Green Men._

At the end of the Dawn Age in Westeros, following many centuries of fighting between them, the Isle of Faces was where the First Men and the Children of the forest signed the Pact ending their wars against each other. In celebration, every weirwood on the island was given a face, so that the gods would witness the pact.  
With the signing of the Pact, the Order of the Green Men was formed to tend the last remaining weirwoods in the south. 

_They would know of me the moment I would touch the weirwood tree brought from that isle, wouldn’t they? Are you still here, in this broken body, Brandon Stark? You’ve been very quiet since dragon burned your tree. _  
No reply came and king’s otherwise blank face glowed with content.  
_ Children of the forest have chosen a broken Stark boy as last champion. One before you was a Targaryen bastard, a true warrior. Brynden Rivers.  
He was both a Hand of the King and a Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. Is he too here with us, in this broken body?  
Has nothing remained of one of the Great Bastards of dragon family?_  
_Men believe that you are a force of good. Fools. Miserable fools. Were you ever a force of good, Raven? And whose good?  
Or were you too created by children of forest to stop men from conquering Westeros, thousands of years ago. Me as killer, you as trickster?_  
_They kill each other again for lands and power in hundreds and thousands. Much to my pleasure, Raven, much to my pleasure._  
_You will speak to me, Raven, for you need me same as I need you. Our makers saw to it. _  
Young king moved his wheelchair to the window of his solar which looked northwards.


	50. JON

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the story came to its fiftieth chapter.  
It is only proper for this one to be about Jon and Dany.  
House Targaryen of Meereen spreads its influence over former Slaver's Bay and beyond.  
Doubts linger between King and Queen.

_Meereen, Essos, year 317 After Conquest_

**JON**

His face glowed every time when he set eyes at his babe son. Violet eyes looked back at him under raven curls. Tiny hand grasped Jon’s finger.  
“One day you’ll hold a Longclaw like that, Cregan Targaryen. You’re the heir of our House, son.”  
Then he looked at his daughter. “Daenysanne, may you have the wisdom of Good Queen and your mother’s strength. You’re named after both of them.” 

Babes were two moons and half old now. They were Prince and Princess of Bay of Dragons, same as their older sisters.  
Jon has grown use to the Great Pyramid or he tried to. It was a royal court, not a home and he felt that every day.  
Council of Citizens assembled every fortnight, sometimes within that fortnight when deemed necessary and he chaired over those meetings.  
Ten nobles and ten freedmen, once owners and once owned who a bit over two moons ago were clashing in that same council room with words and then with fists.  
Mistrust and resentment were still present among most of them, though some from both sides were more concerned for the future than to live in the past. He saw those as his allies in this assembly.  
_Wisest thing to do would be to have new Council elected, but it is too soon after the riots and killings. Both highborn and freedmen would place those who are even more hot-headed and thick minded instead of these twenty, _ he pondered after every meeting.

Ten days after Yunkai and Astapor he met with representative of Tolos.  
By then Yellow and Red City have both yielded and confirmed the Targaryen couple as the King and Queen of Bay of Dragons.  
Tolos, being a city on the shores of that bay, could not be omitted from relations with new rulers of three cities.  
Slaver Cities once, Dragon Cities now. 

As he saw how Lya and Rhae, closing to their twelfth nameday, have better knowledge and understanding of affairs of ruling than he had of that age, Jon decided to take them as his cupbearers and aides to the meetings he held with envoys from outside Meereen.  
“I’ve served as steward to Lord Commander Yeor Mormont, it groomed me for command, this service will groom you for affairs of kingdom.” he said to his twin daughters.  


Rhaella was very content with the chance to be at his side in these meetings. Jon liked the talks he had with his daughter of Valyrian features.  
“Tell me, Rhaella, my sweet, for a ruler, what is more important, for others to listen to you or to obey you?”  
Her eyes glowed, she enjoyed these questions from her father:  
“Both, Papa. One can listen to you, but if he fails to do what he has heard, he is not obeying. And if he obeys without true listening, he will not do what he was told properly.”  
“So, my lady, it is important for those serving under you to understand what you command?”  
“It is, father. That is very important. Wights served the Night King as mindless beasts. Living must have the mind of their own.”  
“And why is the mind of those serving you important?” he asked.  
“A commander or ruler should receive counsel from those beneath him, not only blind loyalty. Best rulers and commanders are those who can take counsel from those beneath them, if that counsel is worth taking. If it is not, a good ruler or commander must dismiss it politely, not to discourage his or her men from giving counsel next time.”  
Father nodded smiling at her: “You read a lot on matters of ruling, don’t you?”  
“I do, Papa.”  
“Good, read as much as you can and learn, Rhaella, learn. You’re the blood of kings and queens. But that blood means nothing without wisdom. And you have wisdom, sweet daughter. Some twice your age lack what you have now.”  
“Papa, your praise makes me so happy.” she said smiling at him, then she asked with caution: “What breaking the wheel means?” 

He raised an eyebrow: “Where did you hear that?”  
“From mother, long ago, but I never get to ask her what she meant.”  
“When your mother and I were younger, back in Westeros, she wanted to end the rule of those with power over those who were powerless.  
She saw that rule as a wheel that is turning on and on, crushing all under it. Dany wanted to break that wheel, to end that evil circle.”  
“She did not manage it, right, Papa?”  
“No, Rhae, she did not. Sometimes, even noble goals are too hard to achieve. Breaking the wheel was one such goal.”  
“I understand, father.” 

Lyanna would have preferred if she were given order to serve in the ranks of City Guard. Still, Jon knew that his dark-haired daughter will carry her duties as ably as she can. He was not thrilled to be steward in the Night’s Watch either, the first time he heard of it, he wished to be a ranger. Lya was now the same, but he saw that her temper is not good only for wielding Needle, she had a traits needed for a wise ruler.  


Gezlahl na Zaqqizn, a bent-backed, wrinkled man lacking half of his teeth, came as Tolosi envoy.  
“You declared my royal wife to be a whore when she reigned here for the first time. I hope that declaration was revoked in the meantime.”  
Jon said to Tolosi after they have traded greetings. “I was not among the rulers when that was declared, Your Radiance.” the man answered.  
“You sit here for the city of Tolos, not for yourself. And Tolos part, albeit small, in the attack on Meereen four and ten years ago. Queen Daenerys as you may well know is not a very forgiving woman. You notice her absence from this meeting. She refused to sit down with one who comes for the city that named her whore. And thus far not informed her of change of stance in that regard.” 

Gezlahl swallowed hard.  
He came in the name of the city who was now left alone as his once allies yielded before their once again queen.  
And the tone of his host rang with enmity.  
“It is Tolos’ good fortune that Targaryen king has somewhat lenient temper and is willing to review our relations with your city...” Jon continued “...I offer a lasting treaty of alliance and friendship between Tolos and Meereen, Yunkai and Astapor. That treaty will unite the Bay of Dragons without demanding from Tolos to come under Targaryen rule.”  
_At least for now,_ flashed in his mind. 

City of Tolos in truth had no choice.  
Facing renewed dragon rule over three once slaver cities, with Dothraki, Unsullied and City Guard under Targaryen command and one large dragon that could be seen in the skies over the city, Tolosi rulers deemed wise to sign the treaty which warranted the alliance and cordial relations with Dragon Cities and aid in the times of peril.  


“What terms does this treaty offer, Your Radiance?” Gezlahl asked.  
“Your city shall abandon slavery within two years to the day on which the treaty is signed. As slaves are not that numerous in Tolos as they were in former Slaver Cities, nor do they bear the wealth of your city on their backs, removing slavery will cause much less stir than it did in Meereen or Astapor. If Tolos should not be willing to meet these terms, there will be no treaty.”  
“When are we to give our answer?”  
“Fortnight from today. I believe it shall suffice for leaders of Tolos to decide.”  
Gezlahl left the meeting with a respectful bow: “I shall deliver your terms to my brethren, Your Radiance, and the answer.”  
“I wish you safe journey home, Gezlahl na Zaqqizn.” 

Rhaella was clearing cups and parchments from the table, during Jon’s talk with the Tolosi she stood on the far side of the room, waiting orders.  
“So, _tala_, what do you think, will they yield?” he asked her.  
“They will, father. They fear you and Muña. That is why this old man with no teeth came here.”  
Jon chuckled, then asked: “Why did they send him of all their nobles, a frail man of many namedays.”  
“For you to take pity on him, father. An old man that can’t stand straight and chew his own meat, no one will treat him harshly.  
Had a younger man, one that looks like a warrior, came in his stead, you would talk differently to him, Papa.”  
“You’re right, Rhae, I would.” Jon agreed  
“Tell me, is Tolos now same as this old man, toothless and bent?”  
“They are, father. Weak and alone, still you have not treated their envoy badly but with respect. They will yield.”  
“Then, you’d say I acted wisely about Tolos?”  
“You did, Papa.” silver-haired girl nodded.  
“Rhae, in three days is the Council of Citizens, I expect you to act as my aide on that meeting as well.”  
“Thank you, father, I will not let you down.”  
“I know. Be attentive and patient for it may last for hours.” he replied.  


Given a fortnight to respond, Tolos sent word back to Jon on tenth day since his meeting with their elderly envoy. They accepted. 

Elyria was to follow.  
A city named after the small island on the west part of now Bay of Dragons upon which it was founded centuries ago by the Valyrian Freehold.  
Although rich and glorious in its day, Elyria as many other Valyrian towns, settlements, and outposts did not have self-rule and was instead governed by men and women sent from Valyria to rule in the name of the Freehold.  
After the Doom of Valyria, the island and city of Elyria made ties to the Ghiscari cities of Slaver's Bay.  
Same as Tolos, Elyria had supported the alliance of Volantis, Yunkai and Astapor against Daenerys Targaryen. 

Two men and one woman came from Elyria. Though founded by Freehold, Jon saw very weak Valyrian features on these people.  
There was no silver-hair or violet eyes on Vaelor Gonareon, Taegar Bartalor and Naesa Velennis.  
This time it was Lyanna who filled the cups and placed the documents before the guests.

Jon addressed them in language of the Freehold: “Nyke hae Dārys se ñuha Dāria, lanta ānogar hen uēpa Valyria, jaelagon naejot emagon iā lēkia rhinka lēda Elyria. Pāsan bona kostagon giēñema sagon vēttan hen drēje raqirossa. Ivestragī īlva daor mazverda qringōntan sytilības. Elyria ēdruta emagon zȳha udrāzma. Se ziry kessa dōrī jemagon vīlībāzma va Targārien Lentor. Ōregon bisa vokēdre se ao ōregon ñuha lentor hae aōha raqirossa.” (_I as King and my Queen, both blood of Old Valyria, wish to have a brotherly relation with Elyria. I trust a treaty of true friendship can be made. Let us not repeat the mistakes of the past. Elyria must have its self-rule. And it must never wage war on House Targaryen. Keep faith with us and you shall have my family as your true friends._) 

Elyrian envoys were taken aback with what they have heard.  
They expected a dragonlord before which they had to kneel down and show blind obedience.  
Naesa Velennis, woman of light brown hair and pale skin spoke out: “Aōha Dārōñe, vestā se udra īlon pāsa naejot rȳbagon. Udra bona Dāezōregon qringaomatan naejot ivestragon gār jēdarī gō. Elyria kessa iōragon lēda Targārien dārys se dāria. Se lēda aōha riñar. Se pōja riñar. Se naenie qogron naejot māzigon.” (_Your Grace, you said the words we hoped to hear. Words that Freehold failed to tell us centuries ago.  
Elyria shall stand with Targaryen king and queen. And with your children. And with their children. And with all generations to come._)  
Jon nodded approvingly: “Nyke kessa ōregon ao naejot bisa udra. Se ñuha riñar tolī.”  
(_I shall hold you to these oaths. And my children after me._)  
Then he gave a word of warning: “Kessa ao pryjagon ziry, ñuha Lentor ivestragon iksis Perzys se Ānogār.”  
(_Should you break those oaths, words of my House are Fire and Blood. ._)  
Elyrians nodded back with Taegar Bartalor saying: “Mērī iā mittys pryjagon vokēdre lēda Targārien Lentor.”  
(_Only a fool breaks faith with House Targaryen. ._)  
Jon noticed how his daughter frowned at these words. 

After Elyrian representatives left the Great Pyramid he called Lyanna to small chamber next to council room.  
“What do you make of them, Lya?”  
“Don’t trust these people, Papa. They are sweet talkers. Their city warred against mother and they knew she was of Valyrian blood as they are.”  
“Slaver’s gold was heavier than allegiance which Elyria once had with the Freehold and its dragonlords. Though it was not allegiance but servitude for Elyria. For that they’ve met Muña with distrust. She was just another dragonlord for them and one that will take the slaver’s gold away.” he explained to raven-haired girl.  
Lyanna nodded: “I know, Papa, I just despise liars. And these Elyrians have given their oaths too lightly for you to trust them.”  
“Lya, the warning they’ve heard was not given lightly. That should tell them of not earning my whole trust. Would you utter words of warning right after someone swore allegiance that will last for generations to come? If you were to trust in that oath?”  
“No, father. I would not.”  
“You have learned to tell frankness from duplicity well, daughter, though you’re still very young. Keep learning that, for it is hard to tell lies from truth when told by skilled liars. And you shall meet many such as you grow older.”  
“Do you have many skilled liars on the Council of Citizens, father?” she asked.  
“Not so many, but there are few.” “Why don’t you throw them in dungeon in chains?” ,  
He laughed: “That would be the safest thing to do. But some lies are not enough for one to be chained and locked in a cell.  
Ruling is a game of patience, Lyanna, and of well thought moves. Not unlike swordplay.”  
“You’re right, Papa. I truly liked being at this meeting.”  
“Then, I can expect of you to serve again as my aide?”  
“Yes, father, I shall gladly serve.”

“Bay of Dragons is now indeed the Bay of Dragons.” Jon said to Nakhmaz, once slave and commander of First Barracks who succeeded him as leader of the City Guard though refused the rank of Commander-general, saying that only Jon can hold it.  
That was not so much showing loyalty to dark-haired Targaryen as it was Nakhmaz wanting to make sure that after some time another commander, one from ranks of former masters, would not raise to the same rank and authority. 

Jon had many reasons to be pleased. He made treaties that will ensure peace in the Bay of Dragons.  
Affairs within the city were also returning to its usual course.  
First moons of his reign were fruitful though he knew this world long and good enough, he was not to fool himself that troubles and hard times will not return.

He had one reason to be displeased. And he was.  
Daenerys seemed not much interested in her queenship. She did listen to petitioners when he could not, but not more than that.  
Her days were spent with babe twins, but even those hours when her handmaidens were with Cregan and Daenysanne, he could not go to her to share the news or seek her advice.  
It begun to trouble him as it lasted for many days now, it brought unwanted memories of her on Dragonstone, bitter and alone after Rhaegal was taken from the sky by Euron Greyjoy and Missandei beheaded by Cersei.  
She was not alone now, not with four children, but he felt bitterness when Daenerys spoke of him judging her for the agreement with Iron Bank.  
Since then they did not share bed nor did she seek his company, Jon was left with no wife and no queen for three weeks now. 

He had enough of her not being there for him.  
He walked in the nursery chamber where she was feeding their twin babes.  
“Can’t you wait? It’s indecent…” she said.  
“No, I can’t. And there is nothing indecent in mother feeding her babes.”  
“Say your mind, then.” she said with even tone.  
“I need my wife and Dragon Cities need their queen. You have not been acting as either last couple of weeks.”  
“Dragon Cities have their king. And he is proven to be a very able and wise ruler thus far.” she replied placing her babe daughter to the crib.  
“King needs his queen. Which seems not to be very committed to be the Queen.”  
“I am being Queen right now, feeding your heirs.”  
“You know very well what I mean. Tolos and Elyria came and went, I wanted you at those talks, you weren’t there.  
New Ghis shall come within a sennight. You will be at my side when they come.” 

Daenerys looked straight at his eyes:“I will not. Not as an adornment.”  
His eyes widened: “Adornment?! When did I ever see you as that?”  
“What else can I be to you? My actions towards Westeros displease you and you find them wrong. So, if I am wrong about the west, then my thoughts and advice about the east must be lacking wisdom as well. Therefore, your queen is merely an adornment at your side. And I don’t want to be one.”  
Jon sighed: “It’s about the Iron Bank. Just as I thought. When I say that it will bring hunger to Westeros, I am not judging you. I am just stating a fact.”  
“You wish I have not done it. Don’t bother to deny it. Your face betrays you. When I destroyed the Lannister loot train at Blackwater Rush, you had the same face. It seems that Jon Targaryen is never happy when Daenerys Targaryen deals a blow to her enemies. Which oft as not are his enemies too.”  
“It is not like that, Dany.”  
“I’ve already told you to prove me wrong, Jon.”  
“And how am I supposed to do that?”  
“Begin with accepting that once Seven Kingdoms are not your home anymore, but the land of those who want to hurt your family. And that all I do about Westeros has one aim, to save my children and you from being hurt.” He shook his head: “I accept it. It is you who fears that I will go against you for Westeros. And that fool’s fear made you turn away from both your husband and your kingdom. It stops now, Dany. Two hours past noon is Council of Citizens. I expect you on the meeting. You have your duties as Queen. The parlay with the New Ghis you will held.  
Not me. You alone. As Queen of Bay of Dragons, you shall propose the same agreement we have with Tolos and Elyria.  
Gaomagon eman ñuha dāria, Daenērys Jelmāzmo? (_Do I have my queen, Daenerys Stormborn?_)  
She gave him a look that would strike him down if eyes were swords, then a hint of smile appeared on her face and he could see trace of warmth in her gaze: “Emā, ñuha dārys.” (_You have, my king. _) 

That afternoon, Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen came to meeting of Council of Citizens wearing silk blue dress sown with shapes of dragon scales, with sandsilk trousers and linen boots. Around her neck she wore a pendant in shape of dragon claw.  
Jon did not know, but many of councilors recognised the garments in which she took Meereen six and ten years ago. Once masters frowned upon seeing her choice of garments, once slaves smiled contently. 

In the evening they ate in the terrace garden of pyramid apex.  
Their meal was rye bread, persimmon soup, goat cheese and honey sausage.  
They have not supped together for over a score of days and Jon’s eyes were at her all the time.

“Azmos Hazuzn…” his wife said between two bites of cheese “…belligerent man. We must keep an eye on him.  
You know that I always liked once slaves better than once masters, but Azmos is former slave that would paint the streets red with blood of former slavers. Him and Praklan zo Gorar, of which I am certain was among Sons of the Harpy, would have this city brought down to foundation stone.”  
“Your choice of garments surely made them both to act more openly that usual. Only after the meeting ended, have I learned from Nakhmaz what that dress means for both sides of councilors.”  
“You did not learn that from the way Azmos and Praklan acted? I’ve put on that attire deliberately, Jon.” 

He chuckled which made her frown: “What?”  
“Only Daenerys Targaryen is able to rule Meereen through choice of dresses.”  
“Jape as you like, but forget not that Meereen is a beast to be tamed over and over again.”  
He smiled: “I missed this. Your thoughts. And advice.”  
“You have it...” she replied “...should you care to listen.”  
“All right. What is your advice of improving the life of smallfolk? We gave them safety with City Guard. It is not enough…” Jon said.  
“No, it is not. Meereen needs laws now...” his wife agreed “...laws city had before served only to punish the slaves. Then, for years laws were changing, councilors changed them from one moon to another, Second Sons used it for their own interests. It was no accident that after Galazza died, chaos soon took over. Laws, that is what we must order councillors to make.”  
“Jaehaerys the Wise gave laws to Westeros…” Jon said “…to a whole continent. We have only one city…well, three but Yunkai and Astapor will follow whatever suit Meereen takes.”  


Dany disagreed with a smile: “Wise King was of Westeros, same as his Hand and his Small Council, he understood the land he ruled much better than both of us understand these Ghiscari cities. Should we meddle too much, men will say we’re bringing Westerosi laws and rules here.  
You know, even these days I hear some saying how City Guard looks and acts as host from the Seven Kingdoms.” 

Jon shrugged: “I don’t hear guardsmen whining about their attire, but you’re right. We shall gather all those that can help in making new laws for the Dragon Cities. Learned men. Though, only former masters are learned here. Freedmen will have little saying.”  
“They might have saying, we may ask priests from all temples to partake in law making. Their voice can be the voice of once slaves.”  
“You do it, you summon them here, they know you better than me.” he said.  
“Kinvara knows you same as me.”  
“She brought you back to life. I dare to say she knows you a bit more than she knows me.”  
“I shall go to all the temples in following days.” she said. “You won’t summon the priests here?”  
Daenerys shook her head: “No. Wise rulers do not summon leaders of the faith. They go to them. And we shall try to be wise.”

He took a deep breath before saying: “Can we talk of Westeros, wisely?”  
“We can, but I warn you, Jon, I have no issue with not finishing this supper.”  
“The Queen of Bay of Dragons will not go to her night rest with empty belly. I will not have it.”  
“That depends on you alone. Now, ask what you want to know.”  
He gently removed the silver tresses from her brow: “Have you received your report from Westeros?”  
“I have. Three days ago.”  
“And?” he asked impatiently.  
She smirked at him before saying: “There was a battle in the Red Mountains of Dorne six weeks ago. Reach sent its host to do Bran’s bidding and were defeated. Dornish declared they no longer consider themselves as part of Six Kingdoms, so broken king now rules over Five Kingdoms… Four in truth as Stormlands pays no heed to the orders from the Red Keep. War in the North lasts on, wildlings have defeated Sansa’s southern host.”  
Jon shook his head: “Stark queen using southerners to fight the Free Folk. Madness…”  
Daenerys leaned closer to him: “Jon, twenty days ago Ironborn have attacked the White Harbor. They were repelled but good part of the city was burned still.”  
He sighed: “Arya, she was there...”  
“She was not. Arya left weeks before. She should be in Free Cities now.”  
“How do you know that?” “I cannot tell you.”  
“So, there are still secrets between us...” he said with sadness in his voice “...we shall never act as one when Westeros is in question.”  
“It appears so, Jon. As you would never make the same moves I did ever since they tried to kill us and our girls.”  
“One of those moves was your travel to Pentos right after I have burned the weirwood tree at the Red Keep.” 

She shrugged: “I still cannot fathom how Drogon allows you to fly him. Dragon should have one rider. Not two.”  
“Maybe he sees two of us as one, Dany. Something that we are not able to. Drogon may truly be smarter than both of us.”  
“I would never do something that foolish as you did during that storm over King’s Landing. Not without talking to you first.” she countered. 

Jon looked at her with a grin: “And I would never go to Ghoyan Drohe to parlay with Dornish without you.”  
Dany was hiding surprise, still he could see it in her eyes: “Dornish in Ghoyan Drohe?”  
“Aye. Some of your Dothraki like to brag of their long rides when drunk and my guardsmen listen well. I know there was a band of Westerosi at Ghoyan Drohe whose leaders met with you. Then, in past fortnight I’ve got reports from Meereen port of nearly dozen Tyroshi ships taking sail to Sunspear decks filled with all sorts of goods to trade it there. Odd, as Free Cities merchants seem to have ceased trade with Westeros.  
It appears that Dorne is exempt of that, so surely it must be part of your agreement with the Iron Bank.”  
She lifted her eyebrows: “Conclusions drawn on a hearsay and assumptions. Are you a king or a market wench?”  
“I am king and husband who’s been denied of his queen’s and wife’s trust...” Jon replied calmly, then added: "As you seem to know that Arya’s ships left the White Harbor safely, with dozens of Ironborn ships around that city, only a fool would think that can be done without their consent. So, you are close to them as well, much closer than you let know.”

Violet eyes of his wife and queen were as glued on him for a while.  
Then she nodded: “Well, Jon Targaryen, you’re not a fool. I have reached across the Narrow Sea, to Yara Greyjoy, to Arianne Martell and to Gendry Baratheon. In many ways they are our allies.”  
“Ironborn are nobody’s ally. That Hornwood boy is with us because of Yara’s cutthroats plundering all over North.” he said.  
“Free Folk allied with the Ironborn. A truly odd pact indeed, but they did it to save themselves from Sansa’s cutthroats and to keep their lands. Can you blame them? To me Yara Greyjoy is an ally. She was loyal to me since we first met, right here in Meereen.”  
“I was told she wanted me executed, on that council of great houses of Westeros when Bran was elected king.” 

She chuckled: “See, she was true to her oaths, I was her queen and you’ve killed me. Asking for your head, that was keeping her word.”  
He frowned: “True. I don’t blame her. I would welcome the execution in those days, I was only husk of a man.”  
Daenerys shrugged again, then asked: “You do not approve my alliances with Dorne and the Iron Islands?”  
“No, you have acted well, Dany, and wisely. Tyrion and that abomination of his king want our entire family dead. Martells and Greyjoys stand against them and as such are our given allies. You should’ve said all this to me sooner.” 

A deep sight came from his silver-haired wife: “I wanted to, Jon, but… I don’t know if I can trust you when North is in question and our given allies as you call them are at war with your sister. And the Free Folk, the people you have saved more than once, they too fight against Queen Sansa.”  
“You think that I side with Sansa in this war? Gods, I haven’t seen her for twelve years. And if I were to meet her ever again, it shan’t be a meeting she would enjoy. She brought misery to both Northerners and Free Folk, those that I have united once. She undid that union. And for some reason, my wife and mother of my four children, will not put her trust in me when Sansa is in question. Do you how angry that makes me?” his eyes had a fiery glow now. 

She nodded: “I know it angers you. It angers you greatly. But, in this new life, I am wary of everyone. I don’t want to be wary of you, but I have known fair share of betrayals. Do not think that Arianne Martell and Yara Greyjoy have earned my trust. They are useful to me… to us, my love. But they both will betray us if that could bring them closer to what they want, kingdoms of their own. And I swear this to you as my husband and as my king – House Targaryen will never be betrayed again.”  
Jon nodded: “I swear the same to you, as my wife and my queen…” his voice spoke of him being irked with Daenerys mistrust: “…I don’t care if you believe me or not. When I speak of people in Westeros suffering, it means not that I disapprove what you do or that I’ll betray you. I am tired of repeating it. I shall not repeat it again.”  
“You think that I don’t care about suffering there? With the Realm gone, I will give every help I can to the people there. But not before.  
You see, they do get to choose. Will they suffer under raven king and his Hand or will they have a chance for better life. I can’t make that choice for them."


	51. SANSA

_Winterfell, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

**SANSA**

“A man who cannot walk on his two feet, cannot lead host into battle.” 

Sansa was looking at Elric of House Karstark who was lying in the bed of his chambers in the First Keep.  
He was as this for three sennights now, it seemed all his strength, fierceness and very life’s will has abandoned him.  
Words that just came from his mouth were only echo of what took place in his mind. 

He has lost part of the left foot and all toes. On the walls of White Harbor.  
An Ironborn captain of House Drumm from the Old Wyk crossed swords with lord of Karhold and maimed him.  
Though it was more his pride that was cut than his body. When he was brought to Winterfell from the White Harbor, first going up the White Knife on the river runner and then by land on a cart, Elric wanted to be left alone in his misery, not wishing to see anyone save his closest guards. They were even charged with his meals and keeping his chambers in order. Maester Medrick at White Harbor and maester Wolkan here in Winterfell used all their knowledge to tend his wound, prevent festering and make sure that Elric’s slashed foot heals as quickly as it can. Sansa knew it was not about five toes and less than an inch of flesh that was cut with the toes. 

He was vain and arrogant man, notion that he will never walk straight again hit Elric hard, harder than Valyrian blade of Dunstan Drumm. 

She was displeased with him even before the battle took place, _it was not his to be at White Harbor, Manderlys were perfectly able to defend their city themselves… if he was chasing glory on those white walls, he caught something else. It was not warrior’s fame that kissed him in the end, but Valyrian steel. _.  
Sansa had enough of him locked in the First Keep, wallowing in self-pity. His guards, keeping all others away from their lord, could not deny the Queen in the North. She walked straight into his chamber and embraced Elric. He was cold and absent, Sansa felt that right away.  
Though she knew what happened, her questions were of how was he wounded, followed by asking when will he be ready to return to his duty as commander of Northern host. Then he gave her the answer, one proofing how defeated he truly was. 

“You haven’t lost a leg, Elric. You shall walk again. And lead our men.”  
He sneered: “Hobbling is not walking… commander that leads men into battle with crutch or cane. What a sight…”  
“Being in the van got you this cut. You’re the commander of our whole army, you need not to charge with the first ranks.”  
“That is how we fight in the North. That is how your brother Robb fought. And your bastard brother as well. Ahead of his men. Not behind them, barking orders.”  
Sansa frowned: “Robb is long dead and Jon is long lost… mayhaps you should be looking at other battle leaders.  
One who lost his sword hand and yet captured Riverrun and Highgarden. Leading an army larger than we now have.”  
“Jamie Lannister?! A kingslayer cunt… a man without honor.”  
“All right… you mislike that example. What of Wyman Manderly? He not only has more namedays than you and I combined, but also is too fat to ride a horse. Yet, he broke the Ironborn at his walls. As much as I am displeased with that old man, keeping the Stark banner over White Harbor was of his design.”  
“Another cunt. I’ve shed no tears when I heard krakens killed his fat son.”

Sansa sighed, her patience with him nearly spent: “You’re bitter now, Elric. I can understand that. Yet only to a measure. I’ve made certain that best maesters of the North were treating you. Your foot they can save from festering, but your will, that is beyond their powers. That you must heal yourself. Sooner the better. Kingdom of the North needs you and I need you.”  
His gaze was dull and away… She began to talk of how things are on the battlefields: “Elric, while you were fighting at White Harbor the Ironborn have landed at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. Yara Greyjoy now has nearly two thousand men there. Our garrison is completely cut off from Mole’s Town and rest of the North. There’s seven hundred Northerners besieged at Eastwatch by krakens. And the wildlings who were attacking our fort there and harassing our supply lines for moons are now joining with the rest of their lot. They will march on Mole’s Town next.”  
He remained aloof, all he could say was: “Malcolm Branfield is there… is he not? And Southrons… There is enough of them to lift the siege of Eastwatch.”  
“Branfield? He is a hedge knight from the Reach. North needs its commander to lead he relief of Eastwatch.” she answered.  
“I am in no shape to command… I couldn’t get up on a bloody horse on my own.” Elric said next.  
“Then have your men help you…” Sansa was now annoyed “…I am not asking of you to ride for Mole’s Town today or in the morrow. But North needs its champion on the battlefield. Next sennight we’ll be in fourth moon of this year. We must end this war.”  
“A crippled champion is no champion.” his tone was marked with utter lack of will.  
“Was your heart in your left foot?” she asked with anger “…you can still lead our men without partaking in fight yourself. That is what all seasoned commanders do.”  
He shook his head: “I am not that sort of commander.”  
“You do not need to prove your bravery or your ability to no one. You have done that many times.” she tried to breathe some valour into him.  
“And I’ll never do it again… not as I wish it.”  
“Then do that as I wish. I wish you to be breaking the siege of Eastwatch.” Lord of Karhold, only a shadow of man she made passionate love to in the tower of Queenscrown a bit more than year ago, made a deep sigh: “I cannot break siege of anything from a cart driven by mule.”  
“You have lost faith, is that it? Not in North or me, but in yourself. Elric of House Karstark is more than five toes. One day he would have been king.” “A king that limps… what a jape.” he said, grinning.  
“Is King Bran a jape?” she asked, being even more annoyed.  
“You need a man whole to lead the Northern host, Sansa. One that commands respect and obedience. Not one who allowed himself be bested by kraken scum.”

Sansa took a deep breath, then said: “So, this is only a matter of your pride. You see yourself as lesser man now for it was Ironborn blade that slashed you. Forgive me for not seeing this as anything but foolishness. A stupidity.”  
His eyes were painted in anger now: “You do not understand. You cannot.”  
“I cannot? I was hurt in many ways more when I was many years younger than you, Elric. One made me watch my father’s head on a spike.  
Other raped me right here, in Winterfell, in a home he stole from me. I have despaired more than you can fathom. Still I rose up every time.  
Don’t presume what I can and can’t understand.”  
“I am not a craven, Sansa. But as I am now I cannot rally our men to victory at Eastwatch or Mole’s Town or anywhere…”  
“So I am to find a new commander? Is that what you’re telling me, lord Karstark?” 

He did not answer. He did not need to. It was plain to her that Elric’s mind asks more time to heal, time which North did not have. 

Sansa walked in the Queen’s Chamber and summoned Beren Tallhart and Beth Cassel, her advisors.  
Beth was a member of House Cassel, the only living child of Ser Rodrik Cassel, once Winterfell's master-at-arms,  
beheaded by Theon Greyjoy when he and his small band of Ironborn have taken the castle eight and ten years ago.  
Her uncle Martyn died at Tower of Joy fighting the three knights of Targaryen Kingsguard which kept watch over Lyanna Stark and her new-born babe son.  
Her cousin Jory Cassel was killed in King’s Landing when Jamie Lannister and his escort attacked the household guard of Eddard Stark, upon hearing that Catelyn Stark holds Tyrion Lannister as hostage.  
Beth was a woman of near thirty namedays, close to Sansa ever since they were children while at distance with Arya, no matter the same year of birth. She was of sharp wit and comely features beneath the curly auburn hair. 

“What news you bring me?” Sansa asked them though she for a long while hoped not to hear any good tiding.  
“Your Grace, more folk from inland flocks to Winter Town now. Shores are now cleared of people, but as hunger creeps over the North, those from villages and farms are now aiming to the Winter Town and White Harbor.” Beren reported.  
“We can’t feed that many men...” Sansa said disillusioned “...barely we are sustaining our soldiers.”  
“There were reports of some Southrons resorting to plunder in the Gift, but their commanders dealt with those men swiftly.  
All were hanged as a warning to others.” Tallhart added.  
Queen shook her head: “What is there to plunder in the Gift?”  
“A small number of farms, nothing else.”  
“Any word from the Six Kingdoms?” she asked.  
Beth answered: “Yes, Your Grace, hunger now looms over their heads as well. Two moons have passed since ships from across the Narrow Sea ceased to call in numbers to any of their ports. Tenfold less ships are coming from Free Cities. Those that do are more smugglers than merchants. King’s Landing quays are ghostly vacant, same as those in Lannisport and Oldtown. Saltpans as well.  
Lord Arryn has partially rebuilt the port in Gulltown last moon, but to no purpose. Braavosi and Pentoshi traders do not venture there.  
No goods are coming or leaving the Six Kingdoms. Save those ferried by smugglers but at a price that drains those trading with it.”  
Beren added: “Save Dorne. Words from many sources claim that waters before Sunspear and mouth of Greenblood river are teaming with sails of Essosi ships. Tyrion Lannister failed in imposing proper blockade of their ports.”

Sansa sighed: “It seems their independence is paying off better than ours.”  
“Your Grace…” young Tallhart said “…their independence was an act of war, not agreed upon as ours. Dornishmen are now plundering the Reach, some being that bold to raid as far into Reach as Dunstonbury. It is said that Lord Hightower is assembling a new army, of Reachmen and Westerners to march on Dorne again. These raids are aiming at his supplies, Dornish are laying fields and greeneries and orchards on fire. Despite demands from the Red Keep, the Reach cannot provide enough food for the capital. Soon, there will be proper hunger there as well.”

“When there was time to act, Red Keep acted not. Now they suffer consequences...” she told her advisers “...they should have shown strength after Yara Greyjoy sacked Gulltown, that was the hour for King Bran to be king, but he and Tyrion both did nothing. That made krakens and Dornish bolder. Now, they have Five Kingdoms to rule, not Six.”  
"With trade between Westeros and Free Cities put to an halt, we have problems buying and selling goods as well."  
Sansa nodded: “That cease of trade is odd, very odd indeed, but nothing that cannot be remedied. The sellsails we have hired to fight the Ironborn. Save few skirmishes on the open sea, we have not been given the paid service. So, I’ve sent their leader a message asking of him to purchase goods in the Free Cities and ferry them to the White Harbor.  
It will be a ruse, no matter how long it will last, but we shall get food and other merchandise here. And it seems they're more willing to smuggle things across the Narrow Sea than to ram their ships into Iron Fleet.”  
“Your Grace, that is a very clever move.” Beren praised her.

She gestured with slight bow: “Your queen is no fool, Lord Tallhart… now, enough of southern talk.  
I have summoned you here as North is in need of the new commander of our host. As you already know, due to his wound, Lord Karstark is not able to lead our men into battle. He fought bravely on the walls of White Harbor but kraken blade took piece of his left foot.  
And he’s thus far failed to find his strength again. Mayhaps this sounds cruel to you, but truth is sometimes cruel.”  
Both of her advisers nodded in agreement.  
Sansa continued: “A decent man for that duty would be Roger Ryswell, Lord of the Rills. Also worth of mentioning is lord Larence Hornwood. Though he seems to have vanished into thin air for last moon and a half.”  
“Your Grace, word from the White Harbor was that he went across the Narrow Sea to retrieve his son, Hallis.” Beren said.  
“Given the length of his absence, it seems he went to fetch his son in Qarth…” Sansa japed.  
“Or Slaver’s Bay…” Beth added to jape causing Sansa to frown: “For his own good, I hope he did not venture there.”  
Then she continued in more light tone: “Well, we cannot wait for Lord Larence to reappear. I shall summon lord Ryswell and ask of him to present me his thoughts on how to win this war. Send raven to his castle. I want Roger here in three days.”  
“As you command, Your Grace.” Beren said and rushed to the ravenry.

Sansa turned to Beth Cassel, not as queen but as childhood friend:  
“Stay with me for a while, I crave for a bit of women talk… I have tried to reach to Elric, you know. I have failed. He is as broken now.”  
“May I speak my mind with whole honesty, my queen?”  
“Beth, now you speak as friend to a friend, not to your queen.”  
Beth nodded: “Forgive me for saying so, Sansa, what I trust is that he is no good for you. He cares not for you as man should care for a woman he loves. He lusted for you, aye, what man would not, but his love was untrue. He wants to be king. And yet in the hour of great need, he falters.”   
“Am I a fool, Beth? I truly wanted a man and a family.” Sansa said in sad voice.  
“I know you want that. And you deserve it. You were not a fool. Only a woman hoping she could be truly loved. But not with that… jackal of Karhold.” “You truly mislike him, don’t you?” “I do, Sansa.”  
“He was true to me till now. Now it seems his manliness is gone with part of his left foot.”  
“Then it is a poor manliness, my queen.”

Roger Ryswell was tall, unbent, and still a handsome man for his age. He was nearing his seven and fortieth nameday, yet his hair was still more brown than grey, as was his trimmed beard. He was mostly dressed in black, though on the left chest of his gambeson there was an embroidered bronze coated shield showing dark horse’s head with red mane and eyes, sigil of his house. Very moment she saw him in the Great Hall, Sansa knew this was not going to be an easy talk. 

His late sister Barbrey wished to marry Sansa’s uncle Brandon, her father’s older brother as he was the first man she lay down with.  
Yet, Brandon was betrothed with Catelyn Tully, but after Lyanna Stark disappeared with Rhaegar Targaryen, his wolf temper got Brandon to seek justice before the Red Keep in which at that time ruled the Mad King who saw traitors everywhere and Brandon Stark was killed in the throne room along with his father.  
Catelyn was later wed with Eddard, Brandon’s younger brother and Barbrey married lord Willam Dustin. Willam was killed in the very last fight of Robert’s Rebellion, one at the Tower of Joy. Eddard returned her his horse, but not his bones which remained to rest in Dornish Red Mountains, where that tower was.  
Barbrey for the remainder of her live bore a a grudge against Eddard, who brought the bones of his sister, Lyanna, to Winterfell for burial in its crypt, but not the bones of her husband.

Roger as her younger brother has shown loyalty but not much of an affection for House Stark. As a man of enough wit, he could tell why Queen in the North has summoned him to Winterfell. And Sansa saw that on his face.

“Your late brother, King Robb, won all his battles and lost the war...” Roger said “... in this war, North has lost many battles but still has a chance to win it.”  
“I wouldn’t agree that we have lost that many battles, Lord Roger.”  
“No offence, my Queen, men that fell at Hardhome, Bear Island, Eastwatch, those Southrons which died at the Brandon’s Gift would not agree with you…” Ryswell replied “…even the White Harbor was victory snatched from the jaws of defeat, how those who know fancy words would say.”  
“White Harbor was a victory.” she reminded him.  
“Old Wyman lost half of his men. Greyjoy woman lost over two thousand. Same as many Ironborn now lay siege at Eastwatch. Young lord Karstark has foolishly taken three hundred men from the Gift to go battling for the White Harbor.  
“My lord, White Harbor needed men, he has provided them.”  
“Eastwatch-by-the-Sea needed men, too. Those three hundred would be more useful there than at Wyman Manderly’s walls. He has defended his city while North has nearly lost Eastwatch. Yara Greyjoy wanted to sack White Harbor, true, but she never hoped to take it as she did Bear Island.”  
“My lord, when we defeat the wildlings, Yara's reavers will have no stake at this war. They’re long way from home, at Eastwatch they’re on the wrong side of Westeros. They’ll sail back to the Iron Islands the very next day…”

“When we defeat the wildlings… aye, Your Grace, but when? This war began in the first moon of last year, that was five and ten moons ago. We have lost Hardhome and the Bear Island, Deepwood Motte, Dreadfort and Oldcastle were sacked and put to torch, Queenscrown is a ruin and now we could lose Eastwatch. Those learned of warfare would not say that we wining this war.”  
“You don’t flee from harsh words, I see.”  
“I am not a man of hollow promises, Your Grace. Word came to me that Elric Karstark wished to give you the land of Brandon’s Gift as a wedding gift. It’s in a poor taste for a highborn to boast before his men with that. It gave birth to japes. One such says that Queen in the North should marry Yara Greyjoy as she beds women same as men and that will give North the Brandon’s Gift.”  
Ryswell seemed to be disgusted with such jape, still his eyes glowed with amusement when he was telling it. 

“All right, I shall allow such thoughts…”  
“Not thoughts, truth… Your Grace.”  
“Yet, I need your thoughts more. Thoughts on how to end this war. Despite those defeats you have reminded me of.” Sansa said.  
“It is plain, my Queen. We ought to do what Southrons in your service have failed at Brandon’s Gift. Give a strong and decisive blow to the wildlings...” Roger answered “...that was a good chance to break them and it was missed. With wildings defeated, krakens will withdraw from this war. They are not good at land battles, not them alone.”  
“How would you give that blow, my lord?” she asked.  
“Wildlings are now emboldened by the Ironborn encircling the Eastwatch. Their gaze is now at Mole’s Town, our last stronghold in the Brandon’s Gift. Should we lose it, the war is lost. They will march on it soon, though there, unlike Eastwatch, wildlings can’t count on much of kraken support. There will be krakens there as well, but their strength are ships, they have no heavy horse nor armored foot.”  
“Do you advise to commit all our forces to defense of Mole’s Town?”  
“No, Your Grace, I advise to gather our forces and the Southrons and march to Eastwatch. That will make the wildlings to meet us in the open battle. One which they will not win. They’ve caught the southern knights into mud trap that day, but it will not happen again.”  
“I need a man, a seasoned commander and warrior to lead Northern host.” she said looking straight at him.  
“What of young lord Karstark?” Ryswell asked though Sansa was aware of him having that answer.  
“Lord Elric was wounded at White Harbor. Part of his foot is gone, he’s not able to walk properly nor he ever will be again.”

Lord of the Rills smirked: “Young, brave and short of wisdom. A commander of an entire host has no place in the melee during siege.  
Though he did not command at White Harbor, Manderlys did.”  
“Should I bestow that honor and duty to you, Lord Roger, would you accept it?” Northern queen asked.  
Her guest took a deep breath: “To decline duty of leading the army of the North in the midst of war would be cowardice, if not treachery.  
I shall accept if Your Grace is offering, but I expect all the Northern houses to deliver horse and foot. All of them. Karstarks as well as Manderlys. I shall not suffer their vanity.”  
“Nor shall I, my lord. Any holdfast that can spare swords and spears for the Northern cause and fails to do so, will be treated as traitors and loose titles and lands. Their possessions will go to the men loyal to their Queen, be it men of the North or Southern knights.  
All lords and ladies of the North shall be warned.”

Ryswell nodded without saying a word. They were both silent for a heartbeat.

“Does Kingdom of the North have the commander of its host?” Sansa asked.  
“It does, Your Grace.” Lord Roger Ryswell said with slight bow.


	52. RULERS OF MEEREEN

_Meereen, Essos, year 317 After Conquest_

**RULERS OF MEEREEN**

King of Bay of Dragons was sitting on his throne, a stone bench, his head resting on his hands, his mind absent.  
Today he donned black trousers and shirt of same color, over which he had a light grey overcoat with red borders.  
His morning was spent with petitioners and now he was immersed in his thoughts. It was how his queen has found him.  
Alone in the throne room. 

“Has Your Grace forgotten to dine with his family?” she asked with jesting tone.  
His look told her that something was not right and smile vanished from her face: “What is it?”  
He sighed deeply before answering: “A woman came among the petitioners. She was slave once.  
City Guard will have her man hanged for killing a former master. That was my order during riots.  
Any Meereenese who kills another Meereenese will be hanged in public place. So will that man.”  
“Is he guilty?”  
“Yes. Without shred of doubt. He killed her wife’s former master before the eyes of his son, boy of eight namedays.”  
“Then justice must be done.” Daenerys said.  
“I thought so too. Till I’ve heard her story. That master tortured her since she was barely a maiden. She disrobed before me, Dany.  
Her legs and back and belly, full of scars from whip and knife. Only her breasts were unharmed as master liked them, she said…  
and then she told me what master did with her son when he was five years old. He took him from her and sold to fighting pit.  
They fed the boy to a bear, before coated him in honey. To amuse the public.” 

His queen sighed, her eyes filled with terror and disgust. She knew of such acts of slave masters in the fighting pits, though it was in Astapor. "Fine folly" it was called, usually scheduled for the evening – a bear and three small boys.  
One boy was rolled in honey, one in blood and one in rotting fish. Masters and other free men could than wager on which the bear will eat first.

“I dare to say that it was her husband who did justice when he killed the master. But it was crime as well. Done before a child.”  
Jon spoke, his face still pensive “He should hang and yet I feel that if he hangs, his wife will be wronged again.”  
“Master took the life of his child, he repaid that many years later. When it was forbidden to do it. Keep him in the dungeon for some time, moons even.”  
“I thought of that, but what will it change, he must end on a rope. Or Meereen will see me as king who does not keep his word.  
Guardsmen hanged once slaves and once slavers alike if they’ve taken part in killings. If I make an exemption of this man…  
I want to, Dany… I wish not for that poor woman to lose her man after she lost her son.  
Seven bloody hells, when I’ve heard how that poor child died, I’ve felt an impulse to kill all those who waged on that bear. To cut them bit by bit.” He sighed once again… “But I cannot spare him. Not today, not in six moons from today.” 

Queen of Bay of Dragons sat next to her husband: “I have ordered a former slave executed, not long after I’ve taken this city.  
He was sitting on my council and killed a Son of the Harpy, delivering justice on his own. He lost his head for it.”  
“That got you no favour among the newly freed slaves.” “No, it did not.” 

Jon shook his head: “Have you heard how some of them call me?”  
She frowned: “Once slaves? No, I haven’t.” “Dārys hen āeksia.”  
“Why?” “I assume for the same reason they call you Dāria hen vala daerēdas.”  
“So, I am the queen of the freed men and you’re the king of the masters.”  
“Almost makes sense, nobles of this city wanted me, lowborn wanted you.”  
“It’s not that simple, Jon. Not all nobles were for you not all once slaves wanted me.”  
He kept his silence for a while: “That man, father of a butchered child, brewed his vengeance for years, he got it and now under Queen who ended slavery in Meereen, Yunkai and Astapor and King who made Tolos and Elyria abandon it, he will hang.  
His wife robbed of both son and husband. I will not deliver her justice. Her husband did that.”  
Daenerys placed her hand on his shoulder: “You will deliver law. Unjust as it seems in this case, it’s the best you can do…what we can do.”  
“It will not make me feel any better.”  
She gave him a warm gaze: “I have warned you that rule over Meereen is anything but pleasant.” “Aye, you did.”  
Targaryen queen spoke more: “Whatever you do, someone in this city will hate you. King loved by all same as king feared by all is not a good king.” 

Jon returned the warm look: “Why does it have to be either love or fear, Dany? Two clashing ends? Remember how it ruined you in Westeros.  
You’ve chosen fear because you did not get love. Love which you believed you deserve being a champion of living against the Night King.  
Being a true queen. No. I don’t wish nor ask for people of the Bay of Dragons to love me. And surely I do not want them to fear me.”  
“What do you want then?” she asked.  
“Respect. I want them to respect their king. And queen. As rulers who can deliver peace and justice to them. Be it in silk glove or in chainmail. Respect, Daenerys. That what we must seek from those we rule. Seek not love. You have the love of your family, that is all the love you’ll ever need. And seek not fear. That we must save for our enemies.” 

She shook her head smiling: “Damn you, Jon Targaryen, where have you been twelve years ago, I needed these words then.”  
“I was busy being a Northern fool who tried not to love his aunt as a woman. And still be loyal to her as his queen.”  
“I was no better, being envious of my nephew and afraid of his birth right.”  
“It’s all in the past, Dany, it matters not now.”  
“No, it does not.” she agreed and then said: “We have a quite a work cut out for us. Making laws for the Bay of Dragons. As soon as we can.  
Laws that will outlive this quarreling generation of Meereenese.”  
Jon agreed: “I know. For that purpose, Kinvara will be here tomorrow. And Rashazna Shiak, new high priestess of the Temple of the Graces.”  
“That will be an interesting meeting. Rashazna has little love for followers of R’hllor.”  
“I hope that she has enough love and wisdom for the smallfolk of Meereen. And Yunkai and Astapor.” were the King’s words. 

Five days later Jon went to Daggerleaf Barracks, on the southern side of Meereen.  
Same as First Barracks, Daggerleaf was once a fighting pit, closest to the main inland gates of the city, about three-quarter mile from the black pyramid, once of Uhlez, now of House Targaryen.  
When Daenerys ended slavery in Meereen during year three-hundred and two since Aegon’s Conquest, pit fighters were free men with right to choose another way of life or as most of them did, to change the pit where they were fighting as richer pit owners could give them more gold or silver. Smaller, less prominent pits could not compete with Daznak’s Pit or the one owned by Qendaz mo Dazzazn.  
Daggerleaf was placed in one of such smaller pits that had to be closed as owner could not afford the payment of good fighters.  
Any fighting pit that did not have at least one famed champion of this killing sport, soon was shunned by the Meereen’s citizens.  
Same fate befell the one which was made into a City Guard barracks, garrisoning close to six hundred men of which only handful were once masters or nobles of any sort. During riots in the city, Jon feared that if rebellion in the ranks of City Guard were to begin, it will be in Daggerleaf. His fears were proven wrong as men of this garrison remained loyal and acted firmly in keeping the peace in the southern quarters of the city, from south entrance of the Temple of Graces to the quarter where pyramid of Hazkar was. Neighboring quarter, one over which towered the Galare pyramid was guarded from the Harpy’s Gold Barracks whose men were answering for the western Meereen.

Jon came before the round construction built with mud yellow bricks escorted by fifty Freeflames.  
It seemed too large number to him, but his queen and advisers insisted.  
_You’re no longer a Commander-general, you’re a King_, they argued to a good point so he yielded.  
Freeflames in his escort were light horse, armed with lances, swords and bow, trained to be horse archers when in saddle and spearmen when on foot._I want them to have skills both of Dothraki rider and Dornish footmen, _ he said to his commanders when first recruits joined this elite part of City Guard, to be formidable mounted and dismounted alike. And they were.  
Freeflames proved themselves during unrest in the city. Obeying orders without desertions of a single guardsmen.  
As they came to the entrance of the barracks, Jon saw a banner high on a pole above the gate. Red three-headed dragon on the black field.  
_City Guard is not my host nor Dany’s, _he thought riding inside.  


There three men awaited him.  
Roznel Ehne, commander of the Daggerleaf, slave till he was ten years old and one of first twenty men of City Guard, now he counted seven and twenty namedays and was admired among the city lowborn.  
Roznel was true example of Ghiscari men, amber skinned with black hair framing his long face. Next to him were his lieutenants, Syro Dirrah, light-haired slim Braavosi sellsword who joined City Guard after a Volantene nobleman released him from service.  
Third was Ashter Slait, born in Stormlands and when still a boy crossed the Narrow Sea to join the Golden Company.  
Ashter’s head was shaved bald while he sported a red, spade-shaped beard on his weathered face.  
“Aōha dārōñe, se Egrytemby umbagon aōha udrāzma.” (_Your Grace, the Daggerleaf awaits your orders_) Roznel addressed him as all three bent their knees.  
“Sīmonagon, jemome.” (_Rise, all of you._) Jon said and then asked:  
“Udrāzmio, skoro syt iksis konīr iā Targārien kyrstenka va se remio?”  
(_Commander, why is there a Targaryen banner on the gate?_) 

Ehne briefly exchanged looks with Syro and Ashter before giving reply:  
“Ñuha dārys, iksi Targārien vali. Udir naejot zaldrīzes dārys se dāria. Issa paktot naejot sōvegon aōha ēnka.”  
(_My king, we are Targaryen men. Sworn to dragon king and queen. It is proper to fly your colors._)  
Jon reminded him: “Sagon oktion azantyr hen Mīrīn” (_You’re the City Guard of Meereen._)  
Roznel nodded but said: “Mīrīn, aōha Dārōñe, iksis sir iā Targārien oktion. Hēnka hae se giez hen Rāenion Zaldrīzoti”  
(_Meereen, Your Grace, is now a Targaryen city. Same as whole of the Bay of Dragons._)  
"Issa qopsa naejot bagon lēda se drēje, Udrāzmio Ehne.” Jon replied. (_It is hard to argue with the truth, Commander Ehne._)

“What do you request of the Daggerleaf garrison, my king?” Ashter Slait asked cautiously.  
“A score of your best Freeflames, lieutenant. Willing to stand watch while a death sentence is carried out.” Jon replied.  
“It will be done as King demands. May I ask who will be put to death, Your Grace?”  
“Once slave for killing once master. In two days.”  
Ashter bowed: “I’ll see that twenty men are selected, Your Grace.”  
“Skoro syt Dāez Perzyssy jorrāelagon naejot urnēbagon morghon udir, ñuha dārys?” Roznel asked.  
(_Why do Freeflames need to guard the execution, my king?_)  
“Kessa daor sagon syt idañe naejot ūndegon.” Jon told him. (_It will not be public._)  
“Emā udrāzma mirre morghon udir naejot sagon idañe, Aōha Dārōñe.” Roznel reminded him.  
(_You’ve ordered all death sentences to be public, Your Grace._)  
“Nyke gōntan. Se lantēpsa hen Dāez Perzyssy iksis idañe tolī. Oktionvali kessa daor sagon konīr. Daorys kessa gūrogon kirimves hen bisa morghon” King said. (_I did. And score of Freeflames is public enough. Citizens will not be there. No one will take pleasure from this death._)

Then he greeted the officers of the Daggerleaf and headed back towards the Great Pyramid with his escort.  
As they were passing through the part of Meereen dominated by pyramid of Reznak, he saw a crowd assembled on one of the larger squares. Men, women, children, all gathered in circle and singing a tune over a decade old:

Ziry qilōni geron isse perzys  
kessa pryjagon ilagon tolvie āeksio  
pryjagon se belma grevenka īlva  
se īlon brōzagon hen  
Īlva Gēlenka Dāria  
Ānogar hen Zaldrīzes  
Khalēsi

He frowned hearing its words…it was the Mhysa song.  
_She who walks in fire will strike down every master, break the chains around us, and we call out our Silver Queen, Blood of Dragon, Khaleesi… _  
Jon looked at the people who sang at the square. All once slaves.  
Dany. They sing of Dany...breaker of chains. What chains do they see around them now?  
He sighed realising that these men were surely part of the riots which shook the city few moons ago.  
“Jurnegon! Dārys hen āeksia!” one boy shouted as he has recognised the dark-haired man passing by: (_Look! King of masters!_)

The eyes of the crowd turned towards the column of riders; Jon felt all their gazes on him now.  
Gazes that were all but kind or approving. Then he heard it.  
One voice shouted first: “Mīrīn jorrāelagon daor dārys. Mīrīn ēza īlva dāria!” (_Meereen needs no king. Meereen has our queen! _)  
Soon all joined in chorus: “Mīrīn jorrāelagon daor dārys. Mīrīn ēza īlva dāria!

Tumco Lho, commander of his escort asked right after the chanting started: “If my king wishes, we shall remove this lot from the square.”  
“These men are loyal to the Queen; they can continue with their gathering.” Jon said.  
His mind was telling: _but they’re not loyal to me, surely. To them I am the king who hangs the former slaves.  
A Westerosi of two noble houses chosen by noblemen of this city to rule. _

Jon did not burden himself with the people singing the Myhsa song on the square. They were one end of the citizens he ruled over.  
On the other end were those who called his wife - the silver whore.  
It was old, but less known insult, for once masters could not name Dany a dragon whore as the monarch chosen to be the shield between them and chaos which would devour all noble houses of Meereen was of dragon blood too.  
I am not here for likes of Azmos Hazuzn, a freed slave who would coat this city in crimson, shedding blood of the nobles.  
Nor I am the king for Praklan zo Gorar, once Son of the Harpy and his ilk who dream of slavery returning, Jon dwelled upon as entrance to the Great Pyramid was emerging before him. 

He had another battle to fight. His announcement of visitors coming to Meereen made Daenerys angry.  
Visitors from the Kingdom of the North in Westeros.  
Coming for young lord Hornwood. Visitors that shall be received in the Great Pyramid and presented to the royal couple and twin princesses.  
She was not approving of Northerners coming to their court in any manner, least being acquainted with their twin daughters. 

He thought not of men from the North coming to Meereen before Kinvara came to the Great Pyramid for an audience with Daenerys. 

Audience which was held together with Rashazna Shiak, high priestess of the Temple of Graces.  
Rashazna was woman of fifty namedays, from a family of lesser nobility who could either become a priestess or marry into a house of slave masters. She chose a former path and after quarter of a century service in the Ghiscari temple she became the high priestess.  
New ruling couple of Meereen hoped that priests of two main faiths of the city could be the voice of common folk, once slaves and others who did not belong in the ranks of the nobles. Commoners were vast majority of Meereenese, eight of each ten were lowborn or freed slaves, half of them prayed to the gods of Old Ghis, the other half worshiped R’hllor. Nobles kept only the faith in Ghiscari gods.  
They found no appeal in the Lord of Light, a god that was strange and unknown to them and adored by those whom they once owned. 

Queen of Bay of Dragons invited the two priestesses to consult them on the future law making for Meereen, Yunkai and Astapor.  
Both answered the call. 

Rashazna Shiak, was first to speak, her dark eyes fixed on the queen not acknowledging the presence of Kinvara:  
“Your Radiance, priests and priestesses of any faith, here same as in Sunset Kingdoms, make poor lawmakers.  
Our knowledge if of gods and goddesses, not of deeds and crimes of mortal men.”  
“And yet, who better to know to deeds and crimes of mortal men than those who serve in the temples?” Daenerys countered “...Meereen needs laws, lady Rashazna, laws that will shelter its people, laws that will not favour once slave nor once slaver. I speak of duties and rights, same for all. But laws of Meereen, of Yunkai and of Astapor can only be written following the traditions of their people.  
Traditions that are older than slavery and have firm ground in the Ghiscari faith.” 

Rashazna nodded: “A noble undertaking from your part, Your Radiance, still with what you’ve just said I fail to see why other faith, one without roots or past in our people, is represented here.”  
She stood next to the priestess of R’hllor.  
Who could be standing as far as Bear Island, Ghiscari priestess paid no heed to her.  
“I cannot pretend that one of two Meereenese who were not born into noble houses does not follow that other faith, as you call it. I can’t act as they are not here as you have chosen to act in regard of third person present in this chamber. As queen I have not that luxury.” was the reply of the silver-haired woman. 

Kinvara was sitting as made of stone, as words she heard concerned her not at all.  
She remained quiet for a while, drawing queen’s eyes at herself, then she spoke, her voice lilted and with even tone:  
“What does the Queen of Bay of Dragons expect from the followers of Lord of Light?”  
“To speak with those who pray to the god you serve. To ask them how thievery and cheating should be dealt with in Meereen, how rapers and murderers are punished now and how they ought to be, how sons and daughters inherit what their father possessed, no matter how little that is. Ask them of those things and bring answers to our next meeting.”  
Rashazna glared: “Answers which the red priests will adjust so that laws you plan to write will smell of their beliefs.”  
“Nothing of the sort, lady Rashazna, laws will not be written by me or king Jon or you or High Priestess Kinvara.  
Those who will write the new laws of the Bay of Dragons, laws for many generations to come, shall be learned men and women.  
As those not of noble birth of this city lack learning, you same as Kinvara will be their voice, you can set apart right from wrong, reason from folly. So, you will bring to lawmakers the concerns of the smallfolk of Meereen, concerns that laws will provide solutions to.”  
Daenerys spoke calmly with Rashazna nodding at her words. 

Years have taught me patience, Dany thought.  
Five and ten years ago I would not suffer Rashazna so, she would be thrown out from this pyramid for her comportment before the queen.  
“Do we have an understanding of what priests of both temples must do?” Dany asked.  
“We have, Your Grace.” Kinvara replied. Rashazna made a slight bow in accordance.  
“Good. We shall meet again here in ten days.” 

Rashazna left the Great Pyramid while Kinvara lingered on, wishing to see Jon. 

He was in the council room, Council of Citizens assembled for weekly session.  
“Man’s name was Zidas, son of Egiq. Once slave. His wife’s name was Delazda, daughter of Zou. Slave as well. They had a son who did not live to see his sixth nameday. As he was taken from them by their master, Idnar mo Laquo, to be featured as bear supper in Yezzan’s Pit.  
First Barracks is that place called now. Delazda was Idnar’s plaything for years, raped and tortured. Zidas wanted revenge. He did not act when Daenerys of House Targaryen came to Meereen for the first time and liberated slaves. He did not act when Sons of the Harpy were killing freed men on the streets. He did not act during those ten years when Second Sons were keeping peace in this city and the Bay of Dragons.  
He acted when riots happened few moons ago. He killed Idnar before his little son.” Jon spoke with strong mark of anger in his voice:  
“He got his vengeance. Was that justice?”  
His eyes fell upon Azmos Hazuzn.  
“It was. Idnar deserved it. He deserved to be devoured by a bear.” Jon said.  
Then he looked at Praklan zo Gorar.  
“Was it a crime? Yes, indeed it was.  
For Zidas in five and ten years did not saw fit to come to rulers of this city and tell of Idnar’s crimes against his wife and child.” 

Jon paused for a while looking at councilors, some did not understand of what he spoke, but faces of Azmos and Praklan told they knew very well: “Zidas was hanged this morning in the Daggerleaf Barracks, a sentence carried out by former slaves, now city guardsmen.  
Zidas knew well of the order that any citizen of Meereen which kills another during riots will be hanged.  
Still, he went on with his killing of former master. Delivering belated justice and lusted revenge.”

Dark-haired Targaryen leaned forward in his chair, eyes not leaving the twenty councilors seated before him:  
“King of masters, some in this city call me. I am sure some among you call me that as well. I care not of what name is given to me;  
I’ve been called worse thus far in my life. Aye, I was offered this rule by the once masters. And once slaves alike.  
I shall be ruler of both. Meereen and Bay of Dragons must be wholly healed, peace and order restored. Should that require to hang a man who gave justice by the way of vengeance, so be it. Any exemption will soon make future Meereen’s laws and rules void of meaning.  
Not for long the city would sunk back into chaos. You, as councilors, have given me a great trust and I intend to honor that trust.” 

Eraz lo Hazkar nodding in approval was first to spoke out: “Your Radiance, you’ve been honoring our trust ever since we named you Commander-general of City Guard. Those who call you king of masters are nothing but ruffian scum that wishes to purge Meereen from its nobility, from those who made this city great.”  
“While riding on the sweaty and bloodied backs of slaves.” countered Poshassa Zali, once slave owned by Hazkar’s family, woman whose youthful features were untouched by her more than forty namedays.  
“What would Meereen be without its great houses?” Marghaz zo Loraq asked, with anger in his voice.  
“What would its great houses be without freedmen, those you’ve owned once?” followed the question from Emdan Ghauk, former pit fighter,  
who had a large scar on his right cheek and lacked most of right ear, a Dothraki arakh took it away during one of the fights this man won.  
“Sheep will always need a herder.” Marghaz replied with Azmos Hazuzn rising in his chair:  
“Jackals, not herders! Myhsa saved us from jackals. She is our Queen!” 

All ten councilors from the ranks of once slaves clapped their hands in approval, with words “Myhsa is our Queen!” being said by some of them. Other half of councilors had a face of disapproval.  
“And I am not your King, councillor Hazuzn?...” Jon asked “...Yes, Queen Daenerys ended your torments and pain and sorrow of slavery.  
Now she is your Queen again. But make no mistake of believing that Queen and I do not see the future of Meereen, of nobles and freedmen, with same eyes.”  
Poshassa Zali smiled at him: “You are our King same as Myhsa is our Queen. This Council is at your command.”  
He made a slight nod: “This Council together with Queen and me and with partaking of priests of two great faiths of this city shall bring new laws for Meereen and whole of Bay of Dragons. That is what twenty of you should do.  
If you want to ensure the tomorrow and over morrow of this city.” 

Councillors left the pyramid with task of writing the law proposals which will be discussed at the Great Assembly where they with many other learned men and women of the city, priests and priestesses and other voicing for the people of Meereen will gather to bring out the new frame by which the citizens shall live henceforth. Jon felt tired after every meeting of the Council. He knew well enough that riots have opened old wounds which now have festered and it will take time for them to close again. 

He leaned back in his chair when a known voice came behind him:  
“King Jon of House Targaryen, you seem weary.”  
Kinvara walked to the table: “Does Your Grace have a time for a brief talk?”  
Jon chuckled: “Even if I was to say no, the brief talk would still take place.”  
“My duty is to advise the champions of Lord of Light, no matter what personal risk or cost there may be.” she replied, her light green eyes glowed, clashing with her dark brown hair and red robe.  
“Then, by all means, advise me.” he said.  
“Hallis Hornwood.” Kinvara uttered the name as question “He’s been your guest for too long, my king. Time is right for him to go home.”  
“Yes, I remember you telling me that I have to bring him to White Harbor myself.”  
“That was moons ago. Things have changed, Your Grace. Now, his father and his mother’s kin are coming to claim him.”  
“High Priestess, are you telling me that Larence Hornwood and someone from House Manderly is coming to this city?”  
“Yes, my king. They’ll be in Meereen in ten days, if weather is kind....” she answered “...their ship has left Volantis six days ago.”  
“Dare I ask how you know this? Flames show it?”  
She smirked: “Not at all. A word came from Volantis of ship coming from White Harbor with two Westerosi lords."  
Jon nodded: "Well, knowing the number of your fellow priests in that city, it is no surprise that they make notes of foreign nobles coming there."  
“Host the Northern lords here. Let them meet your daughters.” Kinvara said in even tone.  
Jon frowned: “Why would I present Lya and Rhae to them?”  
“They’re blood of wolf as well, are they not?” priestess asked. “Aye, they are.” he answered.  
“Time has come, my king, to present them to the lords of the North.”  
“Lords of the North owe allegiance to my sister Sansa.”  
“Words are wind. Jon Targaryen.” Kinvara replied “Time and tide wait for no man.”  
“I’ve never liked riddles.” King of Meereen said. 

“Lord Hallis, I have good tidings for you. Two days from now you shall be reunited with your family. A ship is coming from White Harbor.”  
Jon said to young Northerner after he summoned him in his solar then continued:  
“I was honored to have you here for this long, it felt as you were fostered by House Targaryen, but I respect your lord father and lady mother and they’ve waited for you to come home for too long.”  
Boy’s eyes widened: “Someone is coming here to take me home, Your Grace?”  
“Aye. You shall meet your father there.”  
“My father is coming to Meereen?!” Hallis said loudly.  
“He is. I have received word of him traveling to Bay of Dragons by the sea.”  
“Thank you, my lord. I shall prepare for depart right away. And say farewell to Queen Daenerys. And Princess Lyanna and Princess Rhaella.  
I owe a great debt to your family, Your Grace.”  
Jon gave an approving nod: “No need to haste. Your father will be received at this court. He shall be introduced with Rhaella and Lyanna.”  
Hallis tried to hide how pleased he was to hear this, but Jon noted: “You have taken my daughters to great liking, lord Hallis?”  
“Aye, Your Grace, I consider them my as my good friends.”  
“As it is proper. Hornwood and Stark, Manderly and Targaryen, past speaks of close alliances and good relations between those houses.”  
“Yes, Your Grace, I intend to keep those relations no matter if half of the world stands between me and House Targaryen.” boy uttered words of a man grown and left Jon’s solar with hastened pace.

“I do not want you to present Rhae and Lya to these men. Why don’t you give them Hallis and send them on their way?”  
Daenerys said as he entered their chamber. She was in nightgown, undoing her braids seated before the looking glass.  
“Highborn visitors coming from half across the world deserve to be received by the royal couple of Meereen.  
Our daughters are Princesses of Bay of Dragons. Why shouldn’t they receive respect of visitors from Westeros?”  
Dany returned a sneer: “Respect? From the Northerners? As I have received it when I came to help them against the Night King?”  
“Same as you and me, our daughters are of Westeros. Same as me, they are of the North. There is no reason for hiding them from those which are coming to take Hallis home.”  
“Westeros rejected me; Westeros exiled you. And luckily for them, Lya and Rhae never dealt with Westeros in their lives. I intend to keep it so.” she replied with bitterness. Jon sat next to her and run his hand through her silver tresses:  
“I would never let anyone or anything to hurt our girls. You know that. Still, there is a world west of Meereen and I want them to know of that world. And I know that Rhaella and Lyanna are grown and wise enough to tell truth from deceit, no matter whence from it comes, east or west.”  
Daenerys sighed: “Those men that are coming for Hallis… they are Sansa’s men, are they not?  
Boy’s father and someone from Manderly household. Are you willing to risk our daughters being scorned by them?”  


His face darkened.  
“Should they as much as frown upon Rhae or Lya, those lords will explain themselves to the Longclaw...” he replied “...fear not, Dany, from little that I’ve learned of how things are in the North last moons, neither Hornwoods nor Manderlys favor Sansa as they did.  
The war she stared ruined their lands. White Harbour was nearly sacked by the Ironborn.” 

Daenerys knew of battle for the White Harbor a sennight after it took place.  
Ezzelyno, the R’hllor priest from Braavos, was now on Driftmark island, hiding his true self under robes of a scribe serving the House Velaryon.  
Rulers of Driftmark would receive words about course of events in the northern war merely days after something came to pass.  
Ezzelyno using power of the glass candle would converse with Kinvara or with Daenerys herself from a weathered stone house in a small cove, few miles from Driftmark castle. 

News from Westeros were coming to the Queen of Bay of Dragons few times during a moon.  
She knew of Yara besieging the Eastwatch-by-the-Sea and of food becoming more and more scarce and costly in the lands of the Northern crown.  
Jon knew nothing of it and she had no wish to tell him.  
_Eastwatch… _came to her mind… _I was standing on the top of the Wall, looking down at that snow-covered wasteland, waiting if Jon Snow would appear. He fell into that frozen lake surrounded with hundreds of wights. He came in the end, half dead on that horse. That was the first time I saw his scars. First time I knew I was in love with him. Love is blind, they say, but I am not. North will never again come between him and me. Nor will Sansa, the oath breaking queen. _

Daenerys looked at him, her violet eyes were cold and stern now:  
“Very well, Jon. I will put my trust in you and go against my own judgement. You may present our daughters to the visitors from the North.  
Be it on your head. But I warn you, should Rhaella and Lyanna be wronged even with a gaze, you’ll never be alone with them again.  
Them and Cregan and Daenysanne. Don’t take these words lightly.”  
“I never take your words, lightly, Dany. And once again I promise you that no wrong will happen to the girls.”  
“Make sure you keep that promise, Jon.” 

He got up and turned towards the door.  
“Where are you going?” she asked.  
“To take a night rest, same as you.”  
“This is our chamber, Jon. And our bed. In which you will find little rest this night, I assure you of that.”  
He chuckled: “We haven’t shared…”  
“No, we have not. We shall tonight. And every night after this one. I desire my husband. Now, kindly remove your garments.”  
she said in ordering tone. “Can I leave my smallclothes?” he japed.  
“Leave them, if you wish so. I have a craving to rip something apart for many days now.” she answered.  
“I see that weeks of not sharing bed made you a proper wanton, my queen.”  
“The way you act now will make me believe those same weeks made you a eunuch, my king.”  
Targaryen woman said devouring her man with her gaze.  
She rose from before the looking glass and now was facing him.  
“Is that nightgown of any worth to you?” he asked.  
“It’s made of…” she didn’t get to finish the sentence as he tore the clothing down, leaving Daenerys naked.  
Her nipples betrayed her, she felt arousal taking over and then she tore his shirt open, revealing his scarred torso.  
“Jaelan ao naejot vaogemagon nyke.” Daenerys said in High Valyrian and then kissed him with fervor of a dragon.  
“Dany…vaogemagon…” he said when their lips parted “ you want me to defile you?!…improper words for a queen.”  
“Not improper for a wife and a lover.”  
His hands trailed down her bare back, gently squeezing her nates with soft voice: “No, not improper at all.”  
“Keligon ȳdragon…se gūrogon nyke sir.” she ordered with whisper. He lifted her in his arms and laid her on the bed.

“We should quarrel more oft, wife.” he said later that night while placing kisses from her neck down.  
Dany’s fingers were in his hair and she made a warning pull: “A dragon deprived of lovemaking is a dangerous thing, Jon Targaryen.”  
“I know that, Daenerys Stormborn, I know that all too well.”  
They have stayed in bed for most of the next day, relishing in each other. 

Day after that, Jon was on the apex of the Great Pyramid.  
The uppermost floor where his chambers and chambers of his family were.  
He came from the nursery, carrying his babe daughter in his arms. Daenysanne and Cregan were now over three moons since birth.  
He cooed to his silver-haired daughter and babe smiled, her grey eyes looking wide at him.  
“Daenysanne … my little Dany…” Jon spoke softly while tiny hands tried to grab his hair  
“…on sixth moon since the day you were born, we shall fly on Drogon together with your mother and brother.” 

Princess Alyssa, daughter of Wise King and Good Queen, flew on her dragon Meleys when her firstborn son was nine days old and with her second born within a fortnight of his birth. Jon liked that notion, but was willing to wait for his twin babes to be half a year old.  
He went back to nursery and laid his daughter in the crib. He took his raven-haired son in his arms, babe giggled as he was lifted in the air, violet eyes pinned at his father.  
“Cregan. One day you shall be king…” he whispered in babe’s ear while carrying him to the terrace.  
Cregan turned his head towards the city and yawned, it made his father to chuckle.  
“Son, yawn now as much as you please. When it comes for you to rule there will be no time for yawning.” 

Above them, on the very top of the pyramid, above the greenery of terrace garden and fragrant pools flew the black banner with three-headed red dragon. Banner of once again house of kings and queens. 

Miles away, on the waves of once Slaver’s Bay, two ships were approaching the port of Meereen.  
Their sails were bore the golden shields with black crowned stag. Colors of House Baratheon of Storm’s End.  
One ship was carrack lacking the figurehead on the prow. Other was swan-ship made years ago on Summer Islands.


	53. BRIENNE

_King’s Landing, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

**BRIENNE**

She watched them coming from the window of her chamber on the uppermost floor of the White Sword Tower, tower that served as home of the Kingsguard. Overlooking the Blackwater Bay, the four-floor tower was built on the angle of the wall of the royal castle of Westeros, the Red Keep. 

Envoys from the Reach came first, led by Ser Baelor Hightower, Lord Paramount of the Reach with his brother Ser Garth, the Greysteel, and their escort among which she saw the colors of Florents and Fossoways. The Reach was still the richest, most fertile and most populous kingdom of all Westeros. And slighted twelve years ago when an upstart sellsword got his boon for the service of Tyrion, Jamie and Cersei Lannister in shape of Highgarden and lordship over the Reach. Slight that not one noble house from the Reach has forgotten, least of all the Hightowers of Oldtown.

Half a day later came Westerlands. They were only a shadow of once might, when Tywin Lannister ruled the Casterly Rock.  
Now his cousin Ser Damion, half-brother of Tywin’s wife Joanna, ruled the castle of lions.  
Fifteen years ago, he was named castellan of Casterly Rock by Queen Cersei Lannister to spite her uncle Ser Kevan Lannister.  
Damion was man of nearly fifty namedays, his thinning hair was slowly becoming white instead of gold.  
With him came his son, Ser Lucion Lannister who seemed to be in his late twenties or early thirties.  
Golden lion on crimson banner commanded much less fear or respect than it did at the end of third century after Aegon’s Conquest.  
They rode into the town through the Lion Gate, still priding themselves to be lions, though rather toothless nowadays. 

Valemen came on the next morrow, through the Old Gate, the banner with sky-blue falcon and the white moon fluttering high.  
_As High as Honor_ , were the words of House Arryn. Robin Arryn, Sweetrobin as he was known to most of Westeros, was not so sweet anymore. He was nearing his eight and twenty birthday and those who were closer to the Eyrie spoke of boy having both traits of his father and of his mother, wisdom and calm of Jon Arryn, but also reckless and impulsive temper of his mother, Lysa, once of House Tully.

Tully banner waved over streets of the capital that same day. Edmure Tully, Lord of Riverrun and Lord Paramount of the Trident came under his red-blue sigil with leaping silver trout, accompanied by Mallisters and Blackwoods. 

Four kingdoms were represented, Brienne noted, but still not the one she was born in.  
Stormlands did not come, she thought, Stormlands mind not what King and his Hand ask or demand for moons now.  
She did not want for that part of the Realm to be proclaimed as rebellious.  
To her pleasant surprise, on the eve of the third day, the last on which the high lords of Six Kingdoms were expected to come to the Red Keep, a column of two score riders came through the River Gate. Or the Mud Gate as it was known to most of the Kingslanders.  
Ahead of the column was the banner with crowned stag, but she did not see the young Baratheon, only a man on whose chest was brown shield displaying three stalks of yellow wheat. House Selmy. And that man, surely counting over five and forty namedays was Arstan Selmy.  
His grandsire’s brother, Barristan was one of the legends of Kingsguard. Legend of Westerosi knighthood.  
When her gaze touched the man riding next to lord of Harvest Hall, she smiled for it was Ser Davos Seaworth.  
It is good to see a face of an old friend, she thought, there are precious few of them left here. 

“Would you believe… in all my years on the Small Council I’ve never been here.” Davos said looking around the Round Room on the first floor of the tower. “And what say you of the Kingsguard home?” she asked.  
“It’s all very…whiteish.” once smuggler said with chuckle as his eyes wandered from white wool that decorated the walls of white stone, while white shield and two crossed longswords hang over the hearth.  
“That it is.” Brienne confirmed “I’ve missed you, Ser Davos. This smallfolk’s jest of yours.”  
“Jesting is sometimes all that smallfolk have, Ser Brienne. Though it doesn’t fill bellies nor heals the sick. Nor brings the dead back.” he said in somber voice. “No, I am sure that bringing the dead back is a work of utmost seriousness.” 

Davos looked at her, knowing what Brienne meant and chuckled again: “Aye, it is. A serious work indeed.”  
“Both Targaryens came back from the dead and now live in Meereen.” she said.  
“They do. Man, wife, two girls and when I was there another babe was on the way. Their son must have been born moons ago.”  
“You sound as you like them, Ser Davos.”  
“Mayhaps I do.”  
“That is dangerous talk, Ser Davos.”  
“Liking a man who lead us all against the Night King, a man who killed the woman which was his love, his kin and his queen to save us all from her rage… aye, I like that man. And I like that he got another chance with that woman and he’s using that chance as much as he can.”  
“They rule over Meereen and that entire bay now as king and queen.” she told him.  
“I’ve heard of that. Both of them descend from kings. Ruling is in their blood.”  
“So is conquering.” she reminded him.  
“Trust me, Ser Brienne, conquering is the last thing on the mind of both Jon and Daenerys Targaryen.”  
“I hope you’re right, for if not we’d be as Tyrion once said – truly fucked.”  
He chuckled for the third time: “I trust we’re summoned here from all four corners of the Westeros to talk and discuss the conquest of Dorne.”  
“All the lords paramount were invited for that purpose, yes. All have come. All but one. Where is Lord Gendry?” Brienne asked.  
“When message inviting him to the capital came, he was already across the Narrow Sea.” “What is he doing there?” she frowned.  
“He tries to negotiate with some minor banks not to follow suite of the Iron Bank and allow the purchase of goods from Pentos, Myr, Tyrosh, Volantis.” “I understand, Ser Davos.” Brienne told him.  
Hunger was closing near with every passing day. Storm’s End was closest in tasting the lack of goods coming from the eastern shore of the Narrow Sea, same as Crownlands. It lasted for moons now.

“So, you and Lord Arstan speak for your lord?”  
“We do. For him and for the Stormlands. And for the Marches.” Davos replied.  
“Marches will be first to suffer should Dorne and Stormlands cross swords.”  
“Sam already suffered. Horn Hill was nearly burned whole.”  
“I have told him to send Gilly and Alana to King’s Landing, he refused. Tarlys do not flee, he told me.” she said.  
Davos smiled: “And his wife and daughter are of wildling blood. They survived the White Walkers, surely Dornish raiders do not frighten them.”  
“I misliked the way Samwell was ousted from the Small Council.” Brienne said.  
Davos nodded: “Yes, Tyrion removed him as he were a nothing short of a traitor. And all he did was serving our king.”  
She remained silent; her face marked with sadness.  
Then she spoke: “His Grace is not well. For moons now. He’s withdrawn himself from the matters of the Realm. Leaving it all to the Hand.  
And Tyrion…his heart hardened ever since he learned of Daenerys living again.”  
Davos took a deep breath: “He is a damn believer. Or he once was. That is his trouble. He believes. When that belief proves to be a fool’s errand,  
then bitterness takes over. And bitterness is good soil for foul thoughts and deeds.”  
“I can’t say that I understood you, Ser Davos.” Brienne said.

“Ah… in my old age I’ve begun to speak as one of those shites from the Citadel that have never tasted the true life...” he smiled  
“...what I am saying is that Tyrion believed in Daenerys Targaryen. Wholly. In that better world she spoke of while warring against Cersei.  
When she burned down King’s Landing to make all the Westeros fear her, his belief turned into bitter disappointment. And then to hate.  
Tyrion hates Daenerys now, with all his heart. I’d say he hates Jon now as well and their children, only for sake of being their children.  
He cannot come to peace with notion that she lives. He blames her for betraying his trust and not to forget, his brother and sister died that day when dragonflame brought the Red Keep on their heads.”  
“And she, surely she hates him just the same...” Brienne wondered.  
“She gave him a little thought all these years, till he plotted to have her and her daughters killed.  
Now, she would feed him to her last dragon, I am sure of that.”  
She sighed: “A sad affair, is it not? Once true allies, both believing in that better world. Now they’d tore each other apart should they meet.” 

Davos nodded: “Sad affair indeed. And I must say that Tyrion had belief in King Bran as well.”  
Lady Commander of Kingsguard frowned: “Surely you don’t say he will turn against His Grace.”  
“No, nothing of the sort…” Davos shook his head “…only that Tyrion will do all he can to see this reign succeed. One more shattered belief,  
that is what he fears. He stood behind Daenerys Targaryen, she failed. He proposed Brandon Stark as king of Westeros and he will not allow that to fail. No matter the cost.”  
“That cost is already high, Ser Davos.” she said.  
“It is. And I fear it will only grow higher.” once smuggler added.

“Tyrion is the Hand of the King. His Grace trusts him. I command the Kingsguard. My place is at their side.” came from Brienne,  
though it seemed that she was musing aloud, that words were meant for her and not for her guest who nodded in approval:  
“You’re a true knight of Seven Kingdoms, Ser Brienne. Times we live in are not kind for true knights.”  
“Have they ever been, Ser Davos?” she asked.  
“Well said… no, old as I am, I can’t say they have ever been.” 

_He yawned… Master of Laws has just yawned… _ went through her mind as she watched Andrew Estermont on the other side of the table that was placed in what once was Great Hall of the Red Keep castle, but called by almost all plainly the throne room.  
Envoys from the Reach, Riverlands, the Vale and the Westerlands were seated at the long table that once, when this was still the place where Iron Throne stood, was placed for feasts and celebrations. Today was no time of feast, today those who gathered in this hall were to discuss how to wage war against one portion of the Realm, portion that no one ever truly broke. Tyrion chaired this meeting as king was again absent.  
It was common thing for the those who served on the court, but Brienne could tell that not one of the arrived lords was pleased with it.  


“Reach is ready to march on the Dornish traitors within few days, but Reach wants to know will others march with us.” voice of Baelor Hightower boomed across the hall “Their rebellion is against the Realm whole, not against Reach only. I haven’t seen banners of any other kingdom among our ranks. Save two loyal houses from the Marches, bannermen of House Baratheon, of which I have received word that they are now kept in Storm’s End, prisoners in all but name.”  
“That is a false word, Ser Baelor, no matter from whom you have heard it.” Arstan Selmy countered “Indeed, lord Swann is at Storm’s End as is his son Donnel who managed to get himself captured by the Dornish after the Battle of the Prince’s Pass. Lord Baratheon traded him and now they’re both under his protection as their keep is no longer safe from the Dornish raids.”  
“Have such raids occurred?” asked Masters of the Ships, Monterys Velaryon.  
“Not yet, my lord. Though it must be said that men of House Swann and of House Caron rode with the Reachmen without knowledge or leave by their Lord Paramount.” Selmy answered. Hightower sneered: “Some Lord Paramount, a lowborn blacksmith from the Flea Bottom.”  
“Aye… he was born as a bastard and spent good part of his youth in the smithy, but he was sired by King Robert Baratheon nonetheless...” Davos Seaworth spoke “...while for ten years and more Lord Paramount of the Reach was a lowborn once sellsword, son of a lowborn father and mother. And you have done his bidding, Ser Baelor.”

Brienne would laugh loudly at this reply that left head of House Hightower fuming, but she kept her calm and stern face as the first sword of Kingsguard should. New Lord Paramount of the Reach turned his gaze at Tyrion Lannister, surely remembering who was the one that imposed the lowborn sellsword as ruler of the richest part of Westeros: “Lord Hand, as you speak for the King of Six Kingdoms, tell me on what numbers do you count with this invasion of Dorne that you plan?” Tyrion, wearing his black sleeveless doublet, seemed to Brienne as more aged than he truly was. His hair was unruly and contrasted with his trimmed beard, both were still dark gold but had streaks of grey.  
He seemed not tired to her, though.

"Crown expects from all five loyal kingdoms to provide as much men as it can. Fifty thousand men is the lower number needed to defeat the Martell princess and conquer Dorne. Twice as many would be warrant of certain success.”  
Edmure Tully coughed though it seemed more as a chuckle: “One hundred thousand? Yes, mayhaps in the last year of the reign of Robert Baratheon we could muster that many. And twice as many. But not now. All my bannermen cannot gather ten thousand now, including green boys and leaving our lands emptied of menfolk. That, knowing of the Ironborn raiding on both coasts of Westeros I am not ready nor willing to do. I am not taking host of Riverlands to Dorne leaving my lands undefended from kraken.”  
Robin Arryn nodded: “I agree with you, uncle. Knights of the Vale rode off North to fight against wildlings and the Ironborn and kraken plundered my shores for there was not enough men to defend it whole.”  
Tyrion frowned: “Lord Robin, sending Valemen to fight for Sansa Stark was your ill-advised move, one that in the end gave good excuse for Pyke and Sunspear to rebel against the Realm. That is foreign war and your knights still take part in it, now you’re reluctant to partake in keeping our kingdom as whole.” Hightowers and Lannisters were now knocking on the table in approval. 

Lord of the Vale nodded at them, then said: “How many hundreds of knights and freeriders and smallfolk that came from the Reach and Westerlands fought and died in the North? And they still fight and die there, in the Gift... Wardens of the West and South did not forbid them to go to foreign war.”  
Tyrion made a slight frown: “That as well is good point, my lord, but none of us here shall benefit from throwing past mistakes at each other. We have two parts of the Realm that are in open rebellion and we must end those rebellions as swift as possible. To accomplish that, my lords, we need a strong muscle. That muscle is the host we shall muster from five kingdoms that are loyal to His Grace, King Bran.  
With Dorne defeated, the Iron Islands will yield. And then we shall find more suitable houses to rule in Sunspear and in Pyke.”  
“Lord Tyrion, it is a great task that lies ahead of us…” Monterys Velaryon said “…both Dornish and the Ironborn have thus far emerged victorious. Dornish threw back the Reachmen on the Prince’s Pass and Arianne Martell did not bring all of her spears there. Dorne can raise thirty thousand men, mayhaps more. And the Ironborn, they are now so emboldened with their successes in the Kingdom of the North. Not only they have nearly sacked the White Harbor, but the Northern fort at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, where once a castle of the Night's Watch stood at the wall is besieged by Ironborn. The only place where one can pass to the lands North of the Wall freely, for there is no Wall there for three and ten years now. Most of Iron Fleet is in the Shivering Sea now.”  
“That fleet should have been halted and sunk at Dragonstone.” hissed Garth Hightower.  
“Yes, it should. But, royal fleet and ships of House Velaryon were outnumbered three to one, Ser Garth. Six Kingdoms cannot risk losing its fleet in the Narrow Sea. Or every town and village on Realm’s western coast will become prey for the kraken.” Monterys replied.  
“Ser Garth, having the Ironborn fleet in the Shivering Sea could actually be in our favor.” Tyrion added. “I fail to see how, my lord.”  
“The royal fleet and the ships of loyal houses as Velaryons will sail to Dorne, same as the fleets of Lannisport and House Redwyne. We shall impose blockade of Dornish coast in its entirety. No more ships from Essos shall be coming to aid Arianne Martell's rebellion.” Hand explained.  
“That is a plan that sounds well, Lord Tyrion, though it needs to be said that current Lord of the Arbor, Ser Horas Redwyne lacks the skills of his late father, Lord Paxter who served on the Small Council of both king Joffrey and king Tommen.” Baelor Hightower told him.  
“He has same captains as his dead sire, has he not?” Tyrion countered. “Mostly, yes.”  
“Well then, Horas only has to leave them to do their duty.”  
“He is a man of certain vanity, Lord Hand, he’ll surely expect to be leading the Redwyne fleet in the battle with the Dornish.” Baelor warned.  
“His vanity will not stand on the way of Realm’s interest, Ser Baelor. I assure you of that.” Lannister replied and then addressed his cousin:  
“Now, Ser Damion Lannister, Crown expects that fleet from Lannisport go to Oldtown and Arbor two moons from this day, there it will join the Redwyne fleet and together sail towards Dorne. Warships are to block Dornish ports, while all other vessels will ferry our horse and foot to Dornish coast.” Damion raised his eyebrow: “So, the host of Westerlands will go to Dorne by the sea, not by land?”  
“That is so. Arianne Martell guards the Prince’s Pass and the Boneway well and to meet her there in the battle doesn’t warrant success.  
Taking Dorne by invasion from the coast, that is another matter.” Tyrion replied.

Lord of Runestone, Yohn Royce, sitting next to his liege lord Robin Arryn frowned hearing this: “Lord Tyrion, it seems you’ve been feeding us with your plan of conquering Dorne as we were birds, crumb by crumb… lay out the whole of it so the great lords of Westeros may hear to what sort of endeavor are they expected to send their men.”  
All present were now nodding in agreement, some even knocked on the table.  
Tyrion, robbed of chance to slowly reveal his strategy of ending the Dornish rebellion, was not pleased but he yielded to old lord:  
“It is rather simple plan, Lord Yohn. Oft in our history, when wars with Dorne happened, battles took place in the mountain passes and those battle bled the armies of the Realm well, making victories into defeats as Red Mountains are to Dornish what land beyond the Wall is to the wildlings. That we shall not allow this time. We shall land in Dorne from the sea. I ask you to observe the map laid on the table before you.”

Hand of the King pointed to the large piece of cloth with southernmost part of Westeros painted on it. Brienne looked as he began to explain: “Redwyne and Lannisport fleet will take soldiers from Westerlands and part of the Reachmen and disembark them up the river Torentine where they will besiege and take Starfall, High Hermitage and Blackmont, rest will sail up the Brimstone and take Hellholt. Though we must make sure our men do not make the same blunder as men of Harlan Tyrell did in the first war with Dorne when they ate the fish from that sulphur of a water.”  
“Hellholt is where they keep the bones of dragon Meraxes?” Lucion Lannister asked.  
“Indeed it is, cousin, first time a dragon was shot from the sky was over Hellholt, in year ten after Aegon’s conquest. His sisterwife Rhaenys perished with her beast. Bones are still there, they say… so, that will be the objective of our western host. Our eastern force strengthened by one third of the Reachmen, ferried to Dorne on the ships of royal fleet, Velaryon fleet and other vessels from the Vale, Stormlands and Crownlands will land and take the Tor, sail up the Blueblood river on the northern shore of Dorne to take the Yronwood, while the bulk of that force will disembark at the mouth of Greenblood, lay siege to Sunspear and take it, take the Water Gardens, take Lemonwood, take Planky Town, sail up the Greenblood to take Godsgrace, if ships cannot then boats will sail into Vaith river to take its namesake castle.”  


“Lord Tyrion, what such war plan aims at?” asked Master of Laws.  
“It aims to remove the Dornish rebels from the sea on all sides, north, east, south, west. Wherever Dorne has access to water, be it sweet or salt, we shall place our men. Let them bake in the Red Mountains or Sandstone, but the armies of the Realm will drive them off their shores, cut them off from their Ironborn allies and the Essosi merchants that are now filling the sea before Sunspear. We shall carve Dorne into many pieces, take all the valuable settlements from them and leave Arianne Martell to play princess to goatherders in the hills.” Tyrion spoke with convincement of an already victor. That made Brienne to wonder has he forgotten all he knew from history.  
Dorne was not easy land to conquer and even when it seemed conquered, Dorne bled the conquerors.  
Till they gave up on having Dorne under heel.  
“This plan is not without merits, Lord Hand…” Royce spoke again “…yet all here present will agree that this plan asks for tens of thousands of men. And it would be fair for all present here to declare how many swords can they give to this cause.”  
Tyrion made a slight nod, concurring with the old lord from the Vale:  
“Lord Royce has spoken wisely and I agree with him.  
Therefore, I ask of you, my lords, to say here and now even a rough number of men your lands will give to the Crown?”  
Baelor Hightower gazed at the others before saying:  
“Reach will give the fleet of Arbor, hundred and fifty ships and we shall raise thirty to forty thousand.”  
He spoke with tone of arrogance; Brienne saw a slight sneer of the faces of Valemen and Stormlanders.  
Tyrion’s eyes went to his cousin Damion Lannister who was whispering with his son Lucion, then addressed to all present:  
“Westerlands will provide the Lannister fleet of forty ships and eight to ten thousand swords.”  
Edmure Tully barely concealed his smirk hearing these numbers, but it was his turn to declare the numbers now: “As you well know, the Riverlands were ruined in the wars after King Robert died and I cannot speak of our recovery. House Tully and its bannermen cannot spare more than two thousand men for the quenching of Dornish rebellion.”  
She could tell that both Hightowers and Lannister look at him with disdain, but it was clear Lord Edmure cared not.  
“Vale of Arryn?” Tyrion asked next.  
“My lords…” Robin said “…the Ironborn have sacked Gulltown last year and since then made sure my efforts to renew the port there fail due to their repeated attacks on the city. Many of our ships were burned at anchor. Vale thus far has lost hundreds in the Northern war. And thousands before that in the war with the Night King and Cersei Lannister. Save ten, mayhaps twenty ships of which none will be warship and half again as many men as Riverlands, I cannot declare more for this campaign in Dorne.”  
Tyrion nodded once, remembering that Vale warred against Boltons, the army of the dead and his sister.

All eyes were upon envoys of Storm’s End. Brienne noticed that upon entering the once throne room, Tyrion show little courtesy to Davos Seaworth, though same treatment came from the other side as well. What respect or cordiality these two men once had for each other was now gone and coldness was now between them. She too, as daughter of bannerman of Storm’s End, eagerly awaited what response will envoy of Gendry Baratheon give.

Arstan Selmy spoke with calm tone: “Lord Hand, my lords, I speak for the Stormlands, in the absence of my Lord Paramount and I have this to say: Dorne wants to leave the Realm. North wanted to leave the Realm, the very next moment a king of Stark blood was elected as new ruler of Seven Kingdoms. And North was allowed to leave. Many of you were present in the Dragonpit that day.  
King’s sister said that North wants to be free and was given freedom. Is Dorne any different from the North?  
Dorne which unlike the North never truly bent the knee to dragon kings, Dorne which differs from the rest of the Realm far more than North does. Is Dornish sand and rock worth thousands of lives of our men? More worthy than Northern wood and ice? Winterfell was allowed to leave. Why is Sunspear treated differently?”  
“You endorse rebellion with these words, Lord Selmy!” Baelor Hightower nearly shouted “Dornish declared independence and the very next day came to the Reach to plunder and burn.”  
“I endorse nothing of the sort, Ser Baelor. I am only reminding this assembly of the fact that we were Seven Kingdoms once.” said Arstan Selmy.  
“Lord Arstan…” Tyrion began to talk “…yes, once we were the Seven Kingdoms. Sansa of House Stark asked her brother who was elected king merely moments before for Northern independence. Asked in peaceful manner. Dornish prince sat there with us and remained silent.  
Same as Yara Greyjoy did.”  
“That is true, Lord Tyrion, but Dorne has a Princess now which desires independence same as Sansa Stark did. Why one woman was given a kingdom of her own and other is not?” “Arianne Martell declared Dorne as independent without talking to our king before that, without seeking for an agreement. That was an open rebellion which Realm must quench.” Tyrion replied.  
Arstan nodded: “What you said is indeed true, my lord, still Stormlands say that Realm should be made of lands and men which want to be part of it. Lands and men that are against the Six Kingdoms, should not be in the fold.”

All present at the table started murmuring, she could tell some in silent approval, others rebutted these words with disgust.  
Tyrion gazed at Selmy and Davos sitting next to him with eyes that were judging them: “I cannot deny good reasoning in your words,  
Lord Arstan. Dorne has declared independence and choose to celebrate it by sacking and burning all the castles in the Reach along the Dornish border. That was an act of war and Realm shall deliver war at them.  
Now, can you in absence of Lord Paramount of the Stormlands declare how many men will come with us to Dorne?”  
“I cannot, my lord, that is for my liege lord to decide, but as our numbers dwindled due to War of the Five Kings, same as those of Riverlands, count not for more than four or five thousand on land as well as on the sea.”

Garth Greysteel shook his head, while Lucion Lannister sneered upon hearing that Storm’s End can field only twice as many men as Riverrun or Eyrie. Brienne noticed how Monterys Velaryon was deep in his thoughts and then spoke with utmost seriousness as he always did:  
“My lords, it appears that five loyal kingdoms cannot bring more than sixty thousand into this Dornish campaign, the numbers lords gave us added with five thousand that Crownlands will muster… We shall face a most preserved army of Westeros in last two decades, the Dornish host. Sixty thousand goes against thirty thousand or more on enemy's land… it would be arrogant of us to say that victory is warranted. For it is not. It will ask of all men, from the lowliest foot soldier to the most noble knight to fight twice as fierce. If victory in Dorne is not swift, there will be no victory. They are well provided, ships coming in tens from Essos. We are not.”  
Davos Seaworth made a slight nod to young lord of Driftmark, she could tell that once smuggler agrees with him.  
Yohn Royce agreed as well saying: “Merchants from Free Cities shun our ports for moons now. Their goods are not being sold here nor ours there. Every Westerosi who lived by trade with Essos now starves or will be starving in mere weeks. There are many of those, from craftsmen to farmers and seafarers. And hunger comes hand in hand with riots, theft and looting. I fear should our able-bodied men be fighting a prolonged war in Dorne, who will keep king’s peace in the rest of the Realm?”  
“You will not be taking to Dorne all the men that are able to hold a sword or spear. Surely some number will remain in every holdfast to uphold the king’s laws and keep the king’s peace.” Tyrion answered.  
“We must address one more issue, my lord…” Davos said “…and that is supply. Sixty thousand men must eat every day, once a day at least, then a host of so many thousands means to have thousands of horses as well. And pack animals. Supplying such a large army in the land of the enemy could prove a great task, as we shall be invading Dorne from the sea, the supply lines must go by the sea as well.”  
Yohn Royce, Monterys Velaryon and even Damion Lannister approved of what Davos said, while Tyrion gave a courteous nod:  
“I am glad that Ser Davos Seaworth, a knight from Stormlands, speaks of coming war in Dorne using the word we. Indeed, we all are of Six Kingdoms and Six Kingdoms must remain whole. My lords, given the recent events in the North and challenges that independence has recently faced, Realm could one day even be a Seven Kingdoms again.”  
“Sansa Stark will never renounce her crown, even if she was to rule over Winterfell courtyard alone, Lord Hand.” Robin Arryn told him.

“Yes, I think that too, and yet when North was part of Seven Kingdoms was there ever a time that wildlings could defeat its army? Or the Ironborn? Only once before in our lives has the kraken defeated the wolf and that was also when North had declared independence and went to war which it could not win. Sansa may not, but those that will come after her could see that North is not better alone, without rest of Westeros.” Lannister replied to Lord of the Vale. Brienne saw how other lords at the table sneered at Tyrion’s words and she too has found a notion of North coming back under the rule of the Red Keep as hard to believe. _If Tyrion were hoping for that to pass, any defeat or failure of the Northern kingdom was adding to that hope_, was next that came to her mind. 

“My lords, I have laid out a plan of retaking Dorne for our King, Bran, First of his name. I expect that armies of the Six Kingdoms assemble two moons from this day. Western host at Oldtown, eastern host at King’s Landing. From there both hosts will be ferried to Dornish coast. Only a small portion of our joined army will march to Prince’s Pass and Boneway, to trick the Dornish of us coming by land.” Tyrion said to all, then asked: “Do you have any other issues you’d like to address?” As he got nothing but silence, he bowed to the lords representing five kingdoms of Westeros: “Then as there are none, I conclude today’s meeting.” 

Tyrion went away accompanied by lords Estermont and Velaryon who along with Brienne were only members of the Small Council.  
Since Samwell Tarly departed from the capital, new grandmaester was not yet appointed and Tyrion save from being Hand of the King, held office of Master of Coin and though no king’s decree was made he served also as Master of War.  
_Too much power in the hands of one man_, Brienne thought and even her mislike of Tyrion grew with every passing week, she still saw in him a man who could keep Realm as whole, man who was true servant of King Bran. Part of her refused to believe that best years of Bran’s rule have gone never to return. Other part doubted more and more to what are Six Kingdoms turning into. 

She walked out of the great hall in slow pace, slow enough for her to meet the Stormlands envoys outside on the courtyard.  
Arstan Selmy was discussing something with Davos and both men were not pleased, that much she could read from their faces.

“Ser Brienne…” Arstan greeted her while Davos bowed.  
“My lords.” she said “If I may, I’d ask of you to convey my greetings to Lord Gendry. And my gratitude of him not rushing to declare a new ruler of Tarth. I have renounced my birth right and heirloom, but I know that my late lord father would be pleased in knowing that lord of Storm’s End weighs with utmost care to whom his island will go to.”  
“And he shall weigh more, Ser Brienne, you can be sure of that...” Davos said “...lord Gendry will give lordship over Tarth to that noble family which merits to inherit the Evenfall Hall from your house.”  
“I thank you for those words, Ser Davos.” Brienne sad before speaking to Arstan: “My lord, House Selmy has left an everlasting mark on the history of the Kingsguard. Your great-uncle is an example of knighthood that every man which wears this white cloak should strive to be.”  


“Yes, he was. A true knight with misfortune to serve poor kings. A madman, a drunk, then a bastard born from sibling fuckery chased him away from Kingsguard. At least, as we have heard from the east, he died with sword in his hand, fighting for the queen he believed in.  
Something the rest of us can only envy on.” Arstan replied.  
Brienne made a little frown: “Would that mean you do not believe in our King, Lord Arstan?”  
“I am a sort of man that believes in things he can see or hear… and our king for a long time now was not seen or heard. We look at and listen to Lannister Imp instead and his ambitious schemes that may well mean the ruin of Realm whole. As this invasion of Dorne is… it appears as well devised war plan, yet many well devised war plans have failed.” man whose garments had brown shield with stalks of wheat on it told her.  
“You do not believe we can win… you’d rather let Dorne go its way.”  
“I’d rather have Five Kingdoms that are prosperous and strong with the bulk of its menfolk living, yes I’d rather have that instead of war to keep a land of scorched rock and sand in the Realm, land that never truly belonged in Seven Kingdoms, even when they came into the fold.  
And as you well now, Selmys and other Marcher lords are no cowards. I fear not of war and dying, nor do other men from the Marches, but we know the Dornish a bit better than rest of Westeros.”  
Brienne nodded as one part of her felt that Arstan Selmy may be right.  
“You’re not so far from old Ser Barristan, Lady Commander.” Davos said next.  
She shook her head: “I am not nearly as good swordsman or a knight as he were.”  
“What I meant is that you, same as him, are an honest and noble guard to a king that…” Seaworth nodded not finishing his sentence:  
“I wish you good fortune in war to come, Ser Brienne.”  
“I wish that to all of us, my lords.” came her answer in somber tone.  


_I wish that to all of us… as we’re going to need all the fortune we may have, _  
were her thoughts as she watched the Stormlanders riding out of the Red Keep.


	54. ARYA

_Meereen, Essos, year 317 After Conquest_

**ARYA**

Ship’s log entry stated it was three and twentieth day of fourth moon of three-hundred-seventeenth year after Aegon’s conquest.

_Will I ever see Ib and Far Ib and Thousand Islands and Nefer, she asked herself, will there be a chance to sail around Essos, to find that strait, on the uncharted eastern shore of Essos. The land on the southern side of that strait mayhaps was not Essos… _her shoulders shrugged _…what is done is done. I’ve lost ten moons in the east, seven moons in the west and I am back in the east again… Meereen. I hoped not to see your brick walls and pyramids again._

Arya Stark’s thoughts were torn. She left the port of White Harbor with her two ships under Baratheon sails and banners three weeks before the kraken fleet came to take the city. _Nymeria_ and _Rhaelyanna_ then sailed to Braavos where two Northern highborn came aboard.  
Lord Larence of House Hornwood and Ser Marlon Manderly. Kinsman to Lord Wyman who commanded the White Harbor garrison.  
Both have shown her letter signed by the head of House Manderly asking of Arya to sail to Pentos with Larence and Marlon.

In Pentos another message came, ten days after the Ironborn were repelled at the mouth of White Knife river.  
Message saying that Ser Wylis perished fighting the Ironborn and that it is of paramount importance to bring young Hallis home. Arya could understand the lengths which old Wyman Manderly was going to reclaim his great-grandson. Wylis, his only living son and heir was killed leading the Manderly host against the krakens. He had sired only daughters of which Wyla had one son with lord of Hornwood castle. Wylis’ other daughter, Wynafryd had two daughters aged seven and five. House Manderly needed an heir soon, for old Wyman knew his strength was fading away. That heir was his only male great-grandchild, Hallis Hornwood.  
Whom by strange string of events was in Meereen, sheltered by renewed House Targaryen. 

Only that notion could bring slight smile on Arya’s face. She will see her brother and her nieces again. And babe Cregan.  
She was certain a son will be born to Jon and Daenerys, same as Dany herself was. _Seven hells, I don’t have anything as gift for the boy.  
I’ll buy him a colt from the Dothraki. Every young lord needs a horse. By the time he’s grown enough to ride, horse will be the proper mount for him._  
Arya had not planned to be back in these waters so soon. She did not want to be, but Wyman Manderly gave her shelter for many weeks and craftsmen to repair her ships, he treated her as Princess of the North and she felt an obligation to sail to this part of Essos and return with his only male heir. 

Her crew was still with her, on both ships. Save Warrick Manderly.  
He decided to stay. It was grave hour for his family and his city and he bid farewell to Arya and rest of the men aboard _Nymeria_ and _Rhaelyanna_.  
As message from Lord Wyman mentioned him not, Arya hoped that Warrick had survived the battle with the Ironborn.  
He was one of few men she has grown to like since she sailed to _see what is west of Westeros_, twelve years ago. 

“It dawned on me…” she said while playing cyvasse and drinking Arbor wine with Artos Costayne, Illeo Maegyr and Dalton Pyke on their voyage from Volantis to the Bay of Dragons “…that all four of us are running from our past, of sorts.”  
“How do you mean that, Arya?” Volantene healer asked.  
“You, my good lord Illeo, are of powerful house in the First Daughter, Maegyrs are among few of highest nobility in Volantis, many paths you could have taken and yet you’re here, tending wounds and illnesses of some truly queer men.” Illeo nodded smiling: “Indeed I am.”  
Arya continued: “Then we have Artos who left the Reach behind him, instead of cutting down Dornish bandits he is letting himself being slapped by the waves of every sea there is.” “I’ll drink to that!” Artos shouted.  
“Our Ironborn here, in times when sons of kraken are paying iron price for glory and Westerosi shores tremble before them, is aboard ship owned by a Stark.” Dalton was not amused: “My head on this ship remains on my shoulders. Unlike on any ship under kraken banner. You know that all too well.”  
Arya grinned: “Yes, I do. And last, me, Arya of House Stark. Instead being Princess of the Kingdom of the North, I am living as she-wolf of the sea. Now, tell me, have all four of us made a poor choice in life?”  
“Hells no!” said Artos while Illeo clapped his hands and said: “We’d all be miserable if we’d chosen life as was expected of us.  
Or dead as Dalton here.” “And we are not miserable as we are… ha-ha..." Arya laughed:  
“…for two years I am trying to take you to Nefer and beyond… and I am so good at it that we’re sailing back to bloody Meereen!  
After wasting moons in Westeros! Most of it on anchor! Aye, we’ve been so fortunate… ha-ha!” 

All four of them laughed loudly as _Nymeria_ sailed through the waters of the Gulf of Grief, giving wide berth to the land far in sight.  
Lands of once Old Valyria. Where Doom still reigned, according to many.  
Then a thought flashed in her mind, thought of once blacksmith from Flea Bottom… _ it was not all waste, not with him. I’ll return to you, Gendry Baratheon. Wolf is not beast of the sea after all. And I am growing weary of the waves. Slowly but surely. I’ll be your lady in the end. But not the one doing embroidery._

Port of Meereen was same as she remembered it. Hundreds of men and tens of ships, coming from the Free Cities, form Qarth,  
from Leng and Yi Ti, from Faros and from Summer Isles. Save her two ships, there was none from Westeros.  
This far east, that was not so odd, but she noted the same in Braavos, in Pentos and in Volantis.  
No sails displaying sigils of the noble houses of Westeros were present in any of these ports.  
Already in Braavos she has heard of Essos cutting the trade with Sunset Kingdoms and choose not to trust that tale wholly, but after calling in thus many harbors of eastern continent it has proven to be truthful. Westeros was shunned by Essosi traders. Save southernmost part.  
One that did not possess a large fleet of their own. Dorne. Ships were going there from Pentos and from Volantis alike. In Pentos Arya has learned that for over six moons Dorne claims to be a country of their own with no ties or allegiances to King’s Landing.  
A Princedom ruled by Arianne Martell. 

_Still, is that cause enough for all Free City traders to end their shipments westwards? _she wondered.  


There was something in the port she did not saw last time _Nymeria_ had laid anchor.  
Her gaze fell upon a triangular fortress which overlooked the port. It was vacant when Arya saw it last.  
Now, its walls were teeming with men at arms, the City Guard.  
Trebuchets and scorpions mounted on the sea facing point of the fortress had not escaped her.  
Nor did the twenty feet high pole upon which a large banner fluttered.  
Black and red, displaying a reptilian beast with three heads. _So, that too is true, dragons again rule this city and this Bay…_  


Arya pondered standing at the forecastle of _Nymeria,_ her eyes wandering around. A group of guardsmen passed down the quay, all in brown leather jerkins and dun cloaks, swords and battle axes hanging from their belts, some had spears, others crossbows.  
_This is second patrol coming this way in less than an hour, _were her thoughts, _City Guard keeps tight grip on the port._

Arya came down from the forecastle and paced along the deck to stern of the carrack, aimed towards her cabin.  
Horse neighing draw her attention and she looked at the quay once more.  
A rider, dressed as City Guard, dismounted from a brown coated horse. He was a boy not more than five and ten namedays.  
“I have a message for Arya of House Stark.” he said in heavy accentuated Common Tongue.  
“What is the message?” she asked leaning overboard.  
“She is invited to the Great Pyramid by His and Her Radiance, King and Queen of Bay of Dragons.”  
Dark-haired woman smiled: “Well, we must not let Their Radiances to wait.” “What will I take as an answer?” boy asked.  
“Nothing, but you will sell me your horse for one silver coin. A more than fair bargain.”  
“Why do you need a horse?” “To ride to the Great Pyramid. One does not walk when king and queen summon.” she replied with laughter. 

She donned her grey-white attire, Stark colors, linen trousers and tunic over white shirt, Rhoynar sword was as always at her side.  
It took her a whole hour on a horseback from port to the Great Pyramid.  
Streets were crowded with people; it was one of the holy days for the Ghiscari and hundreds were flowing towards the Temple of Graces.  
And three-quarter of an hour to climb to the uppermost floor of the pyramid, escorted by four guardsmen.  
After twentieth level she whispered curses on every floor that followed.  
She did not go to the floor where throne room and audience chamber were, but went up to the apex.  
When she stepped out on the terrace, a view of whole Meereen opened to her.  
Guardsmen took stand at the entrance of the terrace.  
_Sewer is still there, _ she mused seeing the flow of the Skahazadhan river. Orchards were in full bloom and fields were covered in flowers of all colors there are. _Seven hells, here they pay no heed to autumn…_  
Water splashed in the terrace pool as fish leaped out of the water and fell back below surface. 

Voice was coming from the far side of the terrace.  
“City of Gogossos…” Arya recognised the tall, brown skinned man. She saw him once before, in Port Yhos.  
Mallaro Deeth, Qartheen servant of Daenerys. He stood with his back turned to a map of the Summer Sea.  
Her two nieces were sitting at stone bench and taking notes. “…the Old Ghiscari Empire founded this city and then it was named Gorgai, they held sway over the city for three centuries, some chronicles claim even four, then it was conquered by the Valyrian Freehold and renamed as Gogossos. Freehold made city to be the place where worst criminals were sent to serve their penalties.”  
Mallaro made a pause for two girls to make notes, then continued: “No matter to whom this city belonged, it was a foul, evil place chronicles say. Some writings go as far to claim that blood magic was used to breed offspring of men and beasts.  
But gods do not suffer such evil for long and terrible plague came down on that place and the rest of Basilisk Isles.  
It emerged from the slave pens of Gogossos. The Red Death claimed life of nine men out of every ten that lived there.  
For a century thereafter, the Basilisks were shunned. Now, Princess Rhaella, which are settlements on the Isles where people thrive in our time?”  
“Gogossos, Barter Beach, Black Pudding, Port Plunder and Sty.” silver-haired girl replied.  
“And… the last one is?” Mallaro asked.  
“Whore's Gash!” Lyanna exclaimed with chuckle.  
“Indeed, Princess Lyanna, that is how the place is called. Now, can you show it on the map?” 

“She can’t. Nor can I nor can you.” Arya said as she stepped forward “Those settlements are mere pirate lairs. When one became destroyed or abandoned, another was founded under same name, only to be destroyed or abandoned in turn. There’s been at least dozen Port Plunders  
on as many of the Basilisk Isles. Same stands for Whore’s Gash as well.”  
Mallaro bowed to her and nodded confirming. 

Her nieces turned towards her: “Arya!” “It’s Arya!” 

Twins rushed to her. She embraced them kissing their cheeks:  
“Let me look at you… I’ve said farewell to little girls and now I find almost maidens…”  
“Have I changed that much, Arya?” Lyanna asked.  
“You’re wolf child no more, but a wolf maiden of great beauty.”  
“Have I changed too?” girl with silver braids asked.  
“You, my sweet Rhaella, are growing into true Valyrian goddess.”  
She smiled at the girls: “I am so happy to see my nieces again. And I greatly wish to see my first nephew. It is nephew, right?”  
“Yes, Arya, we have a brother. Cregan is in nursery. With Daenysanne.” Lyanna said.  
“Who is… Daenysanne?” “Your third niece. Cregan’s twin sister.” Rhaella answered.  
Arya chuckled but tears came down her cheeks: “Your father and mother jape not when having babes…”  
“We’ll take you to them.” Lya said.  
“I will go to see your little brother and sister later. Firstly, I must see your father. And you two have a lecture to listen to the end…”  
Arya nodded to Mallaro “…and you have a very good teacher. Lord Mallaro does not omit the nastiness of this world.”  
“I thank you for this praise, my lady, but I am no lord. Merely a servant.”  
“Servant can be dignified as lord. And some lords are no better than pirates. It is the way of men.”  
“Lady Stark is wise.” Mallaro bowed to her again.  
“Arya, I wish to speak with you of something…” Lyanna said with seriousness “…something that you will understand.”  
“We shall speak, Lya, as much as you wish. Be sure of that.” 

She went one floor down, to the audience chamber, passing next to over a score of petitioners waiting to be received, some in noblemen tokars, some in plain garments worn in poorer parts of the city. Guards have taken her to the door of the council room, their officer said:  
“Dārys kessa jiōragon ao iemnȳ” (_King shall receive you inside._)  
“Kirimvose syt jakegon nyke.” she said (_Thank you for accompanying me._)  
Arya knocked on the door.  
“Enter.” she heard from inside.  
“Your Grace…” she made a curtsy as she stepped in the room. It was more a jest than proper curtsy which she never properly learned how to do.  
_His Grace_ walked to her and she was in his firm embrace: “Seven hells, Arya, why haven’t you sent a word that you’ll be bringing Hornwood and Mandely to Meereen.” “You know me, brother, I like to lurk about.”  
Both of them laughed.

“King of Bay of Dragons… how that came to be?” she asked Jon looking at his Targaryen clothes, black trousers, dark-red shirt and black surcoat with small sigil of dragonlord house embroidered on the left side of the chest.  
“I was offered the throne. And I took the offer.”  
“Good. I am glad you did. You were born to be a king; Jon. East has returned what west has stolen from you.”  
“I never wanted to be a king of anything in Westeros.” he said.  
“Yes, you were a damn fool...” Arya replied “...Westeros is destroying itself again, Jon. North is starving.  
I’ve seen hungry people in both White Harbor and Winterfell.”  
“You’ve been to Winterfell?” his eyes narrowed.  
“I was. I am not returning there ever again. It was my home once, our home, Jon. Not anymore.”  
“And… Sansa?”  
Arya shrugged: “We have met. After eleven years. Said what was on our minds and parted ways.”  
He needed not to hear more: “You’ve told her of me and Daenerys… and children?”  
“I have. She misliked it all, you being with her again…”  
“What did she say of my children? They are her nieces and nephew same as yours.”  
“I shall not repeat what she said, Jon, but if she weren’t Queen in the North, I’d punch her in the face very moment she said it.” “I see.”  
“She’s lost her way, Jon. She was a good ruler for years and that made her believe she can’t do anything wrong.  
This war she leads against the Free Folk has ruined North. And she has no will to end it.”  
“You’ve been at White Harbor?” “Aye, since I’ve left Tarth and Storm’s End.”  
“Now I need not to ask of Baratheon sails on your ships.”  
“Gendry provided it. Sails gave some protection from the Ironborn in the Narrow Sea.” Arya explained.  
“You’ve met with lord Baratheon then…” “I have, yes.”  
“And?” Jon smirked. “I plan to see him again, if that is what you ask. But I don’t want to be burden to him.  
As there is a warrant in Six Kingdoms for my arrest.”  
Jon frowned: “What? Why?”  
“King Bran and his Hand, Tyrion Lannister accuse me of treason as I have sided with House Targaryen against the interests of the Realm.”  
she replied in calm tone. Jon sighed: “I am sorry, Arya, I am sorry it has come to this.”  
“I am not. I’d do it again if I had to. You and your children are Targaryens, but you’re also blood of the Starks.  
My family. The only one I have now.”  
“This is your home, Arya, if you want to stay with us.”  
She shook her head: “No, Jon, I still have some voyages to take. And when they’re over… I think I’ll go to Storm’s End.”  
“To lord Gendry Baratheon...” Jon had smirk on his face again.  
“And lord Orys and lady Argella Baratheon, his son and daughter by his late wife. Children have grown to like me.”  
Jon smiled: “Arya Stark, children seem to take liking of you on both sides of the world.”  
“And yet, here I am waiting for you to introduce me to Prince Cregan and Princess Daenysanne.” she said, aping disappointment.  
“Come then, we go to the nursery now. Your niece and nephew will be happy to meet you.” 

Arya soon found herself sitting on the thick carpet on the nursery floor, her linen boots tossed aside and Rhoynar blade hanging on the wall outside the chamber, she held two babes in her arms. Jon was leaned on the wall smiling at the sight of his younger sister playing with his twins.  
“Cregan is your true image Jon, with his mother’s eyes.” she said placing soft kisses on boy’s head, covered with velvet dark curls of Stark family…“And you, Daenysanne, I’ll call you Silver Wolf… you have Targaryen hair and Stark eyes.”  
Girl giggled as her aunt gently rubbed nose on her face. 

Babe’s father gave Arya an approving look. “What, Jon?” “It befits you.” “What does?”  
“Babes. You should have your own. I would like to have nephews or nieces too.”  
“Now you sound like father.” she frowned.  
“You’ll have your thirtieth nameday in two moons…” “Am I that old? I sure don’t feel so.”  
“Arya, you deserve to have a family of your own. I would not have mine, not without you.”  
She sighed: “Well, truth be told, Kinvara talked me into that madness of riding on a dragon across half of the world with Rhae and Lya,  
but all the rest was your doing. You’ve found way for Daenerys to forgive you and to be with you again…” 

He nodded absently, enough for her to ask, between cooing her raven-haired nephew:  
“I see it’s not easy being a husband of the dragon queen…”  
“Aye. We quarrel a lot. Mostly on matters of ruling, matters concerning Westeros.”  
“She is still resentful of once Seven Kingdoms while you think of people suffering there...”  
Arya said as she flew the small toy dragon over Daenysanne’s head with her niece making loud happy noises “...am I right?”  
“It is not that plain…” Jon was about to speak more when his wife has entered the nursery.

Daenerys was as Arya had saw her last, wilful and determined.  
Her attire, a black dress with red embroidery on the chest and on the long sleeves, with thin silver chain around her waist with clasp in shape of three dragon heads was one of Targaryen queen. Beneath dress there were dark silk trousers and linen boots of same coating.  
“What is not plain, my king? To tell me how your lady sister has come to visit? That should be plain enough and yet I had to learn of that from the guards.” she said as he passed by Jon to sit next to Arya on the carpet.  
“Welcome back to Meereen, Arya Stark of Winterfell.” silver-haired woman said and then gave Arya a kiss on the cheek and a hug.  
_Seven hells, does my good-sister, the dragon queen, like me this much… _  
“I am glad to be here, with your new twins. Cregan and Daenysanne are beautiful babes.”  
she said letting little prince to crawl on her shoulder while holding him tightly.  
Daenerys took babe princess in her arms: “Thank you, Arya… yes, they are.”  
“My little nephew is already strong.” Arya laughed as boy began to pull her hair. 

“He is. Soon we’ll take him to ride a horse and a dragon.” Jon added.  
“A babe boy? On a dragon?” his wife frowned. “It was done before in Targaryen history.” he said.  
“Many things were done in Targaryen history, Jon, that means not we are to repeat every folly our ancestors did.” 

_Dragon temper…_ Arya thought to herself… _when these two quarrels I wager the walls of their bedchamber begin to crack. _  
“Well, I am not to question the choice of mounts for my new niece and nephew, but I will gift each of them with a horse, a colt, for them to grow together.” Arya said. Dany looked at her with warm gaze of approval: “You’ll do my babes a great honor, Arya, I thank you with all my heart.”  
“It’s the least I can do. Gods know when I’ll see Cregan and Daenysanne again. I have come back to Meereen only for a short while.”  
Queen nodded: “You’ve brought lord Hornwood to take his son home.” “I have.”  
“We’ve learned of Wylis Manderly dying in the battle with the Ironborn. Hallis is now heir of two houses, right?” Jon asked.

“Aye… he is.” Arya confirmed “Heir to Hornwood castle and to Merman’s Court. And as once Bolton lands were passed to House Hornwood  
and with the liege lords of both houses, your young guest will have sway over nearly a third of entire North.  
Those lands are as large as the Vale or Westerlands or Crownlands. With White Harbor as heirloom by his lady mother.  
He’ll be the most powerful lord north of the Neck.”  
Daenerys exchanged looks with Jon, then said: “I am happy for him. How fickle destiny can be… He was to be sold into slavery in Qarth, to serve in a brothel. Now he shall return home and in years to come have rule over vast lands and even more important, over single true city and port in the North.”  
“We intend to invite Larence Hornwood and Ser Marlon Manderly to sup with us tomorrow evening.” came from her brother.  
“Oh, am I excused then?” Arya japed swaying left and right to amuse Cregan who was still firmly on her shoulder.  
“You most certainly are not...” Jon replied “...as family you need not invitations to eat with us.”  
“All right. May I ask only one small courtesy?”  
“And that would be?” Daenerys asked. “No Ghiscari dog dishes on the table.”  
All three burst into laugh which made two Targaryen twins giggle even more.

“Don’t let this horsefucking sons of a whore rob you, Arya.” Lanard Risley told her in low voice.  
Lanard was cousin, thrice removed, of lord of Risley Glade in the Reach. This family was known of horse breeding and Lanard before  
taking life of the seafarer was knee deep in horse dung, as he himself claimed. 

Arya took him to the livestock market in the eastern part of the city, close to the once pyramid of Zhak, now Harpy's Gold Barracks of City Guard. This market was crowded with animals to be sold and bought and resold, sheep and goats from Lhazar, odd looking oxen with long horns and humped back from lands east of Qarth, a couple of dwarf elephants brought by sea from Volantis.  
Arya saw a caged white lion, hrakkar, great cat of the Dothraki grass sea.  
In smaller cages monkeys of striped tails and pink hands were showing teeth to people passing by.  
“What in seven hells is this?!” Lanard shouted upon setting eyes on four animals tied each to a short wooden pole:  
“Some fucker painted horse in black and white stripes!”  
She laughed: “That’s a zorse, Lanard. From the plains of the Jogos Nhai.” “So, it’s a horse after all.”  
“It’s a cousin of horse, if you will. These animals can live where no ordinary horse can. Those plains are too dry and have no grass enough for horse to thrive there. But zorses can. Jogos Nhai ride them same as you ride courser.”  
“You mean they go in the battle on them?” he sneered.  
“What little I’ve learned of history of Jogos Nhai, even Dothraki would tread carefully with zorse riders.  
Yi Ti and them warred for centuries with dead counting in hundreds of thousands.”  
“Ah, only a cocksucker would ride on a striped horse.” he replied unimpressed and then pointed with his hand:  
“Look, there’s the lot you’ve been looking for.” “Aye, that’s them.” she agreed.  
Three Dothraki, one man whose beard and braids had streaks of grey hair and two younger boys were standing next to small round pen with two dozen horses tied to the railings, some grazing hay thrown on the ground. 

“Anha zala tat jerat akat yalli hrazef.” Arya struggled speaking in Dothraki which she tried to learn from her nieces last time she was in Meereen.  
(_I want to buy two young horses, two colts. _)  
Younger Dothraki, measuring her from head to toe, lazily gestured to the left: “Kisha zhorre disse ato, jin kazga lame.”  
(_We have only one, that black filly there. _)  
“Piss off!” Lanard hissed when Arya translated what boy said “I’d rather ride a donkey than that crowbait.  
We’re looking for horses, you little shite, not the creatures you fuck when your mother is not near.”  
“Are you calling this young man a goatfucker, Lanard?” Arya asked, keeping serious face.  
“You bet I do.” Risley said.  
She spoke to the young Dothraki again: “Anha zala ha jin hrazef davra ha khalakka” (_I want horses worthy of a prince._)  
Young man smirked at her: “Yer hash vo khalakka, vo jin ato rek suhstat she hatif.”  
(_You’re not a princess, nor is this one that farts on the mouth._)

Lanard looked at Arya: “He is insulting us now, is he? In his monkey speech.”  
“Be quiet, Lanard, some of them know Common Tongue.” Arya said before turning to the young horse seller again.  
She spoke slowly, trying to pronounce each word properly:  
“Ajjin, chare tat anna imesh mahrazh, anha zala tat jerat jin azho ha jin rizh akka ohara ki yeri Khalessi, Daenerys Vazyol.”  
(_Now, listen to me young man, I want to buy a gift for the son and daughter of your queen, Daenerys Stormborn._)  
“Yer qosarvenikh.” (_You lie._) boy said, shaking his head.  
Arya placed her hand on the hilt of Rhoynar sword and draw it out for a few inches:  
“Anha tikh vo dogat melase. Anna hake ajjin Arya Stark ki Winterfell.”  
(_I will not suffer insults. I am Arya Stark of Wintefell._)  
“Elat, rakh, akka get jin naqis hrazef arrekoon kishi okre.” older Dohtraki approached suddenly  
(_Move, boy, and get the colts from behind our tent._)

He looked at Arya for a heartbeat: “Anna hake ajjin Vorro rizh ki Zhowo. Anha fought across jin ize eveth, finne Winterfell.”  
(_My name is Vorro, son of Zhowo. I fought across the poison water, at Winterfell._)  
Arya nodded: “Anha tiholat ki dothralat ki khalasar vi jin driv. Ma vorsa arakh.”  
(_I remember the charge of Khalasar against the army of the dead. With flaming arakhs._)  
Man nodded then asked: “Fin yer hash Arya Stark, yer zhorre athdrivar jin zhokwa jesh mel.”  
(_If you’re Arya Stark, you have killed the great ice demon._)  
“Anha tat... I did.” she confirmed.  
"Ma sen tir ki at zhani.” (_With three axe blows._) Vorro said.  
“Vo. Ma ato tir ki Valyria az.” Arya replied (_No. With one blow of Valyrian dagger._)  
“Sek. Haji tawak.” (_Yes, that is truth._)  
Vorro was content: “Yer zhorre jin davra hrazef anha zhorre. Ha sen azhadi fir.”  
(_You shall have the best two colts I have to offer. For three gold coins._)

When boy brought two colts, Lanard smiled approvingly:  
“Now, that is what I call a horse. Two bay silvers, Arya. They will remain so even as they grow, body will stay of reddish hair but mane and tail will be silver, same as they’re now.” _Silver maned horses for Targaryen prince and princess, a proper gift…_  
“Is the price fair?” she asked him.  
“It is. They’re animals worthy of princes. Shake hands or what they do to seal the trade and let us go.  
We’re down wind and one of those small elephants has dropped dung again.”

Later that day, Arya was slowly pacing along the quay, waiting for two Northern nobles to take them to the Great Pyramid for a supper with king and queen. For that purpose, she donned white tunic that had no sleeves. Across the chest a silver wolf’s head was stitched on.  
Underneath tunic she wore grey silk dress. She never liked wearing dresses but in occasion as this one, Arya had to yield.

Ser Marlon Manderly, man well over six feet in height though stout as many of his kinsmen came ashore first, wearing his garish green colored surcoat and dark breeches and leather boots. Surcoat had embroidery in shape of flowing seaweed.  
Arya did not know is age, but as his eyes his bear was grey. He seemed stern at first glance, but she learned he is no stranger to a good jape. 

Larence Hornwood, head of his house and man of her age, disembarked from _Rhaelyanna_ after a quarter of an hour.  
Arya liked him, he had that Northern honesty within him, same as her late father, trait that was nowadays mostly lost among the highborn of the North. Larence was born as bastard and was never supposed to inherit anything, but gods or destiny or plain course of life events made sure for that to change. He answered the call of House Stark, still being Larence Snow, and fought side by side with Jon to retake Winterfell from the Boltons. Sansa rewarding his loyalty legitimised him soon as she took the Northern crown so he for last twelve years was Hornwood.  
Wyla Manderly choose him as husband while still he was Snow, her grandfather approved of it to strengthen the bond between two houses  
and Wyla was soon with child which was born two moons after his father got the right to bear name Hornwood.  
That child, named Hallis, was now over twelve years old and for many moons guest of Targaryens of Meereen. 

Larence, dressed in dark-brown breeches and shirt of same coating under sleeveless knee-cut dark orange gambeson displaying black bull moose head across the chest, walked to Arya and Marlon:  
“Princess, Ser Marlon… I guess we’re ready to go.”  
“My lord, you don’t have to call me princess…” she said but he countered: “Have you been stripped of your titles and right to inherit?”  
“No, but I have publicly renounced my place in possible succession line.”  
“That does not unmake you as our princess… Princess.” Marlon said.  
“If you consider it proper to call me princess, I shall not oppose it.” Arya gave in to their reasoning, then she noted: “Our escort is coming.”  
A dozen of mounted guardsmen, leading three unmounted horses, rode on the quay.  
Shortly after, three Northerners were riding towards the highest pyramid in Meereen. 

Arya, Larence and Marlon dismounted before the entrance on the ground level of the Great Pyramid.  
Their escort took the horses and rode into the stables.  
She saw two men approaching, recognising Tumco Lho with a Westerosi by his side.  
Both were dressed in what seemed as City Guard uniform, but their boots and breeches were black, knee-cut tunic was dark red while jerkin over it was of black coated leather with engraved Targaryen dragon on the left chest. Vambraces were also of black leather, as were the gloves.  
Belts and scabbards around their waists were coated red, swords had black pommels.  
_If this was Westeros, I’d say these two were Kingsguard, but as we’re in Meereen they’re not, but serve the same purpose_, crossed Arya’s mind. 

Dark skinned young man was first to address them in Common Tongue which he now spoke better than last time Arya saw him:  
“My lords, my lady, I am lieutenant Tumco Lho of the Freeflames. I and serjeant Willem Brownbarrow are to escort you to the audience chamber where you shall meet with King and Queen.” Arya nodded: “Lead the way, lieutenant.” 

As they made up the broad inner stairway of the pyramid, Marlon asked the Westerosi serjeant:  
“Brownbarrow is the name, if I heard right? I knew some Brownbarrows in my youth, back in the days of the Mad King, they were from the Reach.” “That is true, Ser.” Willem said.  
“These Brownbarrows were men at arms of Ivy Hall, still it was almost two score years ago and mayhaps I remember it wrong now.”  
“You do not, Ser. My father was in service of House Kidwell till the Usurper’s War.”  
Marlon rose his eyebrows: “He fought for the dragons, then, as that is how Robert’s Rebellion is called among Targaryen loyalists.”  
“He did. After battle of the Trident he went across the sea.” Willem nodded.  
“Then he and I have faced each other on the battlefield. Is he still living?” Manderly knight asked and received a reply:  
“He is, lives a good life as a petty merchant in Disputed Lands.”  
“That is good.” Marlon concluded.  
_If I were Essosi, after this talk, I’d say that Sunset Kingdoms men are strange ilk and that wouldn’t be wholly undeserved,_ Arya thought amused. 

They walked in the audience chamber, which for the occasion of this supper was furnished with dining table and dozen stools made of same carved and gilded wood. There the royal couple of Meereen already was awaiting them with their twin daughters and young Westerosi boy.  
Present were also some of the royal advisers and city councilors.  
Jon was dressed in black trousers and linen tunic of grey color with black and red borders on the collar and sleeves, Daenerys matched it with white and silver dress and black-red sash around her waist. Her silver hair was not braided, but styled in two tresses falling over her shoulders.  
Next to them sat Rhaella and Lyanna, both trying not to smile seeing their aunt, dark-haired twin wore dress much alike her mother’s.  
Stark pendant was as ever around Lya’s neck while Rhaella donned black dress with red borders on the collar and sleeves, around girl’s waist was grey sash, on her left chest a pin in shape of white direwolf’s head. Both daughters had hair fashioned as Daenerys.

Arya was pleased to see thus much trace of Stark colors on the clothes of royal family of Meereen.  
Young Hallis, seated next to her nieces, wore black trousers and shirt over which he donned a short-sleeved tunic of dark-orange coating.  
Hornwood colors were present already at the table. Arya saw the boy only once before, the very day her ships arrived to Meereen.  
He came to meet his father and she knew both cried joyful tears beneath the deck of _Rhaelyanna. _

Azzak zo Ghazeen, Queen’s aide had a duty to announce the guests:  
“Your Radiances, I present you Arya of House Stark, Princess of the Kingdom of the North in Westeros,  
Lord Larence of House Hornwood and Ser Marlon of House Manderly.”  
Three guests from Westeros made a bow before the royal couple with Jon and Daenerys nodding in return. 

Azzak then addressed to Arya and two Northern lords: “You stand in presence of King of the Bay of Dragons, Jon of House Targaryen and House Stark, Queen of the Bay of Dragons, Daenerys of House Targaryen and their royal daughters, Princess Lyanna of House Targaryen and Princess Rhaella of House Targaryen.” She bowed again to honor the ceremony: “Your Graces, Princess Lyanna, Princess Rhaella…”  
Jon and Dany nodded again while Lyanna broke silence: “Princess Arya, my royal aunt…” which almost made Arya to chuckle loudly. 

Ser Marlon never saw her twin nieces before and his gaze went from Rhae to Lya and back, his face got a strange glow which did not escape Arya but she could tell Daenerys had noted it as well.  
Jon rose from the table and went to the lord of Hornwood castle with content look on his face:  
“Lord Larence, you’re most welcome to the court of Meereen.”  
They shook hands and Hornwood replied: “Your Grace, House Hornwood owes you a great debt, one that can never be paid.  
My son and heir was returned to me for your family has kept him safe.”  
Jon replied placing hand on Larence’s shoulder: “My lord, when House Stark was in hour of great need, only House Mormont and House Hornwood answered the call. I could not save the Mormonts of vanishing from this world, but I hope that line of House Hornwood will last for many centuries to come. As Stark blood now lives in Meereen same as in Winterfell, I speak for my whole family when I say that you owe us nothing save preserving the friendship and allegiance, one that we shared for thousand years.”  
Larence nodded and said loudly: “House Hornwood pledges friendship to House Targaryen of Meereen, from this day till there is no Hornwoods left in this world.”  
Jon then went to the man of House Manderly: “Ser Marlon, I am honored to greet a knight of Merman’s Court here in Meereen. Welcome to the Great Pyramid.”  
Marlon made a slight bow: “My king, as envoy of my lord cousin Wyman of House Manderly allow me to convey the gratitude of our house for the home you have provided to the heir of the White Harbor.” Then he spoke more softly: “I have a letter for Your Grace, written by lord Wyman.”  
Jon nodded and replied in near whisper: “I shall read it and write a response, Ser.” Then he smiled: “I am not your king, though.”  
Marlon said: “You are to me. The true King in the North, the White Wolf.”  
“North has a queen now.”  
“Aye, Your Grace, but allow the old knight to think that you or Princess Arya standing next to me would save our North from fool’s war that we wage now.” Jon made a nod: “Aye, a fool’s war indeed.”  
Then he went to embrace Arya.  
“Princess of Winterfell…” he said smiling.  
“King of Meereen...” she replied. 

As they sat at the table, Arya was placed right across Daenerys and she could tell that silver-haired queen is wary of two Northerners as her gaze went from one to another. Though they have learned of her being alive already, seeing her with their own eyes was a lot to bear.  
Ser Marlon, Arya noted, looked at her nieces few times already.  
It caused twin’s mother to act: “Ser… Marlon, am I right?” she said in calm voice. “Aye, Your Grace.”  
“Do you find something odd on my two daughters to be glancing at them ever since you have come here?” 

Arya frowned and she saw Jon doing the same, while Rhae and Lya looked at the elderly knight.  
Larence and his son also gazed from queen to Marlon who replied calmly: “Forgive me, Your Grace, I was not my intent to offend you or your daughters. I was taken by the likeness that princesses have of their grandsire and grandmother, His Grace’s parents.”  
Daenerys lifted eyebrows: “Have you known my brother Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark?”  
“I have squired for my cousin Wylis during tourney at Harrenhal, I was not much older than young lord Hallis is now and there I saw your late brother of which princess Rhaella bears true likeness. Though it must be likeness of your royal mother, queen Rhaella which I have never seen...”  
Marlon explained “...I’ve have seen lady Lyanna Stark more oft during my youth and princess Lyanna, her namesake, is as she were reborn.”  
Daenerys now made a slight nod: “I shall treat this as a praise to my daughters then, Ser Marlon.”  
“I surely will.” Jon added pleased with what he has heard. 

Twins were smiling at the knight in green surcoat and he nodded back. 

Courses were served, the soup was made with eggs and lemons, the long green peppers stuffed with cheese and onions.  
Then came quails in honey, a saddle of lamb, goose livers drowned in wine, buttered parsnips, and suckling pig.  
For the sweet, a skull of spun sugar was served. When the crust was broken, they found sweet custard inside and bits of plum and cherry.

Jon and Larence recalled the Battle of the Bastards, between meals, and Arya heard some bits that she did not knew before.  
When lord Hornwood spoke of that night when army of the dead descended upon Winterfell, Daenerys joined the talk while Arya turned to listen what Ser Marlon was talking of with Nakhmaz who succeeded Jon as leader of City Guard, with taking not of the rank Jon held. When once slave presented himself to Marlon as Nakhmaz Pandi.  
Arya heard his family name for the first time. “My lord, I have to ask, be not offended, why haven’t you used your family name before?”  
“It is my mother’s family name, Princess Arya, many of us who once were slaves do not use family names as many can’t remember it.  
I have not taken father’s family name for it was he who sold me to slavery so he could repay his gambling debts.”  
Arya shook her head disgusted and then her eyes went to the silver-haired queen. 

_You’ve done many bad things in your day, Daenerys Targaryen, ending the abomination of Slaver’s Bay was surely not one of them. _

A soft giggle made her look across the table, to the right of Jon and Daenerys.  
Lyanna sat between Rhaella and Hallis, while her sister listened of her parents talking with lord Hornwood, raven-haired Targaryen girl had her own talk with young Northerner whose eyes were as glued to her. It made Arya smile, it was plain that her niece and young Hallis took liking of each other.  
_I am glad that girls were to meet Westerosi, a Northerner of that. One that is not much older than them, _her mind wandered and she did not hear Lyanna calling her: “Arya… Arya…”  
Only when Lya underneath the table touched Arya’s knee with top of her shoe did Stark woman looked her niece:  
“Yes, my princess?” she answered jesting. Girl frowned at being called by her title: “Will we talk later?” Arya nodded: “We will.”  
“On the terrace of the apex.” girl said. “Aye.”  
She then looked at her other niece, Rhaella. She was attentive to the words traded between Jon and Larence and her mother, her dark lilac eyes spoke of sharp mind and good heart while face was marked with seriousness beyond girl’s age.  
When their eyes met, Rhae smile contently to Arya, her face glowing. Both girls felt such happiness with her unexpected return to Meereen.  
Arya was still surprised how much they’ve grown since she saw them last.  
Not only in appearance, but in the way they comported.  
They were not true maidens yet, still they were little girls no more.  
“I wish to speak with you, as well.” Girl nodded: “I wish that greatly, too.”  
“In the morrow then, princess Rhaella.” she said formally.  
“Kessa, dārilaros Āria.” her niece answered in same manner. 

“I dreamt of Nymeria once as you now dream of Ghost...” she said to her niece as they have walked through the terrace garden on the uppermost floor of the pyramid “...seeing with her eyes, smelling, tasting, killing… wolf dream, Lya, you have wolf dreams.  
Same as me… your father had them too. And Bran, he had such dreams more than any of us…”  
“The raven king?”  
“When he still was Bran Stark, he had a direwolf named Summer. His wolf died beyond the Wall.”  
“Ghost was never mine, how can I be having wolf dreams of being him.” girl wondered.  
“I don’t know, Lya, mayhaps you have traces of the gift, coming from your Stark blood.” “Gift?”  
“Bran had that gift, it was very strong in him, some men among wildlings have it too. Gift of being able to overtake the mind of an animal and steer its actions. A skinchanger is that called. Those which go into wolf or dog are known as wargs.”  
“I’ve read of those in the chronicles of the Seven Kingdoms.” Lyanna added “They were hated south of the Wall, but Free Folk respected them…”  
“Yes, that is true.”  
“Does Papa have that gift too?”  
“He had wolf dreams when younger. Stronger than mine. Stronger than yours.”  
“Mother said that I could be having dragon dreams, as some Targaryens of the old, visions of things to come.”  
Arya placed her hand on niece’s shoulder: “Yes, some of dragon blood had such gift too… at least that is what chronicles of your mother’s family say.” Lyanna shook her head: “I don’t want that gift, nor wolf’s nor dragon’s… those dreams are colored with blood, Arya.  
I see only death in them. Men battling in lands that I do not know…and dying in hundreds. I am not a craven, but it troubles me.”  
Arya now hugged her: “You surely are not a craven, Lyanna, you’re wolf maiden.”  
Girl smiled: “I’ve dreamt of Winterfell too.”  
“Tell me of it.” Arya said after her eyes widened. 

"I had a dream of walking through an old castle, its high walls were of dark stone though it were nothing to a height of this pyramid. I never saw a place like that, there were watch towers built in the inner wall to another, thirty or more of them.  
I've passed through the main gate, across the drawbridge, there were diamond shaped panes of glass on buildings.  
There was no one to be seen, that whole place was quiet and grim, sky above me covered with dark clouds that moved nowhere.  
I could feel dread across the castle yard. Then I saw an entrance to a large hall, doors wide and made of oak and iron.  
Something made me to walk inside. There were rows of wooden tables. At the end of the hall there was a dais.  
Right above it, in the dark stone wall, an animal was carved. A wolf, Arya.  
But soon it was gone, covered by a pale, white sun. There was no warmth coming from it. Its light blurred all things that were touched by it.  
Dais vanished under that odd sun. As ray from it touched my skin, I felt pain and ran out from that hall.  
Next I was walking down by the stone steps, narrow, winding.  
It was a dark and cold place, but as I walked on, the torches hanged on the wall lit one by one.  
I saw a long line of black stone pillars, between them were tombs. Some were empty and unsealed and on one of those there was pelt.  
A strange pelt that was, of reddish fur that seemed as made of small scales. Then I have heard deep voice coming from the darkness.  
It made me shiver. _Wolf child_ it called me. At first I wanted to run from that dark place, but I walked further.  
I saw a statue of a shaggy man with large sword in his hands _… Wolf child…_ voice was now sad, as in great pain.  
Next was a statue of a young woman, she had right hand on the shoulder and left was extended with palm open upwards…  
There was a voice again, but this one was soft, woman's voice and I did not shiver, this voice calmed me. _Wolf child... child of east_…  
Arya, then I looked at the statue once more and I said: _Grandmama._ And I felt no more fear. For I knew what that place was.  
Then another voice cam from the darkness: _She does not have our name…_, then another, as it was thunder: _She has our blood… child of east… _  
_What do you want of me?_ I have shouted to the darkness. Darkness did not reply. Instead many voices spoke to me as one:  
_Wolf child…child of east… wolf child… child of east…wolf child…no…not our name…she is not one of us…_  
_No, I am not one of you! And I never will be!_ I have yelled at the darkness, I was so angry, Arya. And it silenced the voices.  
That one voice, voice of a woman, one of softness that brought me calm spoke again: _Wolf child… Stark of Winterfell…_  
And I repeated loudly: _Stark of Winterfell… _ Then I woke up, in my bed. Here in Meereen."

When heard Lya's dream, Arya made a frown: “You must have read a lot about Winterfell for in your dream you’ve seen it as it truly is, from gate to the crypt, all is as you’ve dreamed.” “There’re no words on grandmama’s statue in those books and Papa never spoke of it to us, nor mama. And I’ve seen it in the dream. And heard a voice that was calming and warm.  
Can it be that grandmama Lyanna spoke to me in a dream? She called me a Stark of Winterfell. I am not.”  
“Surely you are, Lya. Same as me, same as your father. Same as Rhae. I can’t tell whose voice that was, but your dreams are not ordinary.  
Both of your bloodlines seem to have passed some powers to you. You’re still very young.  
As you grow, if those powers stay with you, you’ll learn how to command them”  
“I’ve missed you, Arya…” girl said upon hearing those words of comfort “...can’t you stay a bit longer with us?”  
“No, I have to sail back to Braavos with Hallis and his lord father. But, that will not be before next moon begins."  
"Why are they in such rush to go back, Arya?" "They can’t be away from the North too long, Lya, not while the war lasts.” “I know.”  
“He likes you, young lord Hornwood.” Arya made a slight grin. “We’ve become friends, yes.” Lyanna replied.  
“Not as a friend, he likes you the way boy likes a girl.”  
Dark-haired Targaryen frowned: “He does not, why do you say that?!”  
“Lya, when I was your age, there was a boy who looked at me the same way Hallis did look at you during supper. He is a man now and he still looks at me the same…” the face of Gendry Baratheon flashed in her mind “...you’re growing into true Northern beauty.  
Many young men will lose their minds and their hearts for you, sooner than you think. Hallis as it seems already did.”  
Girl shook her head: “I don’t think he did. If he wants to have a lady, even now as a boy, Rhae is for him then.  
Not me, I want to be as you are, as grandmama Lyanna was, a She-wolf. I shall be a She-dragonwolf.”  
Arya cupped girl’s cheeks: “My aunt, your grandmother died only few years older than you are now. And me…  
I wander from one side of the world to another, not belonging to either. Do not be so, Lyanna, I beg you.  
Choose your own life path, don’t walk the same path I did. It could bring you only sadness.” 

It was three hours before noon the following day and she was on the Archery Range, on the islet near the mouth of Skahazadhan.  
She broke fast there with her niece, one that had Valyrian features. Rhaella always made Arya to act more tender.  
She was whole Targaryen on the outside, but calm and silent temper this girl inherited from Arya’s father, her great-uncle Eddard.  
After they’ve eaten the meal of porridge, honey, milk and boiled eggs, they went on the side of the range Rhaella always chose to practice with her bows. Half a dozen Freeflames guards were around them, out of their sight, but keeping close watch.  
Arya complimented her niece after seeing her shooting arrows:  
“You have learned to use the longbow as well, Rhae. You’re near as good with it as you are with Dothraki bow.”  
“I practiced a lot. It’s different weapon than the bow I use from a horse.”  
“Aye, it is. And it is made of goldenheart wood, best wood for bows in the whole Known World.”  
“Papa gifted it to me for my eleventh nameday.”  
“He is very proud of you, your father.” Arya said as she was aiming a piece of plank hanging on the tree with the Dothraki bow.  
When the arrow was loose she spoke more: “As he should be, Rhae. All of the household in the Great Pyramid I have spoken with say of you nothing but praises.” “I want to be good in all I do. Isn’t that proper of me?” Rhaella asked.  
“It is, my sweet niece. You have a dutiful mind, when set on something you don’t let it go before you master it. That is very good trait for a princess.” “Princess…” girl chuckled “…it sounds so strange when you call me that. Papa and Muña being king and queen came so sudden to me.   
I don’t see myself as princess.” “But you are. As daughter of a royal couple you’re princess.”  
“You are princess too, Arya, that is how Lord Larence and Ser Marlon call you. Your sister is the queen of the North.” Rhaella reminded her.  
“Queen in the North. And she is your aunt.” 

Dark lilac eyes got the glint the very next moment: “You’re my only aunt, Arya. That queen in Winterfell is nothing to me.  
She started a war to get more land. Hallis almost ended as a bedslave in Qartheen brothel because of her.”  
“It were the Ironborn who sold him to slavery, Rhae, upon capturing him.”  
“Yes, but who bears the guilt of Ironborn coming to aid the Free Folk?” girl countered:  
“Sansa Stark does. My father brought together the Free Folk and the people of the North. She has ruined that alliance.”  
“Yes, that is true.” Arya nodded “Still, you need not to hate her.”  
“I don’t hate her; I do not care for the Northern queen. You’re the only aunt I’ll ever need.” her niece replied before releasing longbow.  
As Rhaella’s arrow struck the target, Arya said after chuckle: “You do have your father’s and your mother’s temper. Stubborn and relentless, both.” “I mislike injustice and treachery and lies. Same as Papa does, same as mother does. Same as you do, Arya. This war in the North is injustice to the Free Folk. And to the Northerners as well. For they starve, now.”  
“Aye, it is. And there is no end in sight of that injustice. You are angry because of that, I can see.”  
Rhaella nocked arrow and the hanged piece of plank was swinging again as it was struck from a longbow. Then she answered:  
“Papa had spoken to me many times of how the North has suffered. Instead of bringing them peace and safety, that queen in Winterfell brought them misery and death. Gods have punished her for breaking pacts of old.”  
Arya smiled at her, making Rhae to frown: “What? Have I said something foolish?”  
“No, sweet niece, you’ve said something my father would have.”  
“I am glad I did. Eddard Stark was a man true to his word.” Arya sighed: “He was. He died because of it. Before his time.”  
“No. He died for bastard king Joffrey ordered him dead.” Rhaella said, her voice filled with anger.  
“You’ve been reading a lot of history of Westeros, I see.”  
“I have. It interests me more than Essosi history. I’ve never been there, save that day on the Antler River, but I feel closer to Sunset Kingdoms than I do to here, where I’ve been living all my life. Isn’t that odd?” her niece said.  
“It is the land of your father and of your mother and of all those Targaryens and Starks who lived before you, Rhaella. It is not odd. It is natural.”  
“I wish I could go with you to Westeros, Arya. To see all the places I’ve been reading about.”  
She laughed and kissed her niece on the brow: “Oh, sweet niece, I wish that too. It would be some adventure. An exiled princess and a traitor princess sailing across the Narrow Sea.” “Who called you a traitor?”  
“Those who misliked me giving you the Catspaw and the Needle to Lyanna, let me say it this way.”  
“I hope you gave all who dared to insult you like that an end they deserve.”  
Glint was back in girl’s eyes and Arya noticed it.

_Is this wolf anger or dragon anger or both? Lyanna has temper of a she-wolf, but this sweet, silent girl has a fire of her own. Five years from now she’ll be a woman grown. Smart, learned, well-tempered, cunning. With beauty of Old Valyria that some scholars said to be nearly inhuman.  
All makings of a Targaryen queen. I pity her enemies already.  
Her true friends and allies, on the other hand, will get the know the sweetness of this girl’s heart same as I did. ___

_ _“Sometimes punishing those who have insulted you asks a long time of wait. Remember that, Rhae.”  
“I shall. I am so happy you’re back in Meereen, Arya.” girl said smiling to her.  
“I am too, _ñuha dōna_, I am too.”_ _

On the evening of that same day, Arya was with Jon in his chamber listening to her brother’s words:  
“Larence Hornwood and Marlon Mandelry gave me a letter written by his lord, Wyman of House Manderly. He is grateful for all that I have done for his great-grandson and he wishes to strengthen the bonds with House Targaryen of Meereen and with me, once King in the North, last male heir of both dragon and wolf family. Well, he did not know of my son when he wrote these lines. It appears that he has a marriage in his mind.”  
“Old walrus is pondering of taking a new bride? He is close to eighty years of life.”  
Arya laughed. “Not for himself. He writes of his great-grandson Hallis of House Hornwood marrying Lyanna.” her brother replied. 

Arya’s jaw dropped: “What?! Is old man japing? That boy is barely thirteen, Lya is twelve.”  
Jon smiled: “I too was surprised, but I assure you neither Wyman nor Larence are japing.  
Larence favors betrothals to be made right now, while boy is still here, in Meereen.”  
“Why such a haste, Lya and his son cannot be wed until they’re both grown, that’s four years from now or more, depending on what bride’s father decides, of course.” Arya said winking at him.  
“Of course.” he nodded “Still you have to say that old Wyman has good reasoning when he tries to have an heir to nearly one third of the North betrothed with a Targaryen princess who is also an heir of the Winterfell throne and a true Stark in looks.”  
She agreed: “When I was at Merman’s Court, he was very pleased to learn of Lyanna and Rhaella.”  
“Lord Wyman is no stranger to game of thrones, Arya...” Jon said “...with young Hallis betrothed to a granddaughter of Lyanna Stark,  
one whose claim to the Northern crown no man could deny, it would made Sansa very uneasy.”  
"You trust that Wyman could try to remove our sister and place your daughter on the Northern throne?” she asked.  
“It has crossed my mind, aye.”  
“Merely moons ago I would call such scheme a fool’s errand.” Arya said to him “Yet now, with all that North has lost in this war of Sansa’s making… should Lord Wyman muster enough support from other Northern houses…”  
“My daughter could become the Queen in the North, is that what you’re telling me?  
Through plotting and schemery she could wear the direwolf crown…”  
“Yes, Jon. She could. And no matter the love I have for Sansa, her reign has taken a wrong course, one of which I am not sure she can return from.” “That still does not mean that my daughter should take her place.” 

“There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.” Arya replied with even tone.  
“Don’t jape with that saying, Arya, no after all we’ve seen.” Jon hissed.  
“Surely you’ll politely decline Wyman’s proposal...” Arya said “...I can’t even think what your wife said of it.”  
Jon shrugged: “Oddly, she had not reacted as one would expect, she did not even tear the letter, just frowned a bit and smiled.”  
Arya was surprised now: “That is odd, indeed, Daenerys not having a proper dragon outburst at the notion of northern lord asking for  
a hand of her barely maiden daughter for his great-grandson.”  
Her brother reasoned: “Dany is a mother of three daughters. She wants them all to be wed to a proper man when time comes.  
Hallis as a proposed husband for Lyanna is not an affront to her.”  
_Nor is the thought of Sansa losing her crown,_ came to Arya’s mind but she chose not to utter it.  
“I shall write an answer to Lord Wyman. And speak once more to Larence Hornwood before they part for Westeros.  
I wish not to offend their houses with a straightway decline, it must be done wisely.” Jon said. 

Arya shrugged; times were not wise nor honorable. And she knew her brother held both wisdom and honor in high regard.  
Right values in wrong times. 


	55. OLD WARRIORS

_Brandon's Gift, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

**BRONN**

Three centuries, seventeen years, five moons and seven days have passed since Aegon Targaryen and his sister wives Visenya and Rhaenys have conquered Westeros.

On the far north side of the continent, ten leagues south of the Wall that once kept apart those who had kings and lords from those who had not, Bronn, once Ser of the Blackwater, stumbled between oak and pine trees, his head was bleeding and broken arrow stuck out from his right arm, he cursed along the way as it took great effort to keep sword in it. It took great effort to remain upright.

He could not see, not properly, as blood kept coming from the gash of his forehead down his face and into his eyes, no matter how he wiped it off. Someone slammed his head into a tree, or he fell... he was not sure, only he could remember is suddenly losing his balance and hitting his head into something hard and unyielding, something that made world around him to go black, albeit for a short while, yet enough for him to now stagger around, his feet nearly dragging on the ground, hitting the long ago fallen trunks and branches that were lying in the tall grass.  


_Have I gone blind?!_ was all he could think of, his left hand grabbing the sentinel tree for support.  
_No... I haven't... I see the fucking tree before me... as a bloody shadow... but I see it..._  
With next step, he was falling down. His right foot has found another trunk in the grass. He cursed again. As he was trying to get up, he grabbed the trunk to lean on it... only then he realised it was no trunk but something softer, there was leather under his fingers... and chainmail.  
A dead man.  
He wiped his eyes again… to which side this corpse belonged while it was still drawing breath he could not care less, he went for man’s waterskin and nearly ripping it open poured the liquid over his head, washing his face.  
Right away he felt more pain on the brow, but it didn’t matter. He needed his sight clear.  
What remained in waterskin he drank it, with thirst of a man who just now walked out of the Red Waste, desert on the far side of the world. 

Bronn was nearly on his feet again when he heard noise coming from his left, before he managed to look that way he was down again, on his back. In a heartbeat a man came on top of him, hands began to squeeze his neck with a ferocity of wild animal.  
“Die! Die, kraken scum! Die!” man yelled as he poured all his rage into fingers that were clasped around the neck of former lord of Highgarden.  
Bronn first lifted his left hand, one which he still had command of and went after man’s eyes to gauge them out, but he failed, all along he tried to shake the foe off himself, whirling beneath him. Man groaned as he was choking Bronn to death, he gave all his strength to that effort.  
The once sellsword under him was not giving in easily, his left hand was on man’s face, he managed to force the thumb into choker’s nose and two fingers in right eye. Bronn’s right hand, one with arrow in it, went after the knife he as ever had on his back, he let a painful yell as arrow tip was now even deeper in his flesh but he managed to pull he curved blade out and as his left hand now grabbed the enemy’s chin, the right one using what little strength remained in it, brought the knife to the man’s neck and slashed.

“For fuck sake!!!” he cursed as blood gushed from the foe’s slit throat all over his face, covering his eyes again.  
Choker slumped over him now, in his eyes there was still a bewilderment of how a knife came to his neck.  
Bronn threw him off at last and was now breathing heavily, getting up on his knees. He grabbed his sword with two hands and took another deep breath. He wiped his face again and then looked at the man he just killed.  
A Northerner of House Cerwyn as sigil with double-axe on the overcoat told. He cursed again, upon seeing that enemy who tried to choke the life out of him was only a boy, no more than six and ten namedays he could have. 

Finally, he was on his feet again and after few waddling steps there was an oak tree to lean his back on.  
Bronn wore only cuirass armor over his leather jerkin and chain mail shirt. This place was not kind to heavily armored men. It was a dense forest of oak and pine and sentinel stretching for many miles on all sides over a rocky ground, wild hedges and thorn bushes growing where ever it could.  
He shouted another loud curse when he tried and failed to pull the arrow from his hand, curse which was lost among the sounds of the battle raging around him. Bronn was oblivious to it ever since he struck a tree trunk with his head.

Shouts, battle cries, screams, pleadings, curses were blended with clangor of steel and iron with arrows hissing through the air.  
A horse was dying, somewhere on the other side of the forest, he could not see the animal, only hear the haunting sound of its death. He again wiped his face, again the blood was blurring his sight, though it was his blood and sweat and mud and the blood of this poor wretch whose throat he just cut. Bronn could not tell how long it lasted, it seemed both as it lasted for not even half an hour and as it lasted for days…  
he lost the notion of time as ever when in the battle, when only thing that mattered was to cut and hack and not to get cut and hacked.

And he did not, though many of those he slew today were younger men, same as this Cerwyn boy, young enough to be his sons, he carved his way through them driven by only one thought: _I will not die here, not in this northern shithole._  
He saw a Northerner dying not far from him, four arrows in his back, man of House Glenmore as his red shield with white bow and arrow was still in his hand. Few yards away, a wilding woman was impaled with a lance of a Vale knight which did not survive her for long as another spearwife charged at him screaming and plunged her sharpened deer antler through his mouth. On the far side of wood dozen of Ironborn advanced as shield wall, with archers behind, making their way downhill while men of House Harclay stood on their way with their shields.  
His gaze caught eight Southern freeriders that were charging to their aid, yelling as madmen.

Then he saw him, a man charged at him, he saw his long sleeve chain mail hauberk under white woollen surcoat, on his chest a shield with two keys was displayed. _Locke fucker_, Bronn thought as he was preparing to block the axe man swung at him with his sword. An arrow came from behind the tree on which he was leaned and find its way to the man’s chest, he ended up on his knees before Bronn, dead on the spot. He pushed him aside with his foot, cursing both the now dead Northerner and the cut on his head that began to bleed more.  
He could tell that his legs are giving up and he slide down the oak trunk, nearly sitting now.

_Are these Stark cocksuckers poisoning the arrows now as Dornish do? _ flashed in his mind as he searched for a reason why his strength was leaving him so sudden ever since he was hit by it, then he remembered that he knew not of how many men he killed today, that Cerwyn lad could be twelfth or twentieth, Bronn lost count hours ago. _ If this fucking battle even lasts that long…_  
Woods before him began to blur again, he narrowed his eyes, blinked many times, wiped his face again, it was of no use.  
Soon it all vanished. Shapes and sounds both...

Sun of five and twentieth day of fourth moon of three-hundred-seventeenth year after lord of Dragonstone has conquered Westeros was setting on the Long Barrow, abandoned castle of the Night's Watch. Long Barrow was fourth easternmost castle on the Wall, only The Torches and Greenguard between it and the Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.

The Long Barrow was now held by the Free Folk, unlike Eastwatch which was still firmly under Northern sway, yet for moon and a half already besieged by the men from Iron Islands. Northern garrison at Eastwatch, place where the Wall was torn down thirteen years ago with the fire of wight dragon, was thus far able to fight off the kraken attacks and was awaiting relief force from Mole’s Town, other remaining redoubt of Kingdom of the North in the Brandon’s Gift.

The Long Barrow castle, though naming this a castle bore same truth as naming mule a prized stallion, was now manned by a crew of eight scores of wildlings.

A man, born nearly fifty years ago far away from there, in the south of Westeros paced around the courtyard, not paying any heed to those around him. _A war camp as any other and I’ve seen many in my day_, he mused absently, _years have caught with me in the end.  
I am too old for battlefield. All I need is a castle, a hall with big hearth and bed with lusting wench, all to keep me warm…  
this war lasts for too long already._

“Bronn!” he heard a known voice. Red-haired wildling called him from the far side of the yard.  
“Tormund, you ginger cunt! I’ve thought you died after that battle with the southern knights.  
Two arrows in the back they gave you, someone told me.”  
Tall wildling laughed: “Lying cocksucker, whoever told you that…. I got hit twice from the crossbow in the left arm.  
And with that same arm I buried my axe in the head of the cunt holding that crossbow.”  
Bronn smirked: “Is that what you say to your speargirls to make them spread their legs sooner?”  
“Spearwives. And we don’t lay down with them.”  
“I did. With five or six of them in two moons. I ain’t sure, the last two mayhaps was one the same.  
I tasted too much of that goat milk that your lot drinks.”  
“Man’s drink. Too strong for southern pussies as you.” Tormund mocked him.  
“This southern pussy survived the charge of heavy horse that day. How many of your chiefs died in that battle?” brown-haired man asked.

“Aye…” Tormund face darkened “…Sigur the Owl died, Joser ended spilling his guts on the lance, Yrelsa got arrow in the eye…”  
“People that lead your people do not spare themselves. Some would say noble, others would say dumb.” Bronn told him.  
“What would you say?”  
“Ah, Tormund, it matters not what would I say… I am twice as old than most of men here and I am still tasting mud and blood.  
Noble I never was, dumb more than oft.”  
“That makes two of us, Bronn. You know, when winters lasted for years and were harsh, older men would bid farewell to all they knew and leave the villages for the wilderness, not to burden their families. Not many years more and that would befall on me…”  
Once sellsword looked at him: “Horseshit… You’re not that old and any man who leaves for the woods to be eaten by wolves is a damn fool if you ask me. When you’re gone, who will come in your stead?”  
“Svanwen, daughter of Joser.”

“A woman? A fucking woman will come after Tormund Gianstbane…” Bronn laughed.  
“Our women fight by our side, not as your southern wenches that sit by the fireplaces and knit.”  
“That is why your womenfolk look as men, most of them. Southern women are soft and warm. As woman should be.”  
“Salt Queen is southern and she is a warrior.” Tormund said.  
“Yara fucking Greyjoy? Tormund, I would wager if one would grab between her legs, he’d find a man parts… she’s fucked more women than you have.” “Ah, I don’t know of that. And I don’t care. What I know is that she’ll be here in two days. She and her captains are coming from Eastwatch.”  
“Aye, I’ve heard that kraken queen will honor us with her presence. Lucky us.”  
Tormund frowned: “Bronn, you fight on the same side with the men you piss on. Strange man you are.” 

Former knight of the Blackwater shrugged: “I’ve fought for the lions, alongside dwarf and alongside one with golden hand that bedded big woman you lusted for. I misliked them golden-haired shits as well. But they paid their debts, in the end, living up to their family words.”  
“What will be your pay now?” wildling asked.  
“That I shall discuss with the kraken queen.” Bronn answered “The broken boy which was made king took all I had from me, but two queens shall give me my due. I don’t ask for much, a castle and a land. A proper castle, not as this shithole here.”  
“You want to own a place as Last Hearth or Winterfell?”  
“Those are shitholes too. Only proper castles are in the south, Tormund. Places on green hills with vineyards and orchards all around.  
Roasted lambs on the table or deer or boar… half-naked wenches serving you food and wine. That is castle worthy of a man.  
Not one holdfast in the North offers you that.”  
“I’ve heard from one Ironmen that in the far south there’s war too. Men of desert war against the Stark boy king.  
Mayhaps you should go there to get your castle.”  
Bronn chuckled: “Ironborn, Tormund. Not ironmen. I like Dornish women, but to live there among them, they’re as mad fucks as you wildlings are… no, a castle in the Reach or the Marches for me.”  
Tormund grinned: “Well, I wish you to get that castle with bare women serving you boar meat… to live your old age there.”  
“Ha-ha, I wish that to me as well.” he chuckled.  
“This war is coming to an end, Bronn, one more battle… one more battle and it will end. Wolf Queen gathers her army at Queenscrown.  
Her own men and southern knights, scouts speak of hundreds camping there.”  
“She will march them on Eastwatch, to lift the siege. She must do so, if not… if Eastwatch falls, the war is lost for her.” Bronn mused aloud.

“Lord Sellsword, whatever god you pray to, he seems to like your ugly face as you’re still drawing breath.”  
Yara Greyjoy said with a sneer as she entered the chamber that many decades ago belonged to the commander of the Long Barrow garrison of Night’s Watch. Chamber where that evening Bronn and the wildling leaders were holding council.  
“Queen of Salt and Rock…” he bowed “…my sword hand is the one I give thanks for living so long. I don’t bother with gods.  
Seven, tree gods of these northern folk, your drowned one… and they don’t bother me.”  
“That may as well be wisdom of a long life for likes of you, Bronn.” she answered shrugging and then turned to wildlings:  
“Leaders of the Free Folk, I have come to this meeting so we can agree upon how to fight what may be the last battle of this war.”  
Tormund was first to greet her: “Queen of the Ironmen, I am Tormund Giantsbane and next to me stands Dim Dalba, Ilga, Dornor the Shadowcat, Munwen of Thenn. We speak for all the Free Folk and lead four thousand men and spearwives, all of our people that can fight.”  
Yara nodded: “And I speak for nearly three thousand Ironborn that hold Eastwatch under siege.  
Our seven thousand men will face the army of the Stark bitch and break her once and for all.”

Bronn’s face had a mark of disbelief and it hadn’t escaped her:  
“Former Lord of Highgarden and former knight of the Blackwater disagrees?”  
“Aye, he does. I may be former in lot of ways, but I prefer my head not to be formerly attached to my shoulders, to say it in fancy words.  
Seven thousand men sounds as a big number, but you have no heavy horse. And heavy horse is coming to relieve Eastwatch of your siege...” Bronn reminded her “…the host of the Stark queen has more than fifteen hundred Southrons, of that one third of mounted men, some light horse, but most armoured. And she can muster over six thousand of her Northerners, of that also one quarter or even one third of horsemen. So, if I had to wager on six thousand of footmen against more than two thousand cavalry and five thousand foot… well, I’d not place my coins on our side.” 

Dim Dalba, oldest among the Free Folk chieftains, said: “We have met them on the open field, the heavy horse you talk of and defeated them.”  
Bronn nodded: “Aye, we have. For those Southron cunts were dumb in their arrogance and thought that they will ride through us like piss through the snow. But, as most fools do, they’ve learned on their mistakes. They won’t make it again.”  
Yara looked at him, angered by his words:  
“So, what would you for us to do? For them to bend the knee to that ginger bitch and for me to dip my banners to her?”  
“I’m not saying that. I am telling all of you that meeting Northerners in the open field is not smart.  
Gift east of Kingsroad is only plains, no hills or mountains, a land made for horsemen. We must not fight there for we shall surely lose.”  
“Where would you fight the Wolf Queen then?” Tormund asked him. 

“In the forest south of Eastwatch, near the shore, there we must take our stand. That’s the only proper forest in the Eastern Gift.  
Make them believe that we’re massing for a final attack on their besieged fort before the siege is lifted, so they’ll have no choice but to attack first, attack before all the Northern houses send their men at arms under Sansa’s banner. Break this army she has mustered before she musters one twice as large.” Yara shook her head: "She can't put more than ten thousand in the field. Her brother, one that got killed at the wedding, could barely gather twenty thousand when he marched south twenty years ago. Wolves lost thousands in eight years of wars. And haven't recovered in ten years of peace. Now, they're dying again for over a year." "She is not her brother. Ginger bitch is far more clever than that. She got Vale and Southron freewills to battle for her. And sellsails to task you on the sea."  
"You seem to admire Sansa Stark, Bronn."  
He said: "Hells no... same as you, she is another dead lord's daughter that believes she can do man's work.  
For some fucking reason, same as you, she is good at man's work."

Yara glared at him, then at the map of the Gift and the Wall that was laid upon the weathered wooden table, she studied it for a while before saying: “Between Eastwatch and that forest is about ten leagues, aye… it could seem that we’re using it as a place from which we shall strike the killing blow to the wolves at Eastwatch.”  
Bronn gazed at her: “You say that three thousand Ironborn are at Eastwatch. Where’s the rest of your men? Two thousand landed at Eastwatch, that same day over five thousand attacked White Harbor. Manderlys made sure almost nine and ten hundreds of them meet your Drowned God. You seem to have misplaced two thousand of men.”  
Ironborn queen looked at the map again then at him: “Aye, you’ve done your counting good, but I need those two thousand men on my ships in the Narrow Sea. I am still at war with Vale and I’m not turning my back to royal fleet by landing all my men in the Gift.  
I’ve called to arms every Ironborn able to hold axe and shield. Villages on Iron Islands are now empty of menfolk. All are on the sea.  
On Iron Islands my men don’t count more than five and score hundred and for all this time they’ve been at sea, waiting the Arbor and Lannisport fleet to attack. That didn’t happen yet, they have turned their sails towards Dorne.  
Still, I am not leaving my home unguarded and undefended. We shall meet Sansa Stark with what we have. That is my final word.”

Bronn shrugged: “Then what you should ask from this sea god of yours is that Northerners and southern riders will have to dismount in that thick forest. Both sides will fight as footmen. And there is our chance. Four thousand wildlings can fight in the woods better than Southron cunts driven here by promises of land and titles.”  
Tormund nodded: “Wolf Queen has men that know how to fight in the woods as well, but not that well as we do.”  
Other Free Folk leaders agreed: “Woods are to us what sea is to your men.”  
“Good. It is settled then.” Yara agreed before saying: “We shall all meet at that forest, a sennight from now.  
I shall order my men to march there as well, leaving only that many which will keep the Stark garrison trapped inside Eastwatch.”  
Bronn nodded: “Well, if I were a fancy lordling I’d wish you all good fortune in battle to come.  
But as am I not, what I can say is don’t get yourself killed, you wildling and kraken shites.”

“Wolves! Your death is on its way!” someone yelled standing on the moss covered rock, not far from him, followed by the battle cry from what seemed hundreds of throats. Bronn was not at Long Barrow anymore, he was back in this forest, sitting beneath an oak tree with face covered in blood and part of an arrow sticking from his right arm.  
He gazed to where the shouting came and saw Ironborn charging through the woods. Dozens of them… he thought as warriors in salt stained leather with spears and shields and still unstained axes passed by him yelling “Iron price!”  
Fighting has moved further away, only noises of wounded men were around him. He could not tell how much time has passed. 

Then Bronn saw a man approaching hastily towards him, his sight was blurred again and he saw a dark gambeson with white sigil upon it…  
_a Karstark cunt _, he said to himself as he struggled to straighten up, leaning on the tree.  
“Come closer, goatfucker, for sure as fuck I am not coming to you…” he spat at the man who halted his pace and stood silently for a heartbeat, then he laughed at Bronn: “Have wolves cut you so, Lord Sellsword, that you can’t tell who is foe and who is not…” 

“Meldred fucking Merlyn…” he knew man’s voice “…help me up, I’ve had enough of this damn tree.”  
Ironborn leader grabbed his left arm and he was back at his feet, though stumbling…  
“The battle…” he said and Meldred pointed with his axe: “Wildlings have broken the left flank of the wolves, where Southern footmen were…  
yet their center was still holding, Yara has sent our last reserves into battle...”  
Then Ironborn added: “We have paid a blood price, Bronn, half of my men and half of wildlings were killed. And more than a half of the Wolf Queen host. I’ve never seen a bloodshed as this in my life. And I am no boy. Crows will feast well today.”

Bronn looked all around him, ground was covered with dead bodies, wherever his eyes went, from one side of the forest to another, men dead or dying. “Who won…?” he asked, his voice being one of fatigued, wounded man.  
“This damn forest claimed thousands today…bloodiest battle of the entire war...” Ironborn captain said “…if she has any wit, she will ask for terms after today.” “Who?” Bronn blurted, blinking as the ache in his head came back.  
“Sansa Stark, who else… she still has enough men, but only to defend her own lands, she will never have that greater North she dreamed of.” Ironborn replied.

**TORMUND**

He was sitting at the trestle table that was set up before the wooden palisade that encircled the Mole’s Town, once a village of kneelers closest to the Castle Black, A ditch beneath the palisade was filled with muddy water that reeked afar.

There was still direwolf banner waving over the village, on the twelve feet pole.  
_Not for a long, Tormund mused, not after this parlay._

Next to him sat Svanwen, Dim Dalba and Ilga.  
All other wildling chiefs have died fighting in the Battle of Eastwatch Forest that was now called by the Ironborn and the Northerners alike.  
His people did not name battles so. And that one felt as no victory, half of Free Folk men died or were maimed fighting it.  
And many women as well. Yet, it seemed that this battle quenched the desire of the Wolf Queen for war as she asked this parlay.  
She asked for terms.

She lost hundreds of men as well. Tormund survived the battle against the Night King, when living were fighting the dead. He survived the Battle of the Bastards and this one that took part south of the place where once he and Beric Dondarrion witnessed how wight dragon is tearing down the Wall, this one reminded him of the slaughter that Battle of Bastards was. Slaughter for all sides. 

_That salt queen came with three thousand, barely thousand was left standing. Wolf Queen sent seven thousand, her men on horses did not go in the forest from the first, but as her footmen could not beat us, they charged into the woods, as knights of that Stannis Baratheon did many years ago, yet this time Free Folk stood their ground and did not lose heart before men in armor on horseback..._

Day ended with half of the Wolf Queen army gone, that give no comfort to Tormund as two thousand of his people died in that forest as well.  
All those younglings that were saved from the White Walkers and wights, saved from Boltons and Umbers have now either died or were crippled in this war. Tormund could not say was now as much Free Folk left as it was when Jon Snow brought them on the south side of the Wall from Hardhome fifteen years ago. 

_There was five thousand of us then, we have recovered in last ten years, children that were saved from Hardhome grew into men and women, only to die at Last River and in that fucking forest. _

On the other side of the table were Northern lords, Roger of House Ryswell of which Tormund knew he came instead of young Karstark, there was Hugo Wull of mountain clans and Beron, Steward of Barrow Hall. Unlike Tormund and his fellow chieftains, these men came in gambesons and surcoats displaying the sigils of their houses in red and blue and grey colors. Yet, their faces were grim, unlike their garments.

“You may say your terms…” said Roger Ryswell, man who was still recovering from the chest wound he got in the last battle of War for the New North, as chronicles south of the Wall will speak of it. Dim Dalba, oldest of the Free Folk chiefs, was to speak for all:  
“Our terms are these: your men at arms will leave the land of the both Gifts, this fort here at Mole’s Town will be torn down and this will be only a village as it once was. Fort at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea will also be torn down. Mayhaps a village will come of it, mayhaps not.  
Hardhome will be port of the Free Folk. All the land north of the Wall shall be of Free Folk.  
Land of the both Gifts will be of Free Folk and the kneelers to live of it and it shall not belong to no king or queen.  
A land of open to every man willing to live here."  
Roger Ryswell grinned: "Are you saying that if I'd got sudden craving to live as a farmer here, you would let me? Without raiding and stealing from men of Kingdom of the North?"  
Ilga grinned back at him :"Aye, that's what we're sayin'. T'is will be the land of men who want to be free of your lot.  
Even 'em southern warriors can stay 'ere if they want to live off land or woods as any other farmer or 'unter."  
Hugo Wull asked: "And the Wall? Night's Watch is no more, they either joined your side or ours, since this war has began."  
Dalba replied: "The Wall will not be manned by anyone as it needs not to be manned now. White Walkers are gone. Should we agree on these terms, kneelers south of the Wall will have no enemies in the Free Folk. We offer you peace. Peace that will make land of Brandon’s Gift and New Gift free of men at arms of any sort. Only folk that want to live free from lords and kings will live here. That was promised to us by King Crow, the King in the North." Hugo Wull nodded, while Beron made a smirk.  
"You offer Gift free of soldiers of any sort. What of your allies, those who have won this war for you... the Ironborn." Ryswell asked.  


He refused to believe that wildlings have defeated the Northern lords. For him it were the men of Yara Greyjoy.

“They will leave within sennight. Should we reach an agreement…" Svanwen said.  
"And we're to trust their word and yours?" Beron hissed.  
"The Ironborn now have another war to fight in the south. With that crippled boy king.” Dalba replied.  
“Will they return the Bear Island to the North?” Hugo Wull asked.  
“That you ought to ask them.” Tormund said.  
Commander of Northern host gave him a disdainful look: "How many warriors do you have left? Two thousand? Fewer?  
We could assemble a new host in less than a fortnight and come here again, to finish you once and for all."  
Tormund shrugged: "Aye, you could. Only if you're to arm all the womenfolk of your kingdom and send them to the Gift.  
Your people are starving.  
And with two thousand of us, you'd be greeted by three thousand sons of kraken.  
You'd finish us, true, but you'd be finishing your own people as well."

"Do you agree with our terms?” Dalba asked, his gaze going from one Northern lord to another.  
All three remained silent, killing the wildling three with their eyes.

“Do we have terms?” came from Svanwen, she being young and impatient.  
“Aye...” Ryswell responded with tone of anger and bitterness “...we have terms.”


	56. DAENERYS

_Meereen, Essos, year 317 After Conquest_

**DAENERYS**

“The war in the North is over. Those you supported have won.”  
Kinvara said to her the very moment she entered the altar hall of the R’hllor temple in Meereen.  
“Though it would be more truthful to say that those who had support of those you support have won.” priestess added.  
“Are you saying me that Stark queen has lost the war against the Free Folk?”  
“She has. The fire has shown me a battle in the dark wood, land covered with the corpses of the fallen.  
Then flames have shown me a wolf banner taken down and a wooden wall coming down.”  
“Surely you and Ezzelyno spoke of this, with burning the glass candles.” she said to Kinvara.  
“We have, this very morning. What I saw in flames happened during last fortnight. Those lands, called Gift, are now ruled by the men that live north of the Westerosi Wall. That Free Folk, as you name them. Sansa Stark had to withdraw her men” 

She was silent for a while, then she started laughing.  
And this laughter unlike one that came from her when she was brought back to life in this very temple was joyful, it sounded triumphant even.  
Daenerys seldom laughed, but now she let out a laugh that made even Kinvara to wonder as she lifted her eyebrows looking at the Queen of the Bay of Dragons. Kinvara said with grim tone:  
“Thousands died in that battle I saw, Queen Daenerys. That is great loss for the Lord of Light. Every life lost is one light extinguished.  
And one reason more for the Lord of Darkness to rejoice. And he rejoices while infesting the body that once was Brandon Stark.”  
“Lord of Darkness in the body of broken king… Isn’t he a Three Eyed Raven?”  
“King of Six Kingdoms was born as Brandon Stark, he became a Three Eyed Raven. All of you believed when Arya Stark stabbed the Night King and his ice body shattered, that Great War is over. It is not. War between light and dark is never over. And the evil essence now lingers in the broken king. It is that evil who wants you and your family dead. It is that evil who relishes as men die in thousands now on both ends of Westeros. That evil feeds on death. Death is its domain.”

Daenerys was silent now. She did not give much thought to the war between light and dark, though Kinvara spoke of it many times since she was brought back to life, twelve years ago. Her mind was on her family, her affairs and now her new rule over this part of Essos, all those were devoid  
of any magic or sorcery. Notion that evil being which once was Night King could now dwell in the Red Keep made her uneasy and she choose not to think of it oft. Not to think of it at all. 

“So, if I understand you well, the Broken King is happier as his subjects are more miserable, more starving and more dying. Is that what you’re saying?” she finally asked the priestess. “Yes, that is true. For many moons king of Six Kingdoms is an absent ruler, leaving the Lannister dwarf to lead the Realm in his stead and things worsen, soon people in Westeros will lack everything from food on their plates to clothes on their backs.” “Tyrion always claimed to be savvy in the matters of ruling, now is his chance to prove it, as the king he proposed to rule the Realm my forefathers forged is not interested in ruling, no matter what he is, a raven or a spirit of great ice demon as Dothraki would call it.”  
Daenerys said, unmoved.  
“My Queen, it is your agreement with the Iron Bank that shall bring hunger in the Six Kingdoms and the Kingdom of the North.”  
Kinvara reminded.  
“It is. Am I to blame for that? Red Keep wanted to kill me, Jon and my daughters. I have retaliated the best way I could.  
For I trust that hunger will bring down both Broken King and the Imp. I would give me no greater pleasure than to see them both dragged down the streets of King’s Landing by the mob and then torn apart, limb by limb...” Targaryen queen replied, her eyes glowing with hatred.  
Dragon temper was awakened.  
“...and North… my husband’s ambitious cousin brought misery on them. There is no evil spirit inside her and yet instead of caring for people,  
she cared of getting more land to rule. She started a war, war which led to ruin of the land which she was obliged to better, as their queen.  
And she lost. And she might lose even more.”  
“What more could she loose? Save her crown and her life?” Kinvara asked.  
“Her life is of little concern, but her crown… that is another matter.”  
“Are you speaking of stripping Sansa Stark of her queenship?”  
“High priestess, though I am certain that flames spoke to you of this as well, two Northern houses are offering marriage alliance to House Targaryen of Meereen. House Hornwood and House Manderly desire to wed my daughter Lyanna to their only son and heir, Hallis.”  
Daenerys told her with a slight grin.

“I do not consult flames for all things that come to pass in the world around me. Magic of Lord of Light takes its toll, looking in the flames, using glass candles to converse with those that are half the world away… none of it comes lightly or cheap. So, I have to say I knew not of that offering of wedlock as means of alliance.” Daenerys nodded: “My apologies then. Though, now you have heard of it from me, surely you can tell what that offering has in mind for years ahead.”  
“Lyanna has Stark name, Stark looks and Stark blood, blood she got from her father once King in the North and her grandmother, She-wolf of Winterfell. She is heir to the throne upon which her aunt sits now, same as Rhaella and your new twins are.” Kinvara noted.  
“Indeed. Still, Rhaella is too much a Targaryen for the taste of Northerners and Cregan and Daenysanne are babes… Lyanna is the one North would accept in case that noble houses there deny Sansa as their ruler. And that, with war lost and people starving, that could truly come to pass sooner than one could hope.”  
“Do you hope of seeing her dethroned?” Kinvara asked.  
“I have not forgiven nor forgotten how she treated me when I came with my dragons and my armies to fight for her home. Yes, seeing her fall would bring me great pleasure. You may judge me as vengeful person, mayhaps I am, but the knowledge of Sansa Stark ousted from her queenship… that would make me rejoice. Same as the word of her losing a war did today.”  
“Wrath of a Dragon Queen.” Kinvara said with same even tone.  
“Once I liked that name, now it’s only a slur. Only you among the living can call me with that name to my face. Not even Jon has that privilege.  
Bastard and Dragon Queen, we do not use those names even in our quarrels.”  
“I know you quarrel oft...” Kinvara said “...I mislike that, you both are champions of Lord of Light.”  
“And we both are blood of the dragon, we’re excessive in all we do.”  
Priestess nodded: “Two sets of twins speak of that plainly… how does our King look upon the proposed marriage alliance?”  
Daenerys shrugged: “He is honored surely, but notion of his twelve years old daughter, one that is pure image of his late mother,  
to be wed half the world away… he is not ready to consider it.” “And you, Daenerys Stormborn?”  
“I want what is best for my children. What is best for them, is best for House Targaryen. And in my family, I was Targaryen for the longest.  
No decision shall be made without me.”

She rode back to the Great Pyramid escorted by both Freeflames guard and her Dothraki bloodriders, she was content with the news she got from Kinvara. As she entered the council room on thirty-second level, voice echoed:  
“If a baker in the Kandaq quarter only has a score or two willing and able paying customers, he cannot save enough to open another bakery in the neighboring Naqqan quarter. But, should he have one hundred or more willing and able paying customers he can now save enough to open one bakery in Naqqan quarter and one more in Mossador quarter...” she heard Jon’s voice “...how do we ensure he has more customers?  
A hundred or more?”  
“We ensure that people have more coins to spend, to buy more bread.” came from her raven-haired daughter.  
“That is right and how do people have more coins?” he asked.  
“They earn more.” Rhaella said.  
“All right, I am baker and I earn twenty coins each day. Of that I pay five coins to taxes. I am left with fifteen coins. I have to pay those who work for me, I have to pay a farmer from whom I buy wheat and I have to pay a miller from which I get the flour. Of that fifteen coins I am left with eight to buy meat and ale and dolls for my little girls...” he smiled at his twins “...does that leave me with much coin in the end of that day?”  
“No, Papa, it leaves you with one or two. Or nothing.” Lyanna said.  
“Then what would you do for the baker to have more coins left?”  
Rhaella was writing something on her parchment, then exclaimed:  
“Five coins! That is where you have lost too much, Papa.”  
“Princess Rhaella, are suggesting that taxes are too high in the Bay of Dragons?” he asked the silver-haired girl with serious tone.  
“Yes, I am. Three coins would be better!” she said loudly.  
“Would it now? You must bear in mind that from those five coins all who serve King and Queen and Council of Citizens are paid.  
City Guard is paid as well.” Girl frowned: “Yes, Papa, but five taken from twenty and five taken from fifty is not the same. That is plain arithmetic.”  
“So, you would tax more those that have more?” Jon asked.  
Lyanna shrugged: “Papa, if you take ten coins from five men that each have fifty it is the same if you take five coins from ten men that each have twenty and still those five will be left with forty coins each, not fifteen as those ten.”  
“My princesses, you have shown me that even young as you are, you do have a notion of tax policy.”  
Jon said to his twin daughters, running his fingers through their hair which annoyed them both.

“Addemmagon mazverda vali qrimbrōza, kepa…” Lyanna said fixing her tresses.  
(_Taxes make people curse, father._) When annoyed she always spoke in Valyrian.  
“Qilōni gaomagon pōnta qrimbrōza, Līāna?” he asked (_Whom do people curse?_)  
“Oktion Gīmēdegon… zirȳ olvie.” she said (_Council of Citizens…mostly them._)  
“Dārys se Dāria?” was the next question (_King and Queen?_)  
“Daor, Papa. Gaomis daor qrimbrōzagon Muña se ao.” Lyanna replied (_They don’t curse mother and you._)  
“When taxes are the matter, Lya, someone will always curse those that rule. Important is that most of people do not curse you.” Jon told her.  
“Papa, are you thinking of making new taxes?” Rhaella asked.  
“I am. Rhae. Though I must be agreed with the Queen and the councilors.” her father answered  
“Well, we’re done for today, my sweets, you may go now after your own affairs.  
In the evening we are to go to the port, aunt Arya has invited us to supper on _Nymeria._ She will be leaving soon for Westeros.”

Jon was alone when she entered, their daughters have already left.  
“If that was not grooming of our daughters for the rule, then I am ignorant of what ruling is. You’re a good father, Jon Targaryen.”  
“I try to be.” he answered, smiling at her as she sat next to him.  
“You are… And you’re brave enough to get into changing of taxes. Our girls are right, should you look at it only as arithmetic,  
but any ruler should tread carefully when it comes to taxing.” Daenerys said.  
“Our ancestors had their fine and not so fine days with taxing.”  
“You know history of Targaryen kings better than I do, Jon. Still, this is not Westeros. Once slaves have become free craftsmen only five and ten years ago. Taxes should be used for them not to be made to serve their once owners if there’s no need of it.  
Most people in the Bay of Dragons work for those who once owned them. Some could be working for themselves.”  
His fingers went through her hair: “So, taxes should favour those that have less.”  
“It’s not that plain. Surely, taking too much from those who do not earn much, is not wise.  
But nor is overtaxing the rich as they are those who buy most of things that markets of this city offer.”  
“I think I have a better queen than Jaehaerys the Wise did.”  
She laughed: “Queen Alysanne was a woman of much sweeter temper than I am, Jon.”  
“And he was wiser than me…so here we are, flawed Targaryens both.” 

“And yet, two flawed Targaryens have thus far tamed the beast that once was Slaver’s Bay. Fool yourself not, Jon, these lands will break the weak rulers much sooner than your North… we’re foreign monarchs here, given the throne only to prevent Meereenese from bringing this city into ruin. Remember, long ago I’ve told you that strength is sometimes terrible… weakness is terrible too, but only to those who are weak.”  
“You’re right Dany, save that of North. North was not an easy beast to tame; I assure you...” Jon said “...you have tasted how thick-headed they are.”  
“So have you. You came with two dragons and two armies and a Targaryen queen willing to help them against the Night King and still they have scorned you for giving up the Northern crown. Well, the monarch who came after you brought them war, defeats, humiliation and starvation.  
I wonder how long they will suffer her.” 

“They will for they’re in the war and it is unwise to change ruler in the times of war.” he said.  
“And if that ruler is unable to bring victory in that war?”  
His eyes widened: “You know something I do not.”  
“I do.” Daenerys replied dryly.  
“Is that knowledge for me as well or shall I, oft as I do, learn it from others?”  
She looked at him: “I share not things I know with you, true. Mostly things that concern Westeros.”  
“For you do not trust me.” Jon said, his voice echoing with both disillusion and anger.  
“Yes. I do not trust you. Can you blame me?”  
“I can. And I do.” he replied “We’re raising four children together; we rule a large portion of Essos together and you still have doubts about me.  
You wrong me, Dany. I don’t deserve your mistrust.”  
“It is not mistrust Jon, only that you lack good reasoning when Westeros is the matter. I know all too well it troubles you what Arya told you of how things are in the North. And I cannot help but to wonder do you wish to haste westwards, across the Narrow Sea to their aid?  
To save the North once again? What say you, _White Wolf_?”  
Her voice was marked with bitterness.  
“North was my home, Dany, for half of my life and more. I cannot act cold and distant when I hear of the troubles and sufferings there.  
Those are my people…I am a Northerner; I am a Stark.”  
“Your people? Truly? You were never Stark to this your people. Only a Snow. But you were born a Targaryen. Son of Prince of Dragonstone.  
If you believe that Northern lords would look kindly on you should they learn of who you truly are, then you’re still the same fool as back then.”  
“Hornwoods and Manderlys have no issue with me being a Targaryen.” 

“No, I am sure they do not. As both houses have come up with this marriage offer.  
A clever way to put another Stark on the direwolf throne as it seems that both Manderlys and Horwoods are tired of your cousin Sansa.  
Or are you so naïve to think that it is pure chance that Lyanna and not Rhaella is bride of their liking?  
My daughters both have Stark blood, but one with silver hair and lilac eyes is not suitable to be the Northern queen.”  
“What are you speaking of?” he asked.  
“What am I speaking of, you ask? Well, I have to give praise to old lord Manderly as he schemes to wed his great-grandson with  
granddaughter of Lyanna Stark and daughter of once King in the North, a girl which looks as Stark should.  
If Sansa were to be ousted from the throne, who better to succeed her than a princess of Stark blood. Now, who would truly rule?  
A young queen that was born and raised on the other side of the world or her consort’s family, not even boy Hallis but his father and old Wyman.  
It matters not if Lya and Hallis like each other, though they’re both young for true love.  
This marriage offering reeks of devised plot. My Lya will not be a pawn in someone’s game.”  
“She is my Lya, too.” he said angrily “And what gave you the notion that I am even by far considering this offer. I know how cunning Wyman Manderly is and I know how cruel the Northern lords can be. Our Lya, Dany, will not suffer not cunningness nor cruelty of others.  
Dragon is not a slave. Nor is a wolf.”  
“Good. That we shall say to Larence Hornwood at supper this evening. Our daughter is too young to be wed or betrothed, in years to come when both Hallis and she are man and woman grown then we can talk of it again, should the liking they now have last.”  
Daenerys said with stern voice.  
“Then we agree, Dany. When five years passes, should they still find our daughter to be desired bride for Hallis, we can discuss that proposal.  
Not now.” Jon answered with same stern voice. “When are we expected at _Nymeria_?”  
“One hour before sundown.” Jon replied.  
“Then I shall meet you here two hours before sundown. Before that, I shall see that Rhae and Lya are ready to go with us.”  
“Till then, my Queen.” he said and bowed.  
“Yes, Your Radiance…” came the grinning reply. 

She was not ready to tell him the news of his cousin or sister losing the war.  
One of his great deeds was to bring together widllings and Northerners after centuries of fighting and hatred.  
Sansa ruined that with a stroke of quill.  
_I’ll tell him tomorrow or the day after or… never. I’ve lost him once for Starks. Never again. His place is with me. A dragon with a dragon.  
His home in Westeros is same as mine. Dragonstone. Not Winterfell. No matter how he fools himself into it… _ Daenerys pondered as she went to the uppermost floor of the pyramid. She entered the hall where chambers of her daughters were and called their names in soft voice, as nursery where her two babes have slept was not far away:  
“Lya… Rhae…” and knocked on door of both chambers.  
Soon, raven-haired and silver-haired girl were with her on the hallway.  
“My sweets, as you know, this evening we are guests of your aunt Arya on _Nymeria_. I wish you to don properly for this occasion.  
Wear black and red of our house and dragon pendants, in your hair, around your neck or on your chest.”  
“I always wear Stark pendant, mama” Lyanna said.  
She shook her head: “Not this evening, Lya. This evening I want you to be a true Targaryen princess. A dragon as you are.  
No matter your dark hair and grey eyes, you’re only one quarter Stark. All rest is Targaryen. And you will come to this supper as one.”  
“Kessa, Muña.” her daughter replied.  
“Rhaella, I expect same of you. No grey or white clothing on you. Only the colors of our house.”  
“Mama, but Lya and I are of House Targaryen and of House Stark.” silver-haired girl reminded her.  
“You are. But your name is not Stark, only your blood."  
“Muña, but when Arya came here with two northern lords, we wore grey and white and Stark sigil.” said Lyanna.  
“You have, as gesture of respect for your aunt. Now, we shall show our true colors and those are only black and red.” 

Both girls nodded as they saw how unyielding their mother is.  
“You may fashion your hair as you wish…” she told the twins “…though I advise only a simple braid. Within one hour I shall come for you. All right?” “Yes, mama…” both girls replied and went each to her own room. 

She came to her chamber and saw the dress prepared for her by the handmaidens.  
It was a floor-length gown with long, trumpet sleeves and front and back lacing.  
Back of the gown was coated black, while on the front a broad stripe of dark red stretched from neck line to the rim of the gown.  
Same tailor made her a hooded dress, tighter than the gown she was about to wear, in dark green color which she wore when visiting  
the City Guard and she wanted her garment to mimic the clothes of the guardsmen.  
She chose a simple jewellery, a squared silver Targaryen pendant, displaying three-headed dragon.

_Bisa iksis skorkydoso Targārien dāria ēdruta jurnegon hae…_ she said to herself when she was done dressing for the supper…  
(_This is how Targaryen queen must look like._)  
She stepped out in the hallway; her twin twelve-year old daughters were already waiting.  
“Bisa iksis skorkydoso Targārien dārilaros ēdruta jurnegon hae!” Daenerys said approvingly. “This is how Targaryen princesses must look like!”  
Both girls were in sleeveless black ankle-cut dresses with high neckline and red sash tied around their waists.  
Necklace with round pendant with sigil of dragonlords adorned their necks. Both girls let hair to fall loose on their shoulders and backs.  
“I am glad you approve, mama.” Rhaella said while Lyanna remained silent.  
She was not pleased for having to take off the direwolf pendant, but Daenerys cared not.  
Her concern for this evening was how to put aside the betrothals that lord of White Harbor proposed.  
Lya was ignorant of it and she was not about to tell her daughter of this marriage offering yet. 

Jon was pensive as well, waiting for them on the apex terrace. She was pleased to see him in dark linen boots, black breeches and knee-cut gambeson of same color with dark red three-headed dragon embroidered across the chest.  
Longclaw was hanging on the belt, his white pommel being the only thing not red or black on her husband.  
“Ñuha Dārys.” she said coming on the terrace with Rhae and Lya. “Ñuha Dāria. Ñuha Dārilaros.” he replied, smiling at them.  
“Shall we go?” Daenerys asked. “By all means…” Jon said. 

Night was pleasantly warm and supper was served on the sterncastle of Nymeria.  
First that was served was a hollow heel of bread filled with burnt bacon and chunks of salt fish warmed in bacon grease,  
followed by a broth of crab and monkfish, and cold egg lime soup as well.  
Then came lamb, fragrant with crushed mint and served with the small green figs Daenerys liked so much 

She could tell that Arya wanted to have a bit of Essos and a bit of Winterfell on the table with strong mark of the sea, as this supper was to mirror the life of only Stark she has grown to truly like. Four Targaryens sat on one side of the table, their matching garments clashed with Arya’s Braavosi dress, dark orange clothes on Larence and Hallis Hornwood and garish green which donned Marlon Manderly.  
The talk while they supped was of how two Northern lords see the city and its folk and customs which made her smile oft, but she gazed from time to time at young boy across the table. Though he tried not to, mostly he looked at Lyanna.  
_He likes her, mayhaps even loves her as boy that young can love a girl of his age_, she ruminated, _but he is no match for Lya’s temper_.  
“Lord Hallis…” Daenerys addressed the boy “…are you impatient of sailing back to home?”  
“I am, Your Grace. It will soon be ten moons since Dreadfort was sacked.”  
“You wish to see your lady mother the most, I assume.” “I do.” Hallis replied with his father giving a slight smile.  
She spoke to him next: “Lady Wylla can be proud of her son. Hallis is growing into a true lord.”  
Larence nodded saying: “A true lord needs a true lady, Your Grace.”  
She saw both Jon and Arya lifting an eyebrow. “Has young lord Hallis seen the _Rhaelyanna_?” Daenerys asked next.  
“No, Your Grace, I have not.”  
“Well, I believe that princesses whose names the ship bears will be glad to take you aboard her, even now. If their royal aunt approves…”  
“She does.” Arya smiled.  
“Then, Rhaella and Lyanna you may be excused. Take lord Hallis to the swan-ship. I am certain he will find a vessel from Summer Isles most interesting.” Queen of the Bay of Dragons said.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

When Targaryen twins and Hallis went ashore to go over to Arya’s other ship, Larence said approvingly:  
“Your Grace has thought of a clever way for children not to be with us while we discuss what may be their future.”  
“Yes, now we can speak freely.” she said “And my King and husband wishes to speak with you.”  
Larence turned to Jon: “Your Grace?” Jon took a sip of wine from his goblet, then said:  
“My lord, I have given a lot of thought to your words and the words that Lord Wyman has sent me in the letter.  
I find the offer of betrothals of your son and my daughter Lyanna as sign of true alliance and friendship of House Hornwood and House Manderly with House Targaryen. Still, my daughter is not a proper maiden yet, she is yet to have her three and ten nameday. And your son is not much older.  
It will be years before they can be wed as man and woman grown. Only then they can give heirs which I am sure you desire same as Lord Wyman.  
It would give me and my Queen a great joy to see our first grandchild. Which we cannot have in next four or five years.  
So, I say that it will be too long betrothal and your son and my daughter will be apart for too long.”  
“Your Grace…” Larence said “…Princess Lyanna is most welcome to spend those few years at Hornwood Castle or White Harbor.  
That was my hope and hope of Lord Wyman as well.” 

“As her father, Lord Larence, I cannot agree to have my daughter living half the world away waiting to be grown enough to marry your son and heir. Lyanna is the Princess of the Bay of Dragons, same as her twin and babe sister and babe brother.  
Her place, till she is woman grown, is at my side.” Jon replied.  
Daenerys watched both Larence Hornwood and Marlon Manderly and she could tell how they struggle to hide how displeased they are.  
“Are we then only to have our children betrothed, Your Grace?” Larence asked.  
Jon shook his head: “No, my lord. I favor not long betrothals, surely not those that last for years as this one should. It is plain that there is a liking among Hallis and Lyanna but liking is not love. Liking can fade away.  
I wish not for my daughter to be wed with a man who may not even like her. I say we should wait with all this till they’re both grown.  
Then it may come to pass that a Targaryen princess which is true image of lady Lyanna Stark sails into the White Harbor.”  
Arya remained still and silent for all this time, but her gaze met Daenerys’ and queen could tell she agrees with Jon’s words. 

Larence nodded again though his face was sour and was about to speak but silver-haired woman was quicker:  
“Lord Larence, save from being princess of the Bay of Dragons my daughter, same as her three siblings, is also heir to the throne of Kingdom  
of the North by her father and grandmother, Lyanna Stark. As my good-sister Arya has renounced her place in the line of succession and my husband wishes not to be in that line, should your queen, Sansa of House Stark, remain with no heirs of her own a new ruler of the North  
could be wed into your family.” Lord Hornwood nodded again: “That is true, Your Grace.”  
She smiled at him: “Indeed it is. Now, Hallis as only heir of Houses Hornwood and Manderly shall one day be lord of more than one third  
of the Northern kingdom. That and a Targaryen wife with right to inherit the Stark throne…  
tell me, my lord, if you were Queen in the North, should you not feel a threat by that man and wife?  
A couple that unites Targaryen, Stark, Hornwood and Manderly blood, and all which comes with that blood.  
If I were Queen Sansa, I surely would not be at ease with knowledge that lord which has sway from White Harbor to Dreadfort  
has brought a trueborn granddaughter of Lyanna Stark to the North. And I would go to great lengths to remove that threat.” 

Her voice become stern and cold: “You do grasp the meaning of great lengths, my lord?  
And no matter what any of you at this table may think, I am very much certain that Queen in the North would have no issues of having  
my daughter removed as a threat. My child will not be put at that risk.  
And with this marriage offer, you and Lord Wyman risk of being marked as those who plot to bring dragonspawn to the Northern throne.”  
“Your Grace, I assure you that no one in House Hornwood or House Manderly thinks of Princess Lyanna so lowly to use the word you just did.”  
“I speak not of your houses, my lord, I speak of your queen. She detested me all those years ago, so it is rather clear what her thoughts are on my children. One that her cousin Jon had with his father’s sister. With me.” she told him.  
“That matters not, Your Grace, not to me, not to my wife, not to Lord Wyman. Such pairings took place in the North as well and I need not to speak how oft first cousins became man and wife in noble houses of Westeros.” he answered. 

Daenerys nodded: “Yet, it matters to the woman who rules the North and I am not risking the safety or even life of my daughter. Not now, mayhaps not even after she is woman grown. With Sansa Stark on the throne, how safe will Lyanna Targaryen be in Hornwood Castle or White Harbor?  
Should you all be named traitors by your queen, my daughter could end in the dungeon of Winterfell.  
That I shall not allow to happen. That you can tell Lord Wyman.” 

Arya broke her silence for the first time since Lya, Rhae and Hallis have left the table:  
“I do not trust Sansa would throw Lyanna in chains. She would not harm her kin.”  
Daenerys smirked: “Tell me, Arya of House Stark, does your sister consider my children to be her kin?  
Or when speaking of them does she use the words which call for someone to hit her in the face?”  
Arya’s eyes widened as she realised that Daenerys has heard her and Jon talking in the nursery the first day of her return to Meereen. 

Larence asked: “What do you wish then, Your Grace?”  
“I wish guarantees from you and Lord Wyman that Princess Lyanna of House Targaryen and House Stark, should she become the wife of Lord Hallis of House Hornwood, will enjoy the same safety in your lands as she does here, in Meereen. Let us not fool each other, you cannot give that guarantees now, can you?”  
Both Larence and Marlon were silent, having no answer.  
“No, you cannot...” she continued “...not as long as this queen remains in Winterfell. Which is reason enough for my daughter not to travel North, not now, not ten years from now. Not while one written decree from Sansa Stark could take her life or put her in chains.” 

Larence turned to Jon who did not expect this from her: “Your Grace, I assure you that no harm will fall upon Princess Lyanna…”  
Daenerys spoke more loudly: “His Grace, my lord, may or may not agree with me on some matters but his decisions do not outweigh my decisions. I am not his consort; I am the Queen. I repeat that no child of mine shall travel to Kingdom of the North while it is ruled by Sansa.  
When she is no more, then all changes. Then, you may get your Targaryen bride.” 

Jon frowned not expecting her to speak so bluntly, while Larence Hornwood was taken aback.  
She leaned back in her chair, content for saying what she wanted to say. “Are you refusing this marriage proposal then, Queen Daenerys?”  
“No, lord Larence, on the contrary. I am wholly agreeing to it with one condition.” she told him.  
“What condition is that?” he asked.  
“One that says: Lyanna Targaryen shall come to the North only when Sansa Stark is gone.” 


	57. ELRIC

_Winterfell, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

**ELRIC**

Almost three moons have passed since he was wounded at White Harbor. Almost a moon since the Battle of Eastwatch Forest.  
One and twenty days since Kingdom of the North gave up its claim on the land of the Gift and the land beyond the Wall.  
His foot troubled him not anymore, save sometimes his mind played tricks on him and he could feel as if this toes were itching him.  
Toes that were long ago eaten by a crow or a seagull, somewhere on the white walls of Manderly city.  
He gave it a little thought. He would laugh about it had he not been a bitter man now.  
Even before, Elric of House Karstark was never a man of japes. 

Though, when raven brought to Karhold news from Mole’s Town of his successor, the commander of Northern host, Roger Ryswell  
holding a parlay with wildling leaders and accepting their terms he at first thought to be a jape. In a poor manner, but jape nonetheless.  
He refused to believe it.  
He knew that battle in the woodland near Eastwatch-by-the-Sea brought no true victory for either side.  
It was a carnage that could go side by side with the Battle of the Bastards. No true victory, but it did give an upper hand to kraken and Thenn.

His cavalry, horsemen of the North with Vale and Southron knights met their ruin in the dense woods ten leagues south of Eastwatch,  
not far from the shore of the Narrow Sea. And on that sea, kraken had two thousand more men ready to come ashore and march on Mole’s Town  
in matter of days together with rest of the wildlings and Ironborn, those that have survived the Eastwatch Forest.

Elric struggled with numbers, soon as he received detailed reports of the battle.  
Two thousand wildlings remained, thousand kraken scum and with those two thousand in the Narrow Sea.  
That is a host of five thousand battle ready men. And women, when it comes to wildings.  
_Spearteats, axecunts_ as some of his men had once called them.  
Nothing gave more pleasure to soldiers under Karstark sunburst than to butcher wildling women warriors.  
Elric himself gave order not to take Free Folk prisoners, following the ancient Umber telling.  
_Kill one with cock, kill one with cunt, they will not respawn..._  
After the battle, North had five and thirty hundred men, battered and bruised, but ready to fight.  
They should have withdrawn to Mole’s Town and let enemy to attack.  
Fort there was of Elric design and had proven itself to be unsolvable task for kraken and Thenn.  


“We could have bleed them slow, beneath the wooden ramparts of Mole’s Town.  
We could have bought ourselves time for the reinforcements to arrive by Kingsroad…” he said to maester of Karhold  
“…North still had numbers to won this war. Ryswell went to lift siege of Eastwatch with seven thousand.  
Had he waited for two sennights more, he would command twelve thousand.”  
Maester Roone, a chunky man of one and thirty namedays, cautiously nodded:  
“Yes, my lord, but that would leave every Northern lord without men at arms, only with boys and toothless old men in his lands.  
Fear of kraken raids made them not to commit all their swords and shields to queen’s host.”  
“I am certain that Ryswell would have made them yield and give their men to the royal banner. Yet, Ryswell did not listen when I told him that Mole’s Town and not Eastwatch is key to victory. He rushed with the numbers he had, rushed to relieve our fort there,  
got himself drawn into the battle in the thick forest and then he had lost heart. After he saw how many men were lost.”  
“My lord, if all the messages I have thus far received from other maesters in the North were true, more than six thousand and seven hundred men at arms were lost in this war. Northerners, Valemen and southern freewills.  
I dare to say numbers are closer to five and seventy hundred, should we add those who fell in Ironborn raids.”  
“Seven thousand men died for nothing! For nothing, Roone, as our good queen has given up on her own dream. I’ve told her to find a good commander in my stead. And she went for Roger Ryswell, to appease the lords from the shores of Sunset Sea. Able man, yes and best choice if our foes were Reachmen, men of Westerlands, hells even Dornish. Ryswell knows how to fight pitched battles against proper armies. But, to fight savages and butchers you need savage and butcher. You need someone like me. I have butchered the kraken and Thenn well, till I got cut down.”  
He paused for a short while, then he said to Roone: “Tell my personal escort to get ready for a long ride. And get my horse ready as well.”  
“My lord…?”  
“Come dawn, we ride for Winterfell.” “As you order, my lord.”  
“And Roone…” “Yes, lord Elric?”  
“Tell them to carry only Karstark colors. Without the direwolf banner. ” 

Roger Ryswell was still as Elric saw him last. Stern and unbent.  
And recovering from the slash across the chest, kraken axe kissed him right on the sigil of his house, coating the dark horse head in crimson.  
Elric limped his way up to his once chambers where Lord of the Rills was now accommodated.  
He got use to walking with the cane now, though it took many days and thrice as many curses of most foul nature. 

“Elric Karstark…” Ryswell said lifting his gaze.  
He was sitting next to the window, deep in his thoughts.  
There was fire in the hearth, as ever in the late past noon hours of autumn.  
“Lord Roger.” he returned the greeting.  
“It is kind of you to visit me, my noble predecessor… though not before long I shall be someone’s predecessor as well.  
No need to speak to you of that, I assume Her Grace has already shared her thoughts on the matter with you.”  
Elric shook his head: “I haven’t met the Queen yet. I came to see you first.”  
Roger frowned: “Then surely you wish to trade words with me.”  
“I do. I wish to hear of Eastwatch Forest from you.” Karstark confirmed.  
“You will understand that I don’t take great pleasure in retelling of my failure.”  
“Yet I hope you will be able to put it in words, my lord.”  
“Battle of Eastwatch Forest…” Ryswell began to talk “…queerest thing about it is that it gave no true victor. Neither them or us were routed.  
Yet, we were those that broke first. They cut through our left flank, where Southern foot was.  
They could not hold the ground against the wildlings. _Last River! _ they shrieked charging on the Southrons. _Blood for blood! _”  
“Aye… Southrons killed dozens of them on the Last River.”  
“Southrons killed hundreds of wildlings at Eastwatch Forest. We could have taken the day, lord Elric… What I wanted is for our foot to force them out of the woods, on the open field. There, our cavalry, two thousand strong would make a short work of them… it nearly happened, same as our left flank, their right was beginning to crumble, there Yara Greyjoy has placed her greenest warriors, merely boys. And I’ve sent mountain clans against them, they carved through them as they were lemon cake. It seemed we shall have them in pincers, with our men coming from behind of their main. Having them enveloped, we would push them before our armored knights.”  
“What happened?” Elric asked.  
“Krakens sent all they got into fight. Every single man. Yara pulled all men that were besieging Eastwatch into that cursed forest.  
She had three thousand there, two days before the battle. On the morrow of the battle she left about thousand around Eastwatch, others joined with those krakens already in the forest. Then she called that one thousand as well. While our five hundred men remained behind the walls of the fort, not even trying to pursue the Ironborn that were on hard march to join the fray. Five hundred men did nothing while whole damn war was being decided only ten leagues away.”  
“Greyscale take them all! Fucking cowards!” Elric cursed loudly before asking:  
“Has Henly Slate gone mad?! I’ve place that man to command the Eastwatch for I knew of him not being a craven.”  
“It was not Henly, lord Elric. He was killed over a moon ago before the battle.  
He tried to lift the siege by his own force, but he lost about two hundred in that failed attempt and retreated in the fort.  
One who came after him, a halfwit of House Whitehill, being wounded in that failure, choose to cower behind Eastwatch walls.”  
“Five hundred men could have caught up with those thousand Ironborn and halt them down…” Elric said.  
“Aye, they could. Without those fresh men, I would have flanked the foe and drove them before our mounted men and their lances.  
Instead, that thousand Ironborn came behind our men that were slowly slashing through kraken main line.”  
“Then you ordered cavalry to charge deep into the forest.” Karstark noted.  
“I did. With a fool’s hope that it could turn the tide. It only made it worse. That was no ground for heavy horse.  
Their archers were cleverly deployed, killing horses rather than riders… that charge lost its strength in less than half an hour, arrows and spears rained on them, those riders whose mount was not killed under them have no other but to dismount… and when on ground…”  
Elric needed not to hear more, he finished the sentence for him: “They were nothing save footmen in full armour in dense forest battle.”  
“Aye. Two hours after I’ve sent cavalry into fight, there was nothing else for me but to order retreat to Eastwatch fort.  
There we’ve have lingered only that long for me to have that Whitehill craven hanged for treason, cowardice… it matters not.  
Then I’ve ordered those five hundred to burn the fort down and guard our retreat to Mole’s Town. I’ve lost half of my army that day, lord Elric.”  
“You’ve done what you could, lord Roger. Yet, you should have let them take Eastwatch and then meet them at Mole’s Town.  
With your seven thousand intact and with five hundred of Eastwatch garrison added.  
I’ve told you of Mole’s Town as place where kraken and Thenn were defeated many times.”  
“We can only lament over what could have been, lord Elric.”  
“I’ve never been very good at lamentations, my lord.”

“A man who cannot walk on his two feet, cannot lead my host into battle.”  
Sansa said with calm tone looking at Elric of House Karstark who stood before the throne in the Great Hall of Winterfell, leaning on a cane.  
“Those are your exact words, are they not?”

He could not walk properly now, placing the heel of his toeless left leg on the ground. The wound has healed, he walked with the cane and he could mount a horse without help. Sansa’s words reminded him of how broken he was in first weeks after the battle. He tried to forget those days.  
“They were, my queen. They were my words.”  
“Have you come to tell me that you’re better now?” she asked.  
“I’ve come to place myself in your service, Your Grace.”  
She smirked: “What service would that be? Remind me what duty have I bestowed upon you before you were left with one and a half foot.”  
“Commander of the Northern host.” he said through his teeth.  
“Yes, commander of the Northern host. Which I am sure you know was defeated at Eastwatch Forest.  
And that caused Kingdom of the North to give up our claim to new lands. Where have you been when all that came to pass, lord Karstark?”  
“I was recovering from my wound, Your Grace.”  
“I needed you, Elric, I needed you to lift the siege of Eastwatch. You would have done it, you were giving blows to kraken and Thenn.  
Still in the hour of greatest need you faltered. Allowing lost toes to break you. Now, when it is all over, you have come back.”  
Sansa’s voice was cold and distant, voice of disappointment. 

“Sansa…” She gestured with a hand: “Do not be so familiar, my lord. I take men for their word. As I have taken you.  
Your word was to bring the land of Brandon’s Gift into Northern kingdom… a wedding gift I if remember well.  
So, lord who wanted to be king consort, where is my wedding gift? Wildings have it. You failed me, lord Karstark.  
You are far better commander than Roger Ryswell, far better for the war I have just lost. North has just lost.  
And when you had to do nothing save placing good of the Kingdom before your own wounded pride, you have chosen your wounded pride.” 

Elric said nothing as he was beaten with his own words of promise, from days when he and his queen lusted for each other.  
Two and a half moons have passed. If there was glimpse of love between Queen in the North and Lord of Karhold, now it was long gone.  
He hoped that she will stay with child which would oblige her to marry him, she hoped for swift victory in the war which he would deliver  
on tip of his sword. Each failed the other. 

“Your Grace…” he finally uttered “…I have done all your biddings while I could. Our men under my command have taken Eastwatch and Hardhome and land of both Gifts. I do not deserve mocking.”  
“Yes, my lord, you have taken all that you say.” she said raising from the throne and walking towards him “And you have witnessed how North has lost it all. A true king consort, a true king of mine would have led our army into battle with both of his legs missing.”  
“Nothing is lost. North could still take what we planned…” he began to talk.  
“Are you insulting my wit now, lord Karstark? Pray tell me how we could retake the lands of the Gift and plant royal banner at Hardhome.  
I am truly eager to know.”  
“The Kingdom of the North, the realm of First Men, was defeated by wildings and the Ironborn. By kraken and Thenn. A shame that will not be washed for centuries…” he said, uttering the last sentence more aloud “…there yet is a way to turn the course of events…”  
She laughed: “The peace treaty with the wildling chieftains has been signed. Our men at arms have retreated from the Gift.  
Southern freewills have mostly returned home, there is war in Dorne now for them to fight.”  
“Your Grace, we could…” he tried to speak.  
“Now you have the zest to fight? Now? I hope you’re not mocking me with this eagerness, lord Karstark. There is nothing more to be done.  
No land is worth losing an entire generation of Northerners, for the second time in twenty years.”  
She took a deep breath before saying:  
“I have tried, I have tried to make a better and greater kingdom than we had, but lords of the North failed to follow that vision. Small and selfish men as they are. They believed not in what I wanted to achieve and for that we were defeated by savages and pirates, those who never won over anyone before.”

Her eyes met his and there was nothing but disdain in them.  
“What are my queen’s orders?” he asked in cold, even tone.  
“You are free to act as you wish. Retire to Karhold or remain here for a week or two as guest on the court, it is your choice.  
I shall accept whatever decision you make.” She turned away from him and walked back to the throne:  
“I wish you good fortune, Lord Elric of House Karstark.” He nodded to her:  
“Your Grace…” and walked slowly out of the Great Hall, sounds of his cane hitting the ground echoed through the empty room.

As he closed the door, Sansa of House Stark, Queen in the North, began to weep. She wept as she had not been weeping for years, ever since she was a young girl, taken hostage by Lannisters in King’s Landing, seeing her father beheaded and hearing of her mother and brother killed.  
She wept as she knew that war she has lost shall mark her entire reign. 

_Karhold, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

It was one of the most recently built castles of the North.  
Should one consider a thousand years as being recent.  
Karlon Stark, one of younger sons of then King of the Winter, put down a rebellion against his father, some claim rebels were Boltons,  
and as a reward his father gave him land and a chance to make a house of his own.  
Karl’s Hold was built as a fortress, with time becoming Karhold and Stark branch of Karhold became House Karstark.  
Fastest way to the castle was by boat up the river, yet most of Northerners travel here by land.  
Karhold dominates over river and surroundings, over a small port and small shadow town around it, one of craftsmen and farmers.  
Being a keep with one of the largest garrisons in the North, seat of Karstarks was spared from Ironborn raids during the War for the New North. 

“Thousands died, Bear Island fell to kraken, Gift was surrendered to the wildlings, Hardhome now port for these savages to trade with Essos, many of our keeps sacked and put to torch, dozens of villages burned.” he spoke with disgust and bitterness:  
“And after all that, it came to pass North being defeated, disgraced and humiliated. We all lost something in this war and we gained nothing.”  
“Some lost more, some less. Your toes hardly weigh as same loss as do the life of my brother and sack of my heirloom, Deepwood Motte.”  
Lady Erena Glover told him with cold voice “And you were beating war drum the loudest when it suited you.  
For with beating that drum you got our queen to open her legs for you.” 

He was taken aback with frankness of this woman, but when he saw the grin in the faces of Eddara Tallhart and Jonelle Cerwyn, he dared not to scold the Glover woman. He invited these three Northern ladies, now leading their families, to discuss the future of the kingdom.  
With them came some others, from lesser houses. Ser Kyle Condon of House Condon, in service of Jonelle Cerwyn, loyal to her as he was to late Medger Cerwyn, her father. Kyle was muscular man in his early thirties, of dark hair cut short and trimmed beard.  
On his red gambeson he wore a sigil of Condons, red eagle's head between crossed tridents of same colour on white shield.  
Slight grin on his face did not escape the gaze of lord of Karhold. 

Rodrik Forrester sat next to him, head of House Forrester and Lord of Ironrath, sworn to House Glover.  
Rodrik was a seasoned warrior, survived the Red Wedding and all the battles that ensued in the North afterwards.  
Rodrik, close in age with Kyle Condon, in this last war, with wildlings and the Iroborn, fought at the side of his uncle Ser Malcolm of House Branfield, brother of his late mother Elissa, in the Battle of Eastwatch Forest.  
Malcolm, commander of the cavalry of freewill Southrons that fought for the North, opposed the command of Roger Ryswell to take battle in the forest terrain losing the advantage of having that much mounted armored men. Ryswell seeking chance for victory over wildlings and Ironborn refused to listen advice of a hedge knight coming from disgraced house and ordered all the mounted men he had to meet the enemy on the ground that favored the enemy best. Battle was not won, yet lost in all but name and North had no strength to carry on further with the war. Ser Malcolm Branfield died in that forest, place now cursed in nearly all of northern houses. 

Across the hall, were other lesser lords and ladies of the North. Broad shouldered man, with light-brown hair and messy beard in grey-green surcoat with embroidered shield of gold coating on his chest upon which an upright black sword and four horseshoes were shown.  
Elric did not know who that was, save man’s family, House Ironsmith. Next to him was a grizzled old man with one arm missing.  
Harwood Stout, Lord of Goldgrass, sworn to Dustins of Barrowton, house now represented by Beron, Steward of Barrow Hall.

“Aye, my lady Erena, I was beating the war drum, that I shame not of. Nor of my sharing bed with the queen as you’ve mentioned so delicately.  
Yet, you do recall that I have defended the Eastwatch and the Mole’s Town on many occasions, that my leg was crippled fighting the krakens on the walls of White Harbor. Northern host kept enemy at bay when I was leading it. Defeats of southerners who came at our queen’s invitation are their own. Act of cowardice by garrison commander that costed us victory at Eastwatch Forest is not mine. I have not lost a battle in this war.  
But, as you have lost a brother, I have lost a friend. Lord Gawen Glower was my true friend. And a man who thought of the future of our kingdom same as I did.” “What was that future?” Eddara Tallhart asked:  
“North stretching from the Greywater Watch in the south till Frostfangs and Valley of Thenn beyond the Wall? Hardhome as Queensport?”  
“Yes, my lady, that was to be a part of that future. A larger and stronger North with no enemies to the north and with that other kingdom on the south respecting us without ever thinking to subjugate us ever again, no matter who sits in the Red Keep. Was that ambition failed or bad?  
I say it was not. But our queen was not able to deliver it. I say that now, loudly and clearly as I can.  
Queen Sansa bears guilt for the defeat in this war.”

“And you do not?” Rodrik Forrester said with smirk “You were by her side when Hardhome fell, when lord Gawen fell.”  
“Indeed, I was, lord Forrester. And I was at her side when we have bled the krakens and Thenns wherever they came to attack us.  
It was her will to bring southerner freeriders and landless knights to our side. And they failed to give us what was expected of them.  
Or do you trust that your uncle Malcom fared good against wildlings at the Battle of the Brandon’s Gift?  
They were arrogant and vain, seeing enemy as dumb savages and they have paid for it bloody. I have never made such mistake.”  
Forrester fumed and wanted to reply, but Erena Glover leaned towards him and whispered something in his ear.  
He nodded obediently and remained silent. 

Lord of Goldgrass was not amused and made it clear by loud cough: “Apologies, my lords and ladies. This hearth of yours, lord Karstark,  
is giving more smoke than my throat can bear… and throwing mistakes of this last war at each other’s feet chokes me even more.  
I’d be more pleased should you tell us, Lord Elric, why have you summoned us here. Some here travelled for many days to come here,  
some even dressed as commoners to make sure Winterfell knows nothing of this gathering. Are we cooking treason here, my lord?”  
“Aye…” most of them said loudly, while rest nodded.  
Jonelle Cerwyn rose up and made a few paces around the table: “With respect, my lord Karstark, tell us the true nature of this meeting.”  
Elric got up as well, struggling no to limp more than needed: “Fear not, Lady Jonelle, I am not a man which fears to say his mind straight.  
Why I have summoned you here is that we should agree on further deeds regarding our kingdom. And our queen… and the length of her reign.” 

“Well, well…” Harwood Stout grinned “…young lord Karstark ponders to overthrow the Queen in the North.”  
Erena Glover spat: “Queen who ruined the North.”  
“You, my lady, as all of us here present were her loyal subjects, her bannermen and she got a lot of adoration from many of noble houses.” Stout said with slight mockery “Now, from what I hear, many of you wish her gone.”  
Lady of Deepwood Motte hissed: “Yes, lord Stout, she was a good queen for nearly ten years. And I believed in her.  
But Westeros once believed in Aerys the Second. His first decade of reign was peaceful and prosperous. We all know what next ten years of his kingship turned into.” “Queen Sansa is far from Mad King, Lady Erena.” Kyle Condon said to her.  
“I was not comparing our queen with that madman. Only stating that while he ruled wisely and ably, Seven Kingdoms loved him till he turned mad.  
Robert Baratheon also started as a great promise. He ended up drinking and whoring while Lannisters were taking over all.  
From his bedroom where Cersei was fucking her own brother to royal treasury…  
Sansa gave us ten good years. And two years of barren war, death of thousands, hunger and humiliation.  
And for that, Ser Kyle, I agree with Lord Karstark that we should consider all given deeds. For the Kingdom of the North. For all our houses.” 

“What deeds?” asked Jonelle Cerwyn and Beron Dustin in one voice.  
Elric gazed at her, then at him: “My lady, my lord… do you truly believe that our dead will ever be avenged with Sansa remaining queen?  
That lands of the Gift will be ours ever again? That krakens will be thrown off the Bear Island? If you do, then you’re fools.  
And I know that Lady Jonelle of House Cerwyn and Lord Beron of House Dustin are no fools. We need new blood on the northern throne.”  
“What blood? Sansa is the only Stark in the North.” Stout reminded him.  
“And? What of it?” Elric asked.  
“There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.”  
“Ha, Lord Harwood, what a convenient saying. For Starks. And yet, there were times when there was no one in Winterfell as it was put to torch.  
And then there were Boltons at Winterfell. All our houses suffered that in silence. And earth did not open to swallow us all…Still, I as Karstark have Stark blood.”  
“You want to be king, is that it?” Jonelle asked.  
“I have never said that I do. I only say that if we’re to speak of Stark blood, well, my family has branched out from Winterfell and in many generations that followed, Stark women were wed for Karstark men. As saying goes, scratch a Karstark…”  
Stout smirked, so did Beron Dustin and Kyle Condon while ladies Cerwyn and Tallhart shrugged. Erena Glover gestured in dismissal:  
“What blood will be ruling the North is of little issue now, while Sansa still holds the crown. Only after she is removed, we can hold a council and elect a new king or queen. I ask you now, what are our odds to oust Sansa Stark? And oust her we must.  
My dead brother demands it, thousands of dead and butchered Northerners demand it. Smallfolk from plundered both shores demand it.”

“Aye… and toes of Lord Elric demand it…” Beron Dustin said, his voice rang with impatience: “Should we decide that we no longer want  
Queen Sansa on the throne, that demands taking our men to Winterfell. Marching our men at arms to the capital of Kingdom of the North.  
That may lead to civil war, lords and ladies, and we have not enough men to fight it.”  
“Neither does Sansa. Garrison of Winterfell barely can muster quarter of thousand men now, for rest she will have to rely on her bannermen.”  
Elric replied. “What houses she can count on?” Eddara Tallhart asked him.  
“Some smaller lord will answer her call. Houses Lake, Lightfoot, Whitehill, Mollen, then House Reed of the Neck, Ryswell mayhaps… Flints as well.” he answered. “All those can’t give more than thousand or two at most.” Erena Glover added.  
“House Tallhart will not fight for her.” Lady Eddara declared.  
“Nor will House Cerwyn.” Jonelle was next to speak.  
“House Dustin stands with you.” Beron added. Ser Klye said a warning:  
“What of Hornwoods and Manderlys? Should they support her, she will have a proper host.  
No matter how small compared to the numbers we had before the war for the New North and that could save her.”  
“Larence Hornwood and Wyman Manderly have no love lost for Sansa. I expect them to join us or remain out of the fight.” Lady Erena assured.

“That is good notion, my lord.” Steward of Barrow Hall told him.  
“It is. Should Hornwoods and Manderly decided not to partake in actions that will remove Sansa from the throne, that means his bannermen will not join either. Holt, Marsh, Overton, Waterman… only some of lesser lords that will not rush to Winterfell to keep Sansa a queen.”  
Elric sounded very convinced.  
“Yet, Lord Elric, old Wyman mislikes you, that is common knowledge and Larence Hornwood is his son by marriage, both houses can in the same time be keen on ousting Sansa and demanding a say in who shall rule from the halls of Winterfell.” Eddara Tallhart warned him.  
“That fat fuck from White Harbor is renown schemer. Larence is his lackey. It is why we must act before Wyman does..." Elric said  
"should we gather a firm alliance of houses that will bring a strong host under the walls of Winterfell, old Manderly will not dare to counter us.”  
“My ladies and my lords, I shall propose an action we should agree upon. Today, as we’re all still here at Karhold.” Erena Glover demanded.

“Good.” voice of Rodrik Forrester was heard after a long while “What do you propose, Lady Glover?”  
“We must be ready for the next Queen's Council, no matter when it will take place. That day, we shall gather with our most loyal men at castle Cerwyn and then we march on Winterfell. I wish to enter royal castle peacefully, but I have no issue to storm it, should the need arise.”  
Erena spoke to all. “I wholly agree, my lady...” he said “...send word to your bannermen upon returning from this meeting, use not ravens but runners. We don’t need more than two thousand men to overwhelm Winterfell.”  
“What will become of Queen Sansa?” Eddara Tallhart asked.  
“She will be taken to a holdfast of most trustworthy among us, there shell be fed and clothed and taken care of for the rest of her days.  
Or should she choose exile, there is her cousin in Eyrie and her uncle in Riverrun.” Elric said.  
“Edmure Tully will never have her in his halls. I have heard from old Yohn Royce many years ago she mocked him in the Dragonpit.  
On the very same day when Bran Stark was elected king.” Beron Dustin spoke in cold voice.  
“That leaves her with the Vale.” lady Cerwyn added.  
“I doubt Sweetrobin Arryn will suffer her either. Sansa was there when Littlefinger killed his mother throwing her through the Moon Door.  
And his Corbray wife will not share Eyrie with an exiled queen...” Elric said, his voice sounded with pleasure uttering these words.  
“That leaves her as our hostage, if she stays in the North. Mayhaps we should send her to King’s Landing.  
To her brother and to her once husband, the Imp. Truth be told, she has more family now in Red Keep than in Winterfell.” Erena said grinning.  
“That as well may be a path for us to take, my lady.” lord of Karhold replied.

“M’lords, m’ladies…” man in grey-green surcoat rose up to take word for the first time since this meeting started, he spoke in thick Northern accent, using words more befitting to smallfolk than to one of noble birth “…I Errold of House Ironsmith say t’at all ya said ‘ere holds truth.  
More or less. Yet, ya seem to forget w’at ya’re sayin’ and plannin’ of doin’ is oathbreaking. We ‘ave all sworn our swords to Stark queen.  
Now, we speak of turnin’ ‘em swords against ‘er. Oathbreaking is sin before the old gods. Notherners will not look kindly of t’at.”  
Elric saw how Forrester, Condon and even Beron Dustin nod to this. Erena Glover frowned as she never was much of a believer in any gods. Eddara Tallhart remained silent same as Jonelle Cerwyn. But he was not:  
“Lord Errold, aye, old gods curse oahtbreakers. That is true. But, were you not same as many of us here, in the Great Hall of Winterfell that day, nearly two years ago when she mocked Hugo Wull? He reminded her of old pacts made before the old gods and what did she say?  
That tree gods did not help us in our miseries, that tree gods did not save her from her marriage with Bolton’s bastard.  
That she once gave an oath in the godswood of Winterfell and when she broke it, no harm came upon her. You do recall those words of hers, right?” Errold nodded: “I do, m’lord. A mockery, not to old ‘ugo Wull, but to our gods.”  
“Then, lord Ironsmith does an oath given to the oathbreaker which prides on being oathbreaker, bears any weight before gods, old and new?”  
“I wager it doesn’t, lord Elric.” man replied stroking his messy beard. 

Elric was pleased with answer he got: “No, it does not. North has suffered much in last twenty years. Lions, krakens, Freys, Boltons,  
White Walkers, wildlings, krakens again… Indeed, our queen has won the independence for North, that is her greatest achievement and victory.  
Yet, a ruler cannot be valued on past victories but on everyday deeds. And her deeds have been wrong for many moons now…”  
he spoke looking to all present “…and we have not discussed a matter of great importance to any kingdom. Succession, my lord and ladies.  
Our queen is two and thirty and in twelve years of reign has not found a king consort or given heirs to her house and princes to our kingdom…  
I am not a man of great faith, but one might say, lord Errold, that old gods have punished Sansa for oath she gave in godswood and broke it.  
One might say that we have lost this war as old gods favoured not oathbreaker, but instead allowed the Ironborn, a heathen lot  
that worships an underwater demon, to win over blood of the Fist Men. A cursed queen means a cursed kingdom, I say to you.”  


_No better way to win the superstitious Northern smallfolk than to proclaim Sansa cursed and nonbeliever in old gods, _  
flashed in his mind as he looked upon approving faces of his co-conspirators gathered in the hall of Karhold castle.  
War for the New North was over. War for the Northern crown was only beginning.  
_Karstark, the Stark of Karhold will take over Winterfell, _he mused as he was shaking hands will his guests as they were leaving for their keeps.


	58. VIPERS IN THE SAND

_Ghost Hill, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

**ARIANNE**

She watched the sunrise of the first day of sixth moon of year three-hundred and seventeenth after Valyrian family from Dragonstone conquered Westeros. All save Dorne. Now, new conquerors came to steal Dornish land from Dornish men.

_They will fail, same as every invasion before this one, no matter how, no matter when, no matter the cost, they will fail_,  
Princess Arianne Martell thought standing on the ramparts of Ghost Hill castle, seat of House Toland.  
Castle was built atop the steep hill, overlooking the waves of the Sea of Dorne. 

Walls of this holdfast were chalk-white, shining against the deep blue waters of the sea.  
On each corner there was a square tower, while the courtyard was towered by a great main keep. Beneath the hill was village,  
a small settlement of dusty lanes, now abandoned as people left for inland, taking all which they could and destroying what they could not take.  
Arianne issued decree that no water, no food, no shelter, nothing is given to the enemy.  
Village was empty, its rooftops soaked in oil and tar, waiting if the ships bringing the invaders would appear on the horizon. 

She knew they will not come.  
The coast below the castle was not in favor of landing and Ghost Hill could not be taken from the shore, only from inland.  
When Aegon the Conqueror invaded Dorne, lord Toland has sent a champion to face the Targaryen king in single combat.  
After slaying his opponent, Aegon discovered the champion was the fool of Ghost Hill, and that Lord Toland had disappeared.  
A daring mockery of first king of Seven Kingdoms. Though he in truth ruled with only six.  
Upon Aegon’s return to his then newly built city of King’s Landing, Ghost Hill was soon retaken by Dornishmen. 

_Nowadays will write another page in the chronicles of Ghost Hill castle_, she pondered looking south and east, towards Sunspear.  
Smoke was rising from that direction, clearly visible in the light of the early morning. Capital of Dorne was set ablaze. By her own command.  
City was made vacant before burning. Old men, womenfolk and children were evacuated sennights before, by boats and rafts, up the rivers Greenblood, Scourge and Vaith, tens of miles away from the coastland. Able-bodied men marched inland later, after they have poisoned every source of water in the city, after they poisoned every pool in the Water Gardens and strip all the orchards of its fruit.  
Martell princess commanded: "Nothing shall remain for the invader. Not a single drop of Dornish water, not one seed of Dornish grain.  
If they want Dorne, they’ll have it with hunger and thirst."

Unlike her ancestors, Arianne took all the people inland, to rocks and dunes as well.  
No Dornish will be enslaved by own choice. None living will remain to meet the invaders was her first command. 

Dorne had ships now, a formidable fleet of unlikely allies.  
Allies that will soon come from war that just ended flying their banners high, allies willing to bleed the Realm dry.  
When her spies from the Reach, the Westerlands and the rest of the Six Kingdoms reported of how lords, great and small, are mustering their men, how Red Keep gathers a large host, counting in tens of thousands, to march on Dorne, Arianne Martell lost no time.  
She called her bannermen and laid out plans to defend her land. That council took place on three and twentieth day of fourth moon, five weeks ago.

“I plan to clear our shores of anything of value, my ladies and lords. Ships, fishing boats, pole boats, rafts, all that floats on water will ferry all who cannot hold spear inland and provisions that will keep my people well fed for moons to come. Livestock, grain, dry fruit and water.  
All that army of the broken king will not have here. When cities and keeps and villages along the shore are left with nothing of value,  
then it shall all be put to torch. All of it. If the king’s army wants to fight us, they will have to march for many miles into our deserts.  
And there, there I intend to plant the desert with their bones."

Evacuation of all Dornish settlements began the very next day. It was done with no rush, in orderly manner and with calm.  
Planky Town, a place where hundreds of poleboats, fishing skiffs, barges, houseboats and hulks were kept together by ropes and chains  
and planks to make a floating city was untied and unchained and it went up the Greenblood river for the first time in Dornish history.  
Orphans of the Greenblood, those that kept the Rhoynar way for centuries, shared the fate with the rest of Dorne.  
Anything that could not move upstream was sunk.  
Castles of Lemonwood, Salt Shore, Starfall and all the villages around them on the southern coast of Dorne, one that was touched by the waves of Summer Sea were abandoned and burned down. Same fate befell the keeps and villages in the north on the coast of the Sea of Dorne. 

Then she gathered her war council, in third sennight of fifth moon of this year, at Godsgrace, the seat of House Allyrion.  
Ser Ryon Allyrion, lord of Godsgrace, now in his three and fiftieth year, was very glad that court was held in his keep.  
Though, his Princess decided to have a moving court as it seemed that entire Princedom was on foot, in saddle, on wheels or sailing upstream. 

“Sixty thousand or more are coming against us, my lords. On ships, from both east and west. All reports we have received since the first days  
of this moon speak in favor of this. Raven’s host is being gathered in Oldtown and in King’s Landing. They will be upon us before next moon begins. Before that all our people must be inland, if some stray and remain on the shores, be it on their heads. All our host must be inland too.  
We shall meet the enemy at Blackmont, at Hellholt, at Kingsgrave and here, at Godsgrace.”  
“Princess, as I have understood the most likely plan of raven’s invasion, they aim to take all our holdfasts along the riverbanks.  
One may expect a sizeable host coming up the Torentine.” came from Perros Blackmont, lord of Blackmont castle.  
Ser Ulwyck Uller of Hellholt nodded:  
“Same stands for Hellholt. They will come in strength at us, not yet suffering from heat, thirst or hunger.  
We must wear them out before striking the blow, Princess.”  
“And we shall. I must say that Lannister Imp has devised a wise plan. Take our shores, take our riverbanks, drive us into the mountains and deserts, cutting us from supply lines across the sea...” Arianne told them “...yet, no plan was ever made by man that did not have a flaw.  
This one has it too.”  
Lord Daeron Vaith of the Red Dunes gave her an inquisitive look: “That flaw would be…?”  
Other lords and ladies gazed at her as well.  
Lady Nymella Toland’s eyes were wide, so were those of Lady Sylva Santagar of Spottswood, she-leopard some called her, but to most she was known as Spotted Sylva. Ser Gulian Qorgyle, Lord of Sandstone, frowned as he expected for Dorne to wage war as many times before, in the deserts where knights from other parts of Westeros are baked in their heavy armor and footmen cannot stand the heat.  
Arianne saw that Trebor Jordayne, Lord of Tor is also not glad to hear this as he was ordered to leave his holdfast on the shore while some castles on the riverbanks would seem to be defended. Face of Edric Dayne, Lord of Starfall was marked with questions as well.  
He too was obliged to vacate his keep and set it to torch. 

“Flaw, ladies and lords of Dorne, was in the belief of Lannister and his war council that our land has no ships or boats of any kind and that sailing along our shores and up our rivers will be of no burden. That belief was well founded. In the past.  
Yet, in the present, Dorne can learn from our allies from Iron Islands same as they can learn from us.  
And we have learned… We shall block our rivers with sunk ships, boats, barges… with everything that makes sailing or rowing upstream impossible. Enemy will have no chance but to disembark many miles before the castles they wanted to attack and march along the riverbanks. Where there are no proper roads or ways for a cavalry or foot to pass. But there are many places for ambushes, skirmishes…  
Till they reach Blackmont, Hellholt, Kingsgrave, Godsgrace, Vaith their strength in numbers will be cut short many folds.” 

Ser Deziel Dalt, Knight of Lemonwood, grinned hearing this:  
“Well, seven hells... if that advice came from Greyjoy woman, our alliance with them might prove worthy more than I hoped for.”  
“You and many more here present thought it is a folly of mine to make an accord with Iron Islands and yet after they broke the teeth of raven king’s sister, they'll be here with us to help us break him as well. He is their enemy same as ours. Our victory means their victory.  
Both Ironborn and Dornish want to be free from the Red Keep. And free we shall be.”  
“Free till the end of time!” Tremond Gargalen said loudly slamming with his hand on the table.  
“Free now and forever!” yelled Old Hawk, Lord Franklyn Fowler of Skyreach. All present clapped and made shouts of approval.  
“Where shall we take our stand besides the keeps you have named, my princess?” Edric Dayne asked as room was quiet again.  
She made a slight nod to him and smiled.  
Lord of Starfall was always to her liking. Clever and moderate man, proven both on battlefield and council alike.  
“Well asked, my lord Edric. We shall hold Sandstone, Red Dunes, Yronwood, Skyreach and Ghost Hill. The latter as long as we can for it could happen that keep of House Toland is cut off from the rest of free Dorne.”  
"I assume, Princess, that spears of Starfall will defend Blackmont…” Edric said next.  
“Your assumption is partially true, my lord. Indeed, you will commit some of your men to defence of Blackmont. Not all of them.  
Same as lords Qorgyle, Fowler, Manwoody will set aside certain number of their horsemen.” 

Lord of Sandstone lifted his eyebrows:  
“My princess, as sixty thousand foes are to descend upon us in few days over fortnight can we afford to set aside any man who can carry a sword or spear?” “Sixty thousand, yes, mayhaps more. Mayhaps less if some of Five kingdoms do not provide the men they are expected.  
Lords of the Reach will send its full strength against us. That will leave most of their land poorly defended or not at all.  
I want that to be used to our advantage. To bring this war to their doorstep.”  
“Princess means to have a raiding parties entering the Reach, if I have grasped your words right.” Edric said.  
“You have, though I am unsure if a force of two thousand mounted men can be called a raiding party.” Arianne answered.  
“Two thousand?!” exclaimed Mors Manwoody, heir of Kingsgrave, standing next to his old father, Dagos.  
“So many men could attack Oldtown and would not be without chance.” added his unlce, Ser Myles Manwoody.  
She nodded: “That is what I intend. Not to capture Oldtown while its host wages war against us, but to burn across the Reach from Three Towers to Goldengrove, from Horn Hill to Old Oak. For that it will take two thousand of horsemen gathered from these four houses which will cross the Red Mountains and lay waste on the Reach from one end to the other. Men able to fight as two thousand one day and on the next day to scatter in smaller bands and attack at dozen places at once. Reach as we all know can sustain two thousand horsemen hiding in woods and fields,  
our men will not starve or thirst nor will their horses. That is more than I can say for the Reach cavalry that will enter our lands.”  
“Who will lead that raiding host, those two thousand, my princess?”  
Question came from Old Hawk and she replied, looking at lord of Starfall:  
“Who better than Lord Edric Dayne and Ser Arron Qorgyle, each will command one thousand riders.” Arianne replied.  
Ser Arron, younger brother of Lord of Sandstone bowed to her.  
Edric made a nod: “As my princess orders. Men of Starfall will be well picked and ready to ride to Reach no more than five days from today.”  
“So will men of Skyreach.” Old Hawk added.  
“My men as well.” came from Lord of Kingsgrave.  
Gulian Qorgyle sneered: “That means my brother will wait a whole day for your riders to come as Sandstone will ready our men in four days.” 

Arianne smiled contently that day.  
Her bannermen were ready to battle for Dornish freedom.  
Rest of Westeros tried war in last twenty years. Dorne was spared, spared in War of the Five Kings. Spared in War of Two Queens.  
_But, Dorne was ignored. Ignored when Starks were dividing Westeros among themselves as this whole damn continent was their heirloom_  
… she pondered… _now Dorne is not ignored. Not by raven king in the Red Keep. And not by dragon queen in the east.  
Dorne in a way fights for her as well, for her wish to undo the Realm which her ancestors forged three hundred years ago. _

Now she was at Ghost Hill, looking at the distance. Dornish capital was burning.  
She could only see smoke rising high above the seat of House Nymeros Martell.  
She knew that soldiers of the broken king watch the fire consuming the city from their ships that have filled the sea before Sunspear.  
New Dornish war has begun. Was it Fifth or Sixth, that was disputable.  
It was to be the last Dornish war if she, Princess Arianne Martell would have her saying.  


_Hellholt, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

**KNIGHTS OF THE REACH**

“Scouts have returned, my lord.”  
Ser Laswell Peake reported upon entering the command tent of the host of Six Kingdoms that was encamped around Hellholt,  
now abandoned seat of House Uller in southern Dorne. Castle was emptied of anything that bore any value.  
Even sun-mottled bones of dragon Meraxes that were displayed in the courtyard for three hundred and seven years were gone.  
Wells with sweet water were all poisoned and to drink from the Brimstone river, its water being sulphurous, was forbidden to all soldiers  
of the Realm that came to Hellholt after marching a good forty miles across the Deep Sands.  
Intent was for royal troops to sail into the Brimstone river and go upstream on boats and barges all the way to Hellholt docks which cannot be reached by larger ships due to shallowness of Brimstone. For first score of miles it was so, then they were made to disembark and continue by land. Brimstone was blocked by a dozen sunk river boats and smaller ships, piled one next to other, resting on the riverbed and making journeys up the river impossible. 

“And?” lord Steffon Varner asked.  
“Nothing, my lord. They caught not even a glimpse of the Dornish.”  
“For fuck sake! Where have those bastards gone?!” cursed Ser Culler Tarwick.  
“Aren’t you used to fight with enemy that disappears into thin air only to sprout from the ground when least expected, Ser?” Steffon asked.

Culler Tarwick, a knight of the Reach, returned home last moon after the war in which he fought for the Stark queen ended only to find himself in new campaign on the other end of Westeros. He traded thick pine forests and muddy plains for barren land of rock and sand.  


_In the North_, as he used to say to his fellow knights when they departed for Dorne, _I won one battle, lose another and tied in third.  
I did not lose the war, Northerners did. For their lack of appreciation of armored mounted knights. They have no tradition of knighthood.  
No tradition of breeding proper horses. They have more in common with their foe, the wildlings.  
With them Northerners share more traits than with any man that lives south of the Neck._

Defeat of the Stark queen he felt not as his own.  
When word came that King of Six Kingdoms is gathering an army to submit the treacherous Dorne to his will, he joined.  
He was not yet tired of warring. And another word was that this time, all Dornish noble houses will be plucked out, root and stem.  
In that he saw a new chance of getting a keep and a land of his own. 

“My lord, wildlings have never feared to give battle whenever they felt strong enough.  
These Dornish goatfuckers are fleeing from us for three weeks now...” Culler replied to lord Varner “...fleeing and not taking a stand.”  
“They have to take it somewhere. I gather they will meet us at Hellgate Hall.” Laswell Peake said.  
“Hellgate Hall is nearly fifty miles from here, there is the source of this cursed river.” Culler said to him.

Hellgate Hall was the seat of House Dryland, who were petty kings in Dorne before coming of Princess Nymeria. Later, as that house became extinct it served to House Uller as their holdfast in the hills from which Brimstone river began its flow to the Summer Sea.  
Lord Steffon Varner, veteran of Battle of the Blackwater which took place at the gates of King’s Landing nearly one score of years ago, was tasked by Baelor Hightower, Lord Paramount of the Reach to take both banks of Brimstone river and Hellholt.  
For that he was given command over seven thousand men of which fifteen hundred were horsemen.

Upon taking Hellholt and defeating House Uller, Varner was to turn west with about half of his men for taking part in attack on Sandstone, holdfast of House Qorgyle. He did take Hellholt after long advance along the banks of Brimstone, still Ullers remained elusive.  
Not one living soul was encountered during that forty-mile march northwards, though Dornish were with them, making ambushes where ever they could, on the narrow spots of the river bank, harrying the supply train and rear the most. Steffon, after first losses that claimed tens of lives, ordered his column to move away from the river for nearly half a mile with his cavalry guarding the flank. That was proven wise,  
as column was made safer from the ambushes, though Dornish tried to draw his cavalry in pursuit, thus leaving column unprotected.  
Varner forbade his horsemen to go into chase after enemy no matter what and most of them obeyed.  
Those who did not were punished by twenty lashes of bullwhip. 

Steffon was not a cruel battle leader, but he was determined in not losing his men and supplies due to rashness of knights and freeriders  
under his command. Discipline was maintained and he came before the walls of Hellholt with no more than two hundred lives of his men lost.  
Only to find the keep of House Uller vacant, save rats in the dungeons and adders prowling for those rats he found no one there.  
Not even a dog or cat. Dogs his men have later found, cut in pieces and thrown in every well in the castle and nearby villages.  
Food was no issue, not yet at least. Farmers of the Reach provided the royal host with meat and grain and vegetables for a long campaign.

Issue was water.  
It was transported in dozens of barrels from the Reach, all Dornish rivers, ponds, wells were poisoned, mostly by the carcasses of animals thrown in them. Days here, albeit all of Westeros was nearing autumn that will last for few years, were warm and barreled water soon became stale. It tasted foul, yet barrels with water from rivers of the Reach was only drink available. For men and for horses alike.

Six thousand and eight hundred men were encamped at Hellholt after making advance across the southern Dorne without crossing swords  
with the enemy. They were sixty miles inland from the mouth of Brimstone where ships of Redwyne fleet brought this portion of royal army.  
Still well provisioned and with spirit high, they yearned to battle the hated Dornishmen.  
Most of Varner’s men were of the Reach, only smaller part came from Westerlands, but all kept hate and disgust for the Dornish.  
Along the way, this host has come upon some strayed smallfolk, though Steffon forbade it, most of those were slain on sight.  
True Dornish warriors were not seen, save small bands that made ambushes.

Ever since Battle of the Blackwater, lord Steffon Varner had a slight limp, his knee being injured in that fighting. He entered the command tent.  
It was evening of nineteenth day of sixth moon of current year, other lords and knights that served as his commanders awaited him.  
Lord Alyn Ambrose was first to greet him, first cousin of lord Baelor Hightower by his lady mother.  
A young man, eager to fight as he was one of the red ants which the sigil of his house displayed.  
Next to him was Ser Alester Norcross, another young knight of the Reach, lusting for battle.  
Lord Clayton Graceford was closer in age to Steffon, wiser and cautious in matters of deciding. So was lord of Bitterbridge, Lorent Caswell.  
Laswell Peake and Culler Tarwick were clashing their stances.  
Peake wanting to advance to Hellgate Hall and Tarwick who advocated fortified positions at Hellholt and waiting for the Dornish attack. 

Loudness of them aruging could be heard tens of yards away, drawing attention of the men under command of these lords and knights.  
Steffon would have none of it and upon entering the tent he gestured with his hand that silence is ordered. As them all have shut their mouths, he sat down at the trestle table, not inviting his commanders to sit as well.

“Now, as order in this tent has been restored, I will make this as short as I can. We have two options to weigh, my lords.  
One is to remain here, holding camp and fortifying at this castle but with threat of our supplies dwindling with each passing day,  
till Ullers and their spearmen decide that we’re thirsty and hungry enough for them to attack and make a short work of us all.  
The other option is to march northwards in hope that our enemy will offer us battle at Hellgate Hall, to march for fifty miles more.”  
“I say we march north!” Peake exclaimed.  
“I say so as well! We must make those cowards to fight us on the open field.” Ambrose added.  
Alester Norcross nodded: “I stand with you as well, Ser Laswell. Should we stay here, half of our men will shit themselves to death by drinking that water we have in barrels. This place is a death-trap, my lords, we must leave it as soon as we can.”  
Steffon nodded: “I see good reasoning in what you’ve said, yet marching fifty miles north could leave us into death-trap as well. We’ll be over thirty leagues away from the coast. Should we find Hellgate Hall also abandoned and all sources of water poisoned, that would make our supply line overstretched. Fool yourselves not, there are Dornish horsemen between us and the sea. They could cut this host off from the coast.  
Lack of water will kill us before Dornish would. And do not forget… west of here lies Sandstone, seat of House Qorgyle. That keep is not under attack by armiy of the Realm. Only a fool would get himself between Ullers in the north and Qorgyles that would flank him from the south.”  
“We were expected to march on Sandstone, my lord.” Norcross reminded him.

"Indeed, we were. Upon defeating the House Uller. Have we defeated them?  
Can we part our forces and send one half of them to Sandstone? Which should have been attacked by the host under Ser Garth Hightower.  
Who was expected to take Starfall, High Hermitage and Blackmont? Has the word of Blackmont been taken come to us? No.  
For Greysteel is bogged down under walls of Blackmont, fighting Dornish at the upper Torentine river.  
Till Blackmont is dealt with, his host cannot turn eastwards to Sandstone. Nor can we join them before Ullers are vanquished. It is that plain.”  
“If we stay encamped here, both Uller and Qorgyle men can descend upon us.” lord Alyn Ambrose uttered warning to all present.  
“They can, yes. But they will descend on nearly seven thousand men protected by walls of Hellholt and fortified camp.  
That is wholly different from attacking a column of troops that sloughs through sun scorched hills, most of which are footmen...”  
lord Clayton Graceford countered “...this is, my lord Alyn, a choice between fire and a frying pan. No matter what path we choose, it could be the wrong one.” Tarwick agreed: “We fail if we march north, we fail if we do not. Sand cunts have imposed their game on us. And we must play it.”  
“The best way we can…” Steffon added.  
Alester Norcross asked:  
“And the best way is to remain encamped here at Hellholt while all of the Uller men could be fighting against ours at Blackmont?”  
“I shall have none of this delay, lord Steffon. I intend to take men of House Ambrose and ride to Hellgate Hall.  
To take it if those Uller rats have left it same as this castle or to fight them if they have not.” Alyn said defiantly.  
“Men of Norcross will join you.” “So will men of House Peake.” Laswell added.  
Steffon nodded: “My lords, should you take your men from this camp without my leave as commander of this host, no matter your reasons  
that is… well not desertion but disloyalty. That will make you renegades from the ranks of army of the Realm.”  
“You insult me, lord Steffon!” Alyn Ambrose shouted. “No, my lord, I am calling your intent with the name that is usually given to such action.”  


Lord Caswell stepped between them: “My lords, no fruit will come from this bickering… it is wise reasoning to stay encamped here, undeniably wise as it is plain that enemy wants to draw us deeper in his territory where he might offer us a battle. On the ground that suits him best and one we might not win. You’ve all heard what is happening at Blackmont. Same as here, ships cannot go upstream to bring more men and provisions to our troops which besiege that castle. Torentine is blocked by sunk vessels same as Brimstone is.  
Sending reserves and food by mountain paths is hard as it is, without Dornish ambushes along the way.  
We need not to make Hellgate Hall another Blackmont.”  


He paused and looked at Alyn Ambrose: “I grant there’s also wisdom in marching northwards as that will keep enemy far from any notion  
of attacking our camp. As middle ground, I propose that few hundred of our mounted men ride north to Hellgate Hall.  
Without taking battle should Ullers finally decide to offer it.” “How many is this few of yours?” young lord Ambrose asked.  
Steffon gazed at map showing the entire length of flow of Brimstone river and then answered:  
“I will give you, lord Peake and Ser Norcross five hundred men. That is one third of our whole cavalry, armored and light.  
Five hundred and not a single rider more. Take them northwards along this stinking river and scout the lands all the way to Hellgate Hall.  
I command you here, before all other lords, not to offer battle to the enemy. We do not know what numbers Ullers have hiding in these damn brown hills. Once flow of Brimstone is secured, we shall need every mounted man to ride west, to aid our troops that will attack Sandstone.”  
Ser Laswell Peake frowned: “You want us to flee before Dornish sandrats, is that it?” Other two nodded gazing angrily at Varner.  
“I want you not falling into Dornish ambushes and traps and selling your hide cheap. And the hides of five hundred men.” he replied to them.

With first sunrays of the next day, Ser Laswell Peake rode out on the van of column of five hundred riders.  
Lord Alys Ambrose was leading the main and Ser Alester Norcross was charged with the rear.  
They rode out lightly armored as their advance northwards was for purpose of scouting the road that led to last holdfast on the Brimstone river, one that was built many centuries ago at the very source of this sulphur polluted river. Of five hundred men, every fifth was an archer, though not mounted one as Dornish cavalry had or as Dothraki bowmen across the sea. These were longbowmen on horseback, meant to dismount in the battle and form archer lines. Lines of longbows in the battles of Westeros oft have proven themselves a deadly and decisive weapon against charging cavalry or infantry, in pitched battle only a fool would ignore a threat which longbow archers posed.

Yet, in short cavalry skirmishes and ambushes which were common for Dornish campaign, mounted longbowmen were poor response to swift horse archers armed with double-curved bows that would come fast upon the enemy, rain arrows and leave the field even faster.  
Longbow was not weapon made for use from a horseback. Lord Ambrose insisted on having them in his column.  
Steffon allowed it, though not very willingly. He commanded Alyn to send one raven each day with reports of their march towards Hellgate Hall. 

In the evening of that same day, raven came to Hellholt, sent by Ambrose.  
Bird brought word of them having crossed nearly twenty miles and encountered nothing living, man or beast.  
Steffon, same as lords Graceford and Caswell and Ser Tarwick were pleased with such new.  
That meant enemy has withdrawn much further north than they have believed.  
Raven from Ambrose did not come the next day, nor the day after.  
That was enough for commanders at Hellholt to begin having doubts.  
Steffon ordered doubled watch around the camp and on the ramparts of the castle.  
Tarwick took a scouting party of thirty men and rode north for no more than ten miles and returned with nothing to report.  
Third and fourth day have passed with no raven flying in from the north.  
Clayton Graceford advised that encampment must be additionally fortified and makeshift wall, some six feet in height was beginning to grow around the tents of Steffon’s host, bricks from the castle buildings were used.  
Tarwick was certain that Dornish attack was to follow and had no doubts about the fate of Ambrose and his five hundred. 

On sixth day, shouts were heard from the Hellholt watchtower. Fourteen riders were approaching from the north.  
Though dressed as men of the Realm, Steffon did not allow them to ride in the camp.  
Only when he recognised the face of Ser Alester Norcross, covered both in sand and dried blood did he allow them to pass.  
Alester had a scar at the back of his neck, where scimitar slashed him as Dornihsman tried to cut his head off during fight.  
“Where are the others?” Steffon asked him.  
“Dead... All dead…” Alester answered with shaken voice.  
“What happened?? Where is the rest of our men!?” Tarwick yelled at him.

Norcross, struggling not to faint as his wound was bleeding again, said:  
“Hellgate…we have taken Hellgate Hall… castle was empty… that night… all the land around us became alive with Dornish…”  
“Damn Ambrose! Damn that man to seven hells!” Steffon cursed.  
“He is dead…my lord… all of them are dead…” Alester said before sinking on his knees. 

_Honeywine, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

**EDRIC**

Brightwater Keep was to his north.  
_Lord Alekyne Florent is warring in my land, so it is just I do the same in his._  
Honeyholt was to his south.  
_Same goes for Hugh Beesbury._

Honeywine was a large river in the Reach, whose source was near Brightwater Keep, the seat of House Florent.  
From there it flew southwards, being joined by a tributary at Honeyholt, castle of House Beesbury, then continued south to Oldtown,  
joining with more tributary waters before its mouth at Whispering Sound Bay. Honeywine river flew through the heartland of the Reach farming. 

In third sennihgt of the sixth moon of year three-hundred and seventeenth after Aegon’s Conquest, Dornish raiders, two thousand strong, crossed the Roseroad south of Horn Hill and came on the left bank of the Honeywine, between castles of Brightwater Keep and Honeyholt. 

Lord Edric Dayne and Ser Arron Qorgyle were watering their horses in one of the streams which gave its water to large river.  
Two thousand men were hiding in the wood half a mile upstream, where they have rested in the hours after noon.  
Their raids were done in the night hours, after coming down the western slopes of Red Mountains, they have pressed westwards ever since, scattered across the countryside in smaller bands. That made folk from the small towns, villages and farms east of Roseroad, between Uplands and Horn Hill, to flee and seek shelter and protection as far as Oldtown in the south and Highgarden in the north.

Seat of House Tarly, Horn Hill was crowded with smallfolk forced out of their homes by Dornishmen on sand steeds. Villagers and farmers took their livestock with them as well, cows, sheep, goats, pigs… what was left behind them fell to the raiders. Animals were slaughtered or taken, houses, fields, pastures, orchards, crops, vineyards burned. Trail of smoke and ash was left by the Dornish cavalry for tens of miles.  
As their aim demanded, they attacked as small bands of raiders or as large force. It was done with impunity thus far, as most of the able-bodied men of the Reach were now warring in Dorne. What remained of men at arms were castle guards and city and town watches made of old men and green boys, not more than nine thousand of such could be found in all of the Reach and even if all would march out to meet the plundering Dornish cavalry no one could wager on the certainty of them being victorious in that battle, albeit they had the numbers.

Attackers sent to the Reach by Martell princess had all the riches of the land at their disposal.  
Grass and hay for the horses, food for men from meat to fruits and abundance of water.  
What soldiers of the Reach lacked while marching through Dorne, plunderers under sunspear banner had more than needed.  
Though some wells and ponds were poisoned or carcasses thrown in them to pollute the water, that could not be done with the streams and Honeywine river for all those waters were flowing south to the Oldtown. Poisoned water would reach that city and soon its people would suffer from it as well. Dornish attackers knew that and threw the dead animals in the Honeywine knowing it will take them to the villages downstream, before reaching Oldtown itself.

Edric Dayne was pleased. He fulfilled the orders given to him by Princess Arianne. As a commander he was much more tempered than Arron Qorgyle who was musing on attacking the Oldtown, as Dornish of the old did in the First Dornish War when they faced Aegon and his sisterwives. Edric dismissed that notions. He said to the man who bear the sigil with three scorpions on his chest:  
“Two thousand light cavalry is not a force that can threaten walls of Oldtown as our forefathers have and forget not that it was a Dayne who attack it three centuries ago. Still, we can do as they did. Burn the fields, farms, and villages for twenty leagues around the city.  
And drive all the smallfolk out of their homes, then chase them to the Oldtown.” 

Arron, being a Qorgyle, was less keen on leaving the people of the Reach unharmed: “Spear and sword, Edric, spear and sword to all Reachmen.”  
“I can understand why that seems appealing to you, my friend, but what burdens more our friends Hightowers, Florents, Tarlys…  
Dozens of dead bodies that they will burn or bury or hundreds of men, women and children that have now filled their castles?  
Castle can sustain only that many of men, afterwards it becomes hard to feed them, shelter them, keep them in order.  
Then follows hunger, thefts, diseases… trust me, Arron, I have seen it all when I was a young boy during war in Riverlands.”  
“You never speak of your days as squire with the Brotherhood without Banners...”  
second son of lord Quentyn Qorgyle said combing his horse while animal grazed the grass above the river bank.  
“Soon it will be twenty years from those days… as it were in another life.” Edric mused aloud.  
“You served as squire to Lord Beric Dondarrion from the Marches, a Stormlander.” knight of Sandstone noted.  
“I did. He was supposed to marry my aunt Allyria.”  
“I’ve heard tales of him… coming back from the dead five times…” Arron said “…was that true or just gibberish?”  
“Six. He was revived six times by Thoros of Myr's prayers to the R’hllor. Though I have seen it happen only five times.  
He gave me the leave of service after his fifth death and told me to return to Starfall.  
Later I’ve learned of his death in Winterfell, fighting the White Walkers and their army of the dead.” 

Qorgyle chuckled: “Army of the dead… them frozen halfwits from the North truly can invent all sorts of tales.”  
“You don’t trust the Great War to have happened?”  
Arron shook his head: “I can trust that man can return from the dead six times by the sorcery of the red priest. And that dragon can burn the walls of King’s Landing as it were paper… that I can believe. But, for an army of… what that tale claims… army of one hundred thousand  
can die all at once because that Arya of House Stark stabbed their king, that I find hard to believe.”  
Edric shrugged: “Well, most of first Small Council of raven king was at Winterfell that night, all claimed the same. I don’t take them all for liars.”  
“I do. None of them is Dornish. I don’t even trust half of Dornish, so you may assume what are my thoughts of the lot from rest of Westeros.”  
Lord of Starfall laughed: “I do hope I am in the half of Dornishmen that earn your trust, my lord.” Arron nodded laughing.

Edric paused for a heartbeat: “You know, after I’ve left the side of Beric Dondarrion, Arya Stark came to the Brotherhood with Gendry Baratheon. Well, he is Baratheon now, he was not then. Life truly can be odd sometimes.”  
“Stormlands sent no men to wage war against us. At least not yet. Some ships to ferry king’s troops yes, but no soldiers of his own.  
He is no fool, that Gendry. Other lords look down on him as mad queen made him lord of Storm’s End from a bastard.  
In Dorne we don’t spit on bastards.”  
“Mad queen? The more I learn of her, the more I trust Dorne would’ve fared better with her as ruler of Seven Kingdoms.  
She would give us our freedom same as she promised to give it to the Ironborn. Later raven king pissed on that promise,  
robbing Iron Islands of that what he gave to his sister. A leave to carve North out from the Seven Kingdoms.” 

Qorgyle smirked: “Best for Dorne is Dorne. And freedom is taken, not given.”  
“You’re right, my lord. Freedom is never a gift; one must toil for it.” Edric agreed.  
“So, lord Dayne, where do we toil next?” Arron was eager to continue raiding.  
“I will take my thousand men and pay respects to the Florents at Brightwater Keep, you take yours and ride south to Honeyholt, greet the Beesburies. Burn everything on your path. They will not dare to ride out to meet us, they don’t have enough men in either of the castles.  
Six days from now, we shall rejoin at Horn Hill.” “Are we returning to Dorne, if we’re to meet at Horn Hill?”  
“Nothing of the sort. We shall ride north. To Highgarden.” 

“Sam the Slayer… is that what you were called in the Night’s Watch?” Edric asked a dark-haired man wearing the robes of an archmaester.  
He could have been the fattest man lord of Starfall has ever seen of that age and Edric gathered he was mayhaps only a few years over him.  
“I was.” Samwell Tarly nodded.  
“Still, it is your ten and seven years old son who leads your house in the battle and bears the banner with huntsman sigil… how is that?”  
“I am archmaester, Lord Dayne, I am not a warrior.”  
“I’ve heard tales of you, killing the Thenn, killing the White Walker…you speak low of yourself out of humility or for a ruse?” 

Horn Hill. The seat of House Tarly in the Reach, was named after a hill on which it was built upon.  
Oldtown was hundred leagues south and west, while Highgarden was sixty leagues northwards.  
Lands surrounding the castle were thickly wooded foothills of the Red Mountains.  
Dorne was only on the other side of the mountain range. But that was not where Edric’s host was headed.  
Not west, not home, but to sack the Highgarden. 

Young Sam Tarly, son of the archmaester which stood before him next to the pond that lied below the castle, defended this keep when Dornish cavalry descended on it at the very beginning of the war. Lesser in number than one Edric led, it made Tarlys withdraw to the inner holdfast of the castle while raiders from the other side of the Red Mountains burned down rest of Horn Hill and all the farms and villages around it.  
Inner keep was now crowded with castle garrison, all the household, smallfolk that fled to it after the first raid that took place seven moons ago.  
As Dornish came to plunder only twice since that first attack and in much smaller numbers, Tarlys proving themselves as capable lords managed to restore order in their lands and secure enough food for the people they ruled over. Most of the farmers and villagers were unkeen to return to their homes fearing the scimitars and spears, so farming was done inside the castle walls, once gardens and yard were ploughed for planting. Orchards within Horn Hill were now fenced to keep pigs, sheep and cows.  
Castle was built by clever men and all the water that fell on its roofs was pouring into the underground well by wisely placed rain gutters.  
Water was rationed, but castle was far from thirst of any sort.  
When watchtower of Horn Hill sounded alarum as large columns of Dornish cavalry came under the castle from south, east and west encircling it, sense of dread overtook the people within the it. Garrison was five folds smaller than attacking host, yet as Dornish brought no siege weapons Young Sam hoped that he can defend Tarly keep once again.

Edric Dayne and Arron Qorgyle had no intention of attacking the outer or inner walls of Horn Hill.  
Fields beneath the castle were for them place of gathering and resting before they continue their ride north, to Highgarden.  
Guards on the walls watched the smoke of the camp fires beneath the hill and listened the songs, shouts and joyful talk of Martell soldiers.  
Five horse lines stretched across the field, each holding four hundred mounts and some pack mules. Men with spears and men with curved swords, in scale armor and mail shirts paraded around, archers using burned remains of outer walls of Horn Hill as targets,  
banners of houses Dayne, Qorgyle, Manwoody and Fowler fluttered in the wind along with speared sun of their princess.  
Dornishmen were renown as unpredictable lot and as they have lingered beneath the castle for three days and nights, doing nothing save sending long range scouts to make sure that lords of the southern Reach have not assembled nor sent pursuing host after them.  
It was not the case.  
To Edric and his men this stay beneath the burned walls of Tarly holdfast seemed as rest after a vast hunting party and not a brief respite in the midst of war. On the morning of the fourth day, lord of Starfall sent an envoy to request a parlay with lord of Horn Hill.  
To his surprise, a fat archmaester came riding from the castle.  
Had his life path taken a different turn, he would have been a lord of Horn Hill and head of House Tarly. But he was not. Edric knew that well.

“Why have you asked this parlay, Lord Edric?” Samwell asked.  
“I wanted to meet the only marcher lord of the Reach that managed to keep sway over his castle from my fellow Dornishmen.  
All other castles along the western slopes of Red Mountains are now burned and abandoned.  
Lord of Horn Hill defended his. Well, portion of it at least. And yet, I trade words with you, not with your son.”  
“You sound disappointed, my lord.” Tarly countered.  
“Not at all. You’re a name of history chronicles, archmaester, your son still has to fight his way on the pages of such thick books.”  
“He shall. Keeping Horn Hill free of your kind is a feat worthy of every praise.”  
Edric chuckled: “Indeed. Though, your keep would fell till sundown of morrow’s day should we deem it worthy of taking.”  
“You find Horn Hill unworthy? That in a way is an insult to me and my House. I will not belittle Starfall in your face.”  
“You may do that freely, these days my keep is nothing more than a burned ruin stripped of all that’s worth even a copper. By my own will.”  
“If Horn Hill is of no worth to you, may I ask what is?”  
“Curious as any maester, I see…” Edric replied “…Ashford and Cider Hall. As lords Ashford and Fossoway saw fit to wage war up the valley of Torentine, it is only just for me and my two thousand countrymen to wage war against their lands.”  
Samwell shrugged: “Ashford and Cider Hall are as far north from here as Oldtown is far south.”  
“Yes, a hundred leagues north. A long ride, but rest assured Dornish raiders love to sleep in the saddle.” Edric answered.  
“I will not be very sad to see your cavalry leaving this fields.” Samwell told him.  
“I never expected that you will.” Dornish nobleman smiled. 

“Two thousand light horsemen advancing hundred and fifty leagues north of the first border stone of your princedom. Some call that bravery, others a folly.” “Sixty thousand strong army of the raven king scattered all over Dorne with supplies that melt as snow on our sun, that is folly. What I am doing is merely a return of courtesy.” Edric replied.  
“Courtesies can be deadly too.” Samwell warned him.  
“They can. Depending on the sides exchanging it… that is why I urge you, arhcmaester, to remain behind the walls of your inner holdfast. Together with your son who as I was told has a blood of wildling… I guess his mother’s line gave him that yearn for shedding blood.  
But you must give him a wise counsel. Make him stay inside Horn Hill without single thought of pursuing us with five times fewer men.  
He will fail and make no mistake, Arron Qorgyle is a sort of war commander that never takes prisoners, lowborn or highborn.  
If it were up to him, he’d put half of the Reach to the sword.”  
Samwell added: “I’ve learned that Ser Garth Hightower acts in similar manner in Dorne.”  
“You don’t approve?”  
Once brother of the Night’s Watch shook his head: “I’ve seen enough death and suffering to last me for two lifetimes. On both sides of the Wall.”  
“This war needed not to come. Broken king should have given us leave. Same as he’s given it to his sister and the North.”  
“She asked for that leave. Your princess has not.” Sam countered.  
“As I recall from my history lessons ancestor of northern queen and broken king bent the knee to the first dragon king. Dorne never did.  
Not then, not ever. So why should we beg for our freedom, beg a king which was chosen by likes of you? And that weasel, the Lannister Imp?”  
“What you call begging I call lawful dealings. Is that worse than war?” Samwell asked.  
“No matter what you believe of Dornishmen, we’re not bloodlust madmen which take pleasure only in fucking and killing, as ignorant tales claim about us...” Edric told him “...but this war must be fought. Your raven king will not give Dorne what is ours, not today, not in ten years, not ever. You know that all too well, archmaester. You’ve been sitting in his Small Council for years.”  
“King Bran I have served was a wise ruler willing to listen to all.” Sam said.  
“And when he got tired of listening to you, there was one seat vacant in the Small Council.”  
“That was when his wisdom already left him.”  
Edric laughed aloud: “Humbly spoken, indeed.”  
“Truthfully, my lord, that was said truthfully.”  
“Do not let your wisdom leave you, Sam the Slayer.”

Soon they have parted ways.  
Samwell being assured that no attack on the castle of his forefathers will take place, Edric being hopeful that Tarly will not see through the lie.  
Lie of an attack on Ashford and Cider Hall. 

As Samwell was loyal to his Lord Paramount, ravens would take flight from Horn Hill to the Oldtown informing Baelor Hightower  
of large enemy raiding party coming north to Cockleswent river. Drawing his gaze away from Highgarden, a true prize Dayne and Qorglye wanted.


	59. YARA

_Narrow Sea, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

**YARA**

_Iron Victory_ sailed past the Claw Isle.  
Far in the horizon she could already see two islands.  
Driftmark and Dragonstone. Home of Velaryons and once home of Targaryens.

_Should I order the helm turn west and south, this ship would sail in the Blackwater Bay _,came to her mind, _  
this ship and fifty warships of the Iron Fleet that follow after her. And thirty longships whose one sail filled the sea._  
Four score of vessels from the Iron Islands were coming south from the Shivering Sea, through the waves of the western Narrow Sea,  
their voyage shall end at the Dornish coast, between Sunspear and Lemonwood.  
_Oh, I’d pay even a gold price to see the looks on the faces of King’s Landing folk when eighty ships under kraken banner would come calling.  
But this is not that voyage, not that raid. We sail south of the south. Kraken is done with the wolf, now we shall war by the side of the viper.  
Against the raven. His bitch sister has learned her lesson. Time for broken king to learn his._

Yara Greyjoy was on the sterncastle of Iron fleet flagship. Her eyes went to the fleet that followed her.  
_Dark Wind, Hammerhorn, Nightflyer… Silverfin_ and _Iron Lady_ keeping close to them, others falling back for a half of a ship’s length.  
And dozens of longships. She needed not the telescope to tell them apart by the banners of their captain’ house.  
_Forlorn Hope_ of Earl Harlaw, _Thunderer_ of Dunstan Drumm, then repaired _Red Jester_ of Donnor Saltcliffe, _Fingerdancer_ of Urek Ironmaker. 

Donnor and Urek both died in the Battle of Eastwatch Forest. Behind their ships were those of captains Jon Myre, Gyles Farwynd and Steffarion Sparr. All three fell at the White Harbor, along with nine and ten hundred of other men from the Iron Islands.  
Two thousand of Ironborn perished at Eastwatch Forest.

_Four thousand, one hundred, six and fifty… that was the cost of Northern war in the lives of Ironborn. Bear Island cannot bring them back to life, but I am never returning it to the Starks. We have not fought this war for only wildlings to keep their land. What Mormonts once held will now be our port in the northern waters, place to trade with the wildlings. And wolves once they are of better wits. First, there is war in the south that must be won. I still have over three thousand of warriors on my ships. Them on the sea and Dornish army of over thirty thousand should be enough to break the raven’s servants… his lapdogs from Westerlands and the Reach… Reach…_

Yara’s face turned into a grin. Once Lord Paramount of the Reach, once Ser Bronn of the Blackwater was aboard _Iron Lady_, with captain Meldred Merlyn. There was a scar on his head now, most of it covered with hair but his brow was no match for the tree trunk and Bronn now looked to her as even more weathered than before. He was jubilant, though, knowing that Ironborn ships have set course for Dornish coast.  
Bronn preferred women of Dorne, same as she did. She enjoyed their men as well. Bronn did not. 

Yara misliked him ever since she first time set her eyes upon him. Still, she couldn’t not give the former knight a well-earned praise.  
Bronn taught and trained the wildlings to fight in a way of the armies of Seven Kingdoms so they could not only defeat the men of Stark queen in ambushes and skirmishes, but also in pitched battle. And all this old sellsword asks for it is a keep and land around it.  
Why would and man dream to bury himself within the walls of a castle… that she could not grasp.  
Yara always hoped to die on the waves of the open sea, as Ironborn should. Not as her father, not as her brother, not as her deranged uncle.  
_I will sail even then when my legs will no longer carry me, I will sail. My grave will be hundreds of yards beneath the sea. _

“Sails on the starboard side! Sails on the starboard side!” yelled the man in the crow’s nest on the mainmast.  
“How many ships do you see?” she shouted back.  
“Two, my Queen!” “Two?!” she exclaimed in wonder “Is there a crown on the sails?”  
“Nay… a seahorse on a shield! Shield colored as sea!”  
Yara frowned: “House Velaryon… are there any more ships in the sight.” “No, my Queen!”  
“Are they on course towards us?” “They are!”  
_Two ships facing eighty… _, she wondered but soon her wonder ended as crewman on the mainmast shouted:  
“Both have hoisted the flag of truce!” Yara nodded: “So, it’s a parlay they want…” Queen of the Iron Islands quickly paced off the sterncastle and when she saw the first mate on the deck, she ordered him to raise the white cloth on the foremast. “We shall have a parlay.” 

_My men don’t lack bravery or battle fever, I have eighty ships, but most of them have only skeleton crews, fifty warships of the Iron Fleet are decently manned, but only on one of three longships do I have whole crew of thirty hands. Should we meet the war galleys of the royal fleet aided with ships of House Velaryon it would be an even battle and my war is in Dorne and along the coast of Reach, not here…_  
she pondered watching how Velaryon sails grow larger as the warships of Driftmark were coming closer.  
Soon she was able to tell them, _Pride of Driftmark_ and _Oakenfist_.  
Both vessels were twice as large than Yara’s ship or any other ship in her fleet.  
The latter was named to honour Alyn Velaryon, nicknamed Oakenfist, one of most revered lords of Driftmark who warred during  
Dance of Dragons, against Braavosi and against Dornish. And the Ironborn, she remembered.

As forecastle of _Oakenfist_ was side by side with the forecastle of _Iron Victory_, Yara saw an officer, wearing seagreen tunic with stitched silver seahorse across the chest. Man shouted:  
“Lord Monterys of House Velaryon invites Yara of House Greyjoy to a parlay aboard his ship, the _Oakenfist_. What say you?”  
“I accept.” she replied knowing that it will make all Ironborn captains to frown.  
_Velaryons are no fools, only a fool would come asking a parlay with two ships against dozens. _  
“Lower the plank!” she yelled at her crew and soon enough Yara went across to the deck of warship from Driftmark.  
Men in sea-green tunics were stepping aside and she saw a young man of silver hair, wearing same clothes as he were an ordinary sailor,  
but his all other features spoke of a nobleman.  
“Lord Monterys…” she nodded.  
“Queen Yara.” he nodded back which made her lift here eyebrows:  
“Odd that you call me a queen, my lord.”  
“I favor politeness even among enemies, Lady Reaper.” he answered.  
“Are we?” she asked. “Are we what?” “Enemies, Lord Monterys…”  
“I was under orders to remove you from Dragonstone, Queen Yara, had that come to pass we surely would be enemies.  
We have not crossed swords yet nor have we rammed into each other’s hull. Still, the Crown sees you as a rebel.”  
“And you, my lord, how do you see me?” she asked.  
“I for now invite you to captain’s cabin, for a parlay.” young man replied.

“My lord...” she said upon entering the cabin “…I have expected more…”  
“More luxury...?” Monterys asked “..this is a warship, Queen Yara. Bare bulkheads, wooden table and stools are more than enough  
for a captain of such ship. You shall not find anything padded in this chamber.  
Even berth is not very comfortable, though I have preferred a hammock, ever since I was a child.”  
Lord of Driftmark poured her a cup of ale, filling one for himself as well.  
“Strange, I expected of you to be one more pampered lordling.” Yara grinned.  
“And some told me stories of you that pictured you to be as mad as Euron.”  
“Well, now that we have established what we’re not, we should have our talk.” 

Velaryon shook his head and knocked on the bulkhead. From the other side came the response in shape of two knocks.  
A short while after a man entered the cabin, wearing a dark-blue tunic and a red cap.  
“A scribe?” she wondered looking at the newcomer who was closely of Monterys’ age, with hair cut short and trimmed beard.  
“Are you about to write what we shall talk?” she asked next.  
Monterys smiled: “No, not at all. I’d say just the counter... You may begin.” Lord of Driftmark then said to the man.  
Scribe poured the oil on the deck planks walking around them, then he reached into his robes and took out the small bottle containing blood and let few drops fall on the oil circle. Yara’s eyes widened and she now gazed at every move young man made.  
He took one of the empty paper scrolls from the table and placed it over a burning candle.  
As paper caught fire, he dropped it on the floor, over the oil circle and flames went up, nearly one foot high, whole circle lit at once.  
“Now, you may reveal yourself.” Monterys told him.  
Man nodded and then he unlaced the collar of his tunic, revealing the necklace with red ruby.  
Her eyes widened as she recognised it and then he removed the adornment.  
The young scribe vanished before Yara’s eyes and now an old and slim man stood with shaven head and beard wearing red robe. 

“Ezzelyno, the red priest of Braavos!” she said loudly.  
“I see you two have already met.” her host noted with smile.  
“Aye, we have. First in Dorne, then on Dragonstone. I thought you were serving Arianne Martell and now I see you in service of Lord Velaryon.”  
Old Braavosi made a slight nod: “I serve Lord of Light and where he sends me, I go. Now, Lord of Light deemed of me being most useful in service of Monterys Velaryon, Master of Ships.” “I see. Do tell me how you serve him now, in this chamber?” Yara jested.  
R’hllor priest replied with calm and even tone that annoyed Yara as ever:  
“I trust you know how. You have seen me doing that in Dorne, at Whitecourt castle.”  
She smirked: “Ah, yes, the ring of fire in which the one you call Lord of Darkness cannot see us.”  
“You mock it, even after you’ve seen the magic of R’hllor… the glass candle allowed you to speak with one you have later seen in flesh…”  
“I do not mock it, priest. I respect magic when magic is true, but I mislike any magic anywhere.”  
“As is your right, kraken’s daughter.” priest said and bowed to Yara and Monterys who were now sitting inside the fiery circle.  
Then he placed his necklace back and left the chamber as a young scribe. 

“Odd, is it not?” lord of Driftmark said “A fire that burns but it does not consume.  
These planks will not even have a stain when it burns out, as nothing was poured on it. And you surely notice, there is no smoke either.”  
She nodded. This was not her first time to be inside the fire circle made by priest of the red god.  
She was wary of any sorcery, but red priests were strong sorcerers. 

“Now we can talk freely...” Monterys said to her “...Ezzelyno has lit the fire ring around this chamber so that another magic or sorcery,  
that of Three Eyed Raven cannot see or hear what we are about to discuss.”  
“He’s good with the fire magic. Or sorcery. I grant him that.” she agreed and then said: “You hide from the Three Eyed Raven?  
You, a Master of Ships to the raven king. That is what I find just as odd as this red priest being aboard your ship.”  
“I am Master of Ships to King Bran. I have accepted the honor of that office, one that many of my ancestors held for generations,  
ever since Aegon the Conqueror. And I have performed my duties ably and loyally.” Monterys told her.  
“What changed?” she asked. 

He drank from his cup before answering: “I have learned that those to which my family has sworn allegiance centuries ago have not vanished from this world. And that king of which I've thought to be a man of honor and wise shows no restraint when killing innocent children is the matter. Babes and children have fallen victims of power struggle and plots many times in history of Westeros, still it does not make right.”  
She nodded: “I agree with you. Long ago my now dead brother killed two innocent peasant boys, he wanted to look strong and ruthless.  
As if he brought a curse upon himself, after that he endured torture that changed him forever.  
Then, it would be right to think that your allegiance lies with Daenerys Targaryen and her family.”  
“It does...” Monterys replied “...I am not going against generations of my forefathers. Many Velaryons had Targaryen blood and many dragons had a blood of my family running through their veins.” 

“You’re taking a great risk, my lord. You walk in the Red Keep; you sit on the Small Council. A gamble with own life that is.  
Brave, but some would call it unwise.” Yara said.  
“Thus far, I have kept the trust of both king and Tyrion Lannister. I do what they order and I give them a sound advice.  
And I make sure that all what takes place in the court and the battlefields of Westeros reach the Targaryen queen in the Bay of Dragons.”  
“Another great risk taking.” 

“As one who comes from the long line of seafarers, I keep my log. Every day. What I write are boring trifles, among which things of importance are hidden. I send my log pages to Driftmark every sennight where a scribe makes copy of it. That scribe as you have seen is in truth red priest from Braavos. He learns from copying my log and he shares that knowledge with Meereen. Using magic. Or sorcery as you would say it.”  
“So, Ezzelyno is now on Driftmark, hiding as an ordinary scribe.” 

“He is. Powers of his fire god make him even to appear as another man, but I have seen you weren’t surprised with it.”  
Yara smiled: “No, in truth I have learned of glamor before. It shielded me and Princess Arianne from your raven king.”  
“He is not my king.” he said “I now serve the one true queen of Westeros.”  
“Long ago, I have sworn myself to her as well. And not so long ago, we made a new alliance. One that will bring freedom to my people.”  
Yara told him and then asked: “Now that we have learned of not being enemies but in truth on the same side, why have you asked this parlay?”

“To warn you, Queen Yara. I know where you have headed with your fleet. To Dorne. To the new war, now that one in the North is over.  
And there's a great war in the south, I assure you of that. Bran the Broken has distanced himself of ruling almost wholly, but Tyrion has not.  
He has demanded of all the lords from Crownlands, Westerlands, Riverlands, the Reach and the Vale to provide men for the king’s host that will march on Dorne. I shall be taking the warships of royal fleet towards Dorne soon, now that Ironborn will no longer be on the Narrow Sea.  
Fleets from Lannisport and Arbor are already in Dornish waters. Tyrion has planned an invasion of Dorne as Daeron Targaryen done it.  
With some improvements to the original plan.”

Yara listened: “To invade Dorne from both sea and land he’d need tens of thousands. Has he mustered such an army?”  
Monterys nodded: “Lords of the Reach, ever willing to fight with the Dornish, have gathered over forty thousand. Westerlands provided ten thousand. Crownlands half as many. Vale and Riverlands both gave five thousand men and some ships to ferry the troops.  
Yara asked: “And Stormlands?”  
“Gendry Baratheon disobeyed both king and Hand on few occasions. He called his banners and sent them to camp on the northern side of the Red Mountains, doing nothing. He will continue to do so. Tyrion plans to have him replaced as Lord of Storm’s End after Dornish rebellion is crushed.” Yara laughed: “So, the Imp has it all planned.”  
“He likes to plan, that is true.” Monterys told her.  
“He will fail. Dorne is well provided, lacking nothing, same as my men.  
While all those parts of Westeros still loyal to the raven king shall soon be starving, same as North already is.”  
“That is why he wants all the fleets loyal to Bran in the Dornish waters, to block the ships from Essos supplying Dorne.” Monterys said.  
“So, you’re to do his bidding by sailing the royal galleys and warships to Sunspear and mouth of Greenblood??"  
“That is expected of me, yes. To block the coast and to fight against you."”  
“Aye, but will you do it?” Yara asked him, looking straight into his eyes.  
“I plan to fail doing it...” he answered “...my mummer farce of being loyal to Bran and the Imp lasts as long as Queen Daenerys wants it to last.” 

“I find that as an answer good enough. So, Iron Fleet is only to fight the Lannisport and Arbor ships...  
your fleet will be of little use to raven king.” Yara sneered.  
“That is what I intend.” Velaryon said “To fail him without risking of being accused of failure.”  
“I wish you all the success in that, my lord.” she told him, then remained silent for a while.  
“I see that you dwell upon something.” Velayron noted.  
“Aye… all those numbers you’ve told me. It appears that raven king has invaded Dorne with over sixty thousand men,  
not counting men on three fleets loyal to him. With sailors we speak of thousands more.”  
“Yes, I was wrong when I thought that most lords of the Realm will shun from this ill advised venture.  
I wagered than not more than forty thousand can be gathered. Less even. Now, the Realm has over seventy thousand troops in Dorne.”  
“Broken king has assembled quite a large army to be provided with food for men, hay and oats for the horses, not to speak of siege weapons…  
Dorne was never easy to conquer, Targaryens could not do it even with dragons.  
Daeron the Young Dragon lost ten thousand to conquer Dorne and forty thousand to keep his sway over it and failed in the end.”  
“I assure you, Queen Yara, that Tyrion Lannister is very resolute in not allowing Dorne to leave the fold, to leave the Six Kingdoms.”  
“Then he is very resolute in bringing the undoing of the Six Kingdoms. Though it’s five kingdoms now. Mayhaps even four.  
Myself and all of the Ironborn are also very resolute to leave the Realm and to help Dorne leaving it as well. And all who wish to do so.”

Monterys nodded approvingly.  
Flaming circle burned out not long after, leaving no trace on the cabin deck.  
They stepped out on the deck of the Oakenfist and greeted each other with slight bow. 

While their parlay lasted, ships of the Ironborn continued their voyage south, save two warships, _Sea Bitch_ and _Maiden's Bane_, which remained close to the _Iron Victory_. Monterys could see dozens of vessels, large and smaller, carrying hundreds of warriors towards war in the south.  
“Behold the power of the Iron Islands, Lord of Driftmark…” Yara said in stern voice “…and consider yourself and your king warned.”  
“As you may consider yourself warned, Queen of Salt and Rock.” he answered in same tone.  
She stepped on the plank and walked over to her ship. 

_Iron Victory_ soon after caught the wind and went after its fleet, sailing fast across the waves of the Narrow Sea.  
_Oakenfist_ and her escort ship turned the helms westwards, towards their port on the island of Driftmark.


	60. JON

_Meereen, Essos, year 317 After Conquest_

**JON**

Only twelve days ago on this very terrace Lyanna practiced swordfight with Hallis.  
Northern boy has spent most of his time in Meereen by his side, visiting the barracks and training grounds of City Guard.  
There he could further learn the skills needed for a young lord of Westeros, from horse riding to archery and swordplay.  
“I've got lot of training indeed…” he said to Lyanna “…in City Guard I've learned to wield sword as knights of Westeros do,  
to ride and shoot bow as a Dothraki and to use spear as pit fighters. And now I can even make few sentences in Low Valyrian.”  
“I am happy for you, Hallis...” she said “...you’ve made the most of your stay in Meereen.” 

He was about to say something, but in the end kept his silence.  
“What is it, lord Hornwood? Are you now afraid to speak to me?” she laughed.  
“I… I wanted to go somewhere with you, Lyanna, before my return home. Your aunt said she’ll be weighing anchor in four days.”  
“Where do you wish to go exactly?”  
“I don’t know, to the city… we could go riding around the city, I didn’t get to see good portion of it.”  
“Well, Meereen is large, Hallis.”  
“It is, Lyanna and I want you to show it to me.”  
“You can always ask some of the guardsmen to lead you through the markets and temples and palaces, baths, even… brothels.”  
He blushed and was annoyed: “What would I be doing in a brothel, Lyanna, I am not a man. Being a Princess you should not talk of such places.”  
“Good. For I am not taking you there tomorrow.” she laughed.  
“Tomorrow?” he asked.  
“Yes, lord Hallis. Tomorrow I shall be showing you Meereen. There is more of this city than guardsmen barracks.” 

Lyanna enjoyed jesting with him in such manner as it was clear that he took liking to her. Even at her age, Lyanna was well learned of  
how a young lord should be approaching a young lady and Hallis was not doing any of it properly.  
_He is just a boy, no matter how he struggles to act as a young man, _ Jon heard his raven-haired daughter speaking to her mother,  
_but now I know he likes me. He is a Northerner and I look as a true Stark. I find him amusing and goodhearted..._

Sun of the eight day of sixth moon of year three-hundred and seventeenth after his mother’s ancestor bent the knee before  
his father’s ancestor, passed its highest point on the sky over the mouth of Skahazadhan river. A sennight has passed since his younger sister took her ships westwards with merchandise from Bay of Dragons and beyond to be sold in the Free Cities.  
She also took three highborn Westerosi passengers. They were returning home, jubilant for finding the heir of two Northern houses alive.  
Yet, their joy was marked with knowledge that Kingdom of the North had to give up the claim on the lands of the Gift and those beyond the Wall. Word that War for the New North ended in what could not be called otherwise save defeat of Stark queen reached Meereen in last days of the fifth moon. A merchant ship that came from Pentos has encountered both Ironborn and the Lyseni sellsails in the Narrow Sea, all giving the same account of events.

It saddened him greatly when he heard how many Northerners and Free Folk have perished in that last battle of the war, one that decided the outcome of his sister’s efforts to expand her rule over lands that were once gifted to the Night’s Watch by both Stark and Targaryen kings and over lands that never belonged to any crowned head.  
He thought that numbers Pentoshi traders spoke of were overblown, as it oft happened when one event was retold many times, till he spoke with Kinvara. Priestess used sorcery of Old Valyria to converse with one of her ilk in Westeros.  
Over five and seventy hundred men died near Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.  
Jon knew how small the number of Free Folk was when Great War ended, what they have recovered in ten years that followed have they now lost, warring against Sansa. North was in no better shape. Another generation gone. For nothing.  
He cursed his sister’s arrogance and stupidity. That was all he could do. One sister made him boil with anger. 

Other, one he always loved the most, made him sad with her new departure. What he wished for Arya the most is for her to end her wanderings.  
To stay in one place at last, here in Meereen, in Winterfell, in Storm’s End. To stay in place of her own choosing, but to stay.  
Arya was all that he had left of his Stark family.

Jon grew to like the hours after noon as no more petitioners would come to the Great Pyramid, audience time for them was between ninth hour of the morning and the midday. Meereenese like to complain on all sorts of things. From squabbles among fishermen along the last few miles  
of Skahazadhan flow to the inheritance quarrel of kinfolk of now perished House Yherizan.  
King had to receive and listen and mediate in all these disputes.  
It drained a lot of his strength, though it was not his body that ached but his head.  
Each day he was truly glad to see the back of the last petitioner, leaving the throne room.  
It marked he was free from listening of one side grieving for the actions of other and other side being insulted with such accusations.  
What is more, it meant he now could dine with one of his daughters, one that served as his aide that day.  
Today it was raven-haired girl that stood below the throne, waiting to serve her king and father.

Jon loved his four children more than he loved himself.  
Four children, two sets of twins. He never hoped to have a family as he had now.  
Not even when he bedded Daenerys for the first time, did he thought of living with her as man and wife.  
When he stabbed her, he knew that his life was over as well, life that will have any meaning save drawing breath and eating.  
Ten years he lived as hermit and he saw that living, void of sound sleep and happiness, as proper punishment for what he did.  
_Oathbreaker, queenslayer, kinslayer, _ thundered in his mind for ten long years.  
_Loveslayer, I was that as well. I’ve killed only woman who loved me with her whole heart, _ he told himself over and over again during ten years. 

Then, that day when he came out from his cabin in the forest above the Antler River and saw the sister he thought perished on the sea  
and two girls by her side of which one looked as a Stark and other as Daenerys when only a child, that day the truth broke him. Same as the truth of him being Aegon, son of Rhaegar broke Daenerys, truth of him being a father who killed his unborn daughters broke Jon Snow.  
Broke for all eternity. 

As man who laid on the dry ground by the Skahazadhan river, miles outside Meereen, man who rose after being bathed by dragon flames,  
that man was not Jon Snow. Not anymore. That man was Jon Targaryen. That man was dragonwolf.

And that man looked with eyes filled by love and pride upon his daughter, one that resembled his mother’s family the most.  
Lyanna and him had a particular bond, different than he had with Rhaella.  
His silver-haired girl was all a father could wish for, she had calm and silent nature of his uncle Eddard, she hated injustice and had a gentle heart, same as her mother but also Rhaella had that Targaryen persistence and wish to excel in everything she does. The more she grew, more those traits were obvious. Rhaella had a good command of her temper, seldom had outbursts and when such happened it were well targeted, one might say even happening deliberately.  
Jon was oft amazed how his Valyrian looking daughter already has a mind of a ruler and politician. He was very protective of Rhaella.  
She was gentler girl, still, and he swore to himself and to her though she knew nothing of that oath, that she will go only for a man worthy enough of her, man whom she chooses. And even with her being not even three and ten, Jon knew that Rhaella will choose the man she would love wisely, not only with heart but with mind also.

Lyanna was different, a wilder spirit which she inherited from Arya and his mother she was named after.  
Her Stark features hid the mating of she-wolves with nature of many Targaryens whose blood run hot and temper was fiery.  
Lyanna was not as gentle as her twin, but she was his little girl nonetheless and Jon was ever tender when around her.  
She wanted to hear from him of blades and battles more than anything, still she could talk of affairs of kingdom with ease  
and Jon steered her in that direction. Lyanna was a princess and princess must be educated in matters of ruling.  
He made sure Lyanna was at his side when Dragon Cities signed a treaty of alliance with the Lhazareen.

Treaties that Targaryen king and queen made with Tolos and Elyria to the west which made Mantarys isolated and alone  
in their hostility towards Bay of Dragons and with Lhazareen and Qartheen to the east, made Triarchs of Volantis very unease.  
Securing its eastern borders with alliance with Lhazar and Qarth, no matter how small peril both _lamb men_ and Qartheen traders posed for Dragon Cities, Targaryens of Meereen could now shift their gaze westwards, to the once daughters of Valyrian Freehold, the Nine Free Cities.  
Jon knew that Volantene slavers are not very pleased hearing news of Tolos being made to abandon slavery trading it for alliance with dragon monarchs of Meereen, but these were different times than days when Volantis sent ships to besiege Meereen together with Yunkai and Astapor. They were alone now and aware that many of other Free Cities would join Targaryens should it come to a conflict.  
Volantis decided to remain silent, not uttering word in favor or in counter of ruling couple of Dragon Cities.  
Nothing came from the mouth of the Rhoyne to Meereen ever since Jon and Daenerys took the crown.  
He was pleased as was his wife. Dothraki were still collecting tributes for safe passage from Volantene traders sending their goods inland. 

“Are you tired, Papa?” Lyanna asked noting that he did not eat more than half of the meal on his plate, spiced sausages and goat cheese,  
while she already enjoyed the apple cake.  
“A bit, yes…” he smiled at her. “Holding court is tiresome, right?” Lya asked “...and very much boring. People come with boring troubles.  
And you have to listen to all of it, father.” Jon chuckled: “Perils of ruling, _tala_.”  
“You are good at it, Papa. At ruling. You always try not to offend any of those who came seeking your help or solving disputes,  
even if what you decide goes not to their favor.” his daughter said.  
“I thank you for the words of praise, Princess.” he winked making her smile.  
“You know what I mislike, Lya, what I hate even?”  
“What, Papa?” “Compromises. I hate compromises...” Jon said “...do you know what that is, compromise?”  
“I do, father. It is when you have two sides and each must give in a bit so that both meet on common terms.” 

“And that, my sweet child, is horseshit.” Lyanna chuckled as she always did when he used such words before her: “Why do you say that?”  
“You know what compromise truly is, Lyanna? That is when we abandon all that we believe in, all that we hold of value, all worth fighting for…  
to reach something that not one side truly believes in or holds it worthy to fight for. And all that why?  
For something that seemingly pleases all sides but in truth is worthless to all sides. Compromise is not same as agreement, Lya.  
Do not ever be fooled into believing that two are the same. They’re not.  
Compromise comes when two or more sides cannot agree so they reach some sort of deal in which neither beliefs.”  
Lyanna’s face glowed: “I like when we talk as this, Papa. Thank you for having me as your aide. I oft make you angry, but have patience with me.  
I try not to act as she-dragonwolf that I am.” “Ha-ha, did you come up with that name?” “I did.”  
“It suits you well, she-dragonwolf… And I will always have patience with you, Lya. Fear not of that.”  
“Papa, can I ask you something?” she said hesitantly.  
“Since when do you need my permission to ask me anything, dōna tala?”  
“You did not want to compromise with Hallis’ father, right? When he came to take him home and asked that I should be his wife…” 

“How do you know of this?” Jon wondered “I didn’t want to tell you any of that, you need not to burden yourself with it yet.  
You’re years away from even a notion of marriage.”  
“This pyramid is full with rumours, Papa.”  
“Aye, it seems so. Yes, Lyanna, I did not want to make any agreement with Larence Hornwood.  
For that agreement would not take in count many troubles.”  
“What troubles, father?” raven-haired girl asked.  
“Tell me, Lya, what do you think of Hallis? Do you like him?”  
“I do. He is goodhearted and good company, he amused me oft for he knows nothing of how to act with ladies, even so young as I am.  
When you took the crown and I got to be a princess, that was even more funny how he acted around me. Still, he is good, Papa.  
And noble and honest.” “So, we could say that you like him a lot.”  
“We could. I like Hallis. A lot. I even miss him, I have no one to spare with in swordplay now save Rhae, no one of my age, that is.” 

“Well, his father and his great-grandfather saw fit for you two to be betrothed. You know what that means, right?”  
“I do. When of proper age, he would become my husband.” girl said with even tone.  
“And how that notion falls with you?”  
Lyanna shrugged: “Aunt Arya said that he likes me as boy likes a girl. But I like him only as companion, a friend.  
I don’t know, Papa, I am still too young to think of betrothals and marriages.”  
“That is what I told lord Hornwood. When you and Hallis are older, he shall be invited to come to Meereen and be in your company again.  
Then we shall see if that liking can be something more.”  
“You mean if I could love him?” she frowned “That is for people grown, Papa.”  
“Aye, it is. And as neither you nor Hallis are grown, there will be no agreement on betrothals. Not yet at least.” Jon said to his daughter.  
“What are other troubles?” she asked “You spoke of many.”

He sighed deeply before saying: “Your aunt Sansa.”  
Girl’s face darkened right away: “She is not my aunt. Arya is my only aunt. Sansa ruined the peace you made between North and the Free Folk.”  
“All right, I will not call her your aunt anymore.” he agreed.  
“Why is Sansa Stark trouble for that agreement lord Hornwood wanted?”  
“She might be afraid of you, Lyanna.” Jon answered.  
“But I am only a little girl.”  
“Yes, my sweet, but you are heir to the throne of Winterfell, same as your brother and two sisters are.  
And you look more as Stark than Sansa does. Should lords of the North grow discontent with her…”  
“…they could name me as their queen…” Lya finished his sentence.  
“You are very smart, Lyanna. Yes, they could. Even more should you be betrothed with Hallis who is heir of two powerful houses of the North.  
That makes you a threat to Sansa, even if you’re still only a little girl.”  
“I know that Northern queen hates mama and Rhae and me.”  
“How can you know that?” Jon asked “You’ve never met her.”  
“Mother told me and Rhae, she heard aunt Arya telling you how Sansa speaks ill of us. Why is that? We’re same to her as we are to Arya…”  
“Sansa once was a kind and sweet girl, as you and Rhaella are now, but she has changed into someone I do not know. Nor do I wish to know.” Jon said. “You want to protect me from her, Papa, that is why you and Muña said no to the agreement with Hallis’ father?” girl asked.

“Your mother and I will protect you till we draw breath, Lya. No matter from whom.” he said with firm voice.  
“Lord Hornwood was not pleased for going back to Westeros with no agreement, right?”  
“I gather he was not. Though, we did not refuse him. Mayhaps we shall go to White Harbor together, Lya, in a few years to see Hallis.  
And should you find him to your liking, as girl likes a young man, then we may talk of two of you being betrothed.”  
"You like Hornwoods, Papa. I can tell." "Aye, Lya, I do. They weren't among most powerful houses in the North, but one of most honorable."  
“Someone then should say to that Sansa woman that I don’t want her throne.”  
“_I don’t want it…_” he said looking at his daughter “…Lya, these words have nearly ruined me for the rest of my days on this world.  
Never utter them lightly. You’re a Stark of Winterfell same as you’re a Targaryen. Northern throne is part of who you are.  
Never renounce of that what is yours by birth. Never.” Lyanna nodded: “I will not. I promise you that, Papa.”  
Jon smiled at her: “Sȳz. Jika sir, zoklazaldrīzes, gaomagon aōha iēdar lila.” (_Good. Go now, dragonwolf, do your water dance._)  
Lyanna got up from the table and walked to him, next she was embracing him firmly and whispering to his ear:  
“Jelmor rūnis.” (_The North remembers. _) He kissed her brow and she rushed from the apex terrace. 

His face was grim now, as haunting thought came to his mind again.  
_The North remembers. A saying many times left meaningless.  
North forgot how wildlings fought side by side with us against traitors, the Boltons and against the dead…_

“Brooding again?” a woman’s voice came to him “I thought those days are behind you, Jon Targaryen.”  
Daenerys stepped on the terrace, clad in dark brown linen boots, black breeches and tight dark red bodice over black shirt.  
She appeared to him as one of the Valyrian women warriors of old.  
“I was not brooding… only thinking of something.”  
“Something that troubles you.”  
“Aye, but that something is of little importance now.”  
She sat next to him: “Lyanna has become your true aide, same as Rhaella.  
_Wolf child_ is maturing into proper Targaryen princess with your tutelage.”  
“Yes, she does and I am glad of it. She is smart. Well over her age. We spoke about the marriage offer Hornwoods and Manderlys gave.  
She grasps the meaning of it all. And the perils that come with it.”  
Daenerys said in stern voice: “Jon, you’re half-Stark and Lya, Rhae and our twin babes are quarter-Starks, Arya and Sansa should  
both be family to them. But only Arya has embraced our four children as her family. Sansa never will. I respect House Hornwood and House Manderly, but Lyanna will not set foot there till Sansa holds power. To her, my daughter is nothing but more of me she would want to destroy, same as she wanted to destroy me twelve years ago.”

“Whatever Sansa has become, I don’t believe she would harm a child…”  
“Tyrion would never harm a child either once. Yet last year he was more than ready to slit throats of my daughters.  
People change, Jon, and oft for the worse.”  
He nodded: “You’re right… sadly people we both know once as wise and good have gone power mad and ruthless.”  
“Are you not going to finish this meal?” she asked looking at the plate.  
He shook his head and Daenerys took the fork and knife and began to eat, enjoying spiced sausage.  
“I see my wife is hungry last couple of days, as she is eating for two…” his eyes widened “…you’re not...? Are you?”  
“Jon, with all our lovemaking I wonder how I stayed nonpregnant for this long…but no, I am not with child.” she laughed.  
He laughed too and run his hand down her back.  
“Wait till I finish dining, then we shall take a bath in the water pool.” she smiled playfully at him. “Now? It’s barely passed midday!”  
“No one will see us, Jon, if that troubles you. No one can come to terrace without my permission, not even our daughters.”  
“I see you have planned this…” She nodded with content smirk.

His wife was leaned on the edge of the pool, water reaching to her thighs. He was behind her, gently parting her legs and caressing  
her lovely rounded arse. His swollen manhood went up and down between her lower lips.  
Next, he thrust in, making her to cry out. Then his haunches began to move in long and slow pace which soon had Daenerys moaning.  
“Daor keligon…” she spoke in Valyrian as her body began to respond in same manner. Lust for each other conquered them as always.  
Jon’s hands were now around her waist as his length was moving faster.  
Her hands let go the edge of the pool and were now clasped around his neck, she panted as her climax was nearing…  
“Meleys!” Daenerys nearly yelled the name of Valyrian goddess of love between gasps and then she spent as mad, causing him  
to reach the peak of pleasure as well, shooting his seed inside her. Jon slowed down and then gently turned her towards him.  
They were both soaked in sweat, Dany’s hair was not braided, falling free and damp from bathing.  
He was inside her again and when she grabbed the edge of the pool with her hands while enveloping his backside with her legs, he knew that his wife still craves. “I want more, Jon Targaryen.” Dany grinned. “Then I shall give you more…” he said as his tongue went for her breasts. 

He lied on the grass of the apex terrace garden, next to the water pool, his silver-haired lover lied at his side, resting head on his chest.  
Both were bare as on their nameday. Sunrays were drying their bodies and both have blissfully dozed off after lovemaking.  
Her kisses woke him up, her lips trailed down his scars.  
As their eyes met, he saw that she has the same loving gaze as she did that moment in the ruins of the throne room of Red Keep.  
It saddened him as ever when that memory would come to his mind, his eyes went away.

“What is it?” she asked in soft voice. “I’m sorry, Dany.” he said absently.  
“Sorry for what? For us being a royal family with four children, Jon? Are you sorry for that? Why are you tormenting yourself with the past?  
It was Jon Snow who killed me, not you, not Jon Targaryen. Jon Targaryen is my love, my husband and my king.”  
He pulled her up so that their lips could meet in passionate kiss.  
“You are my love, now and always.” he said “My love, not my queen. I care not where we live, here in this pyramid  
or in a small house with red door and lemon tree, Dany. My love, now and always.”  
“Sir se va moriot, Jon, now and always.” They were kissing again and it lasted for a long while, lying on their sides. 

Then he got up and walked to the table, he took a wine bottle, two cups and a large parchment.  
She laughed as he placed it on the grass before them.  
“Well, my king, I might be wrong, but as you’ve brought the wine and the map of the Known World, it seems that we’ll be  
talking about politics stark naked and soon half drunk…” “Something like that.” he said lying back next to her.  
“Some would call this decadence, Jon…” she smiled taking first sip from the cup he passed her.  
“And some would call it mating work and pleasure…”  
“So, my king, what do you wish to discuss.”  
“Volantis...” he said “...their silence is thundering.”  
She nodded: “It is. They brew something, whatever that might be.”  
“You don’t think they could challenge us openly?” he asked.  
“No, not now. Their list of allies is thin, save Mantarys, no other city east of Rhoyne will join them. And why should they?  
We offered good terms to all, to Tolos, to Elyria, to New Ghis…  
Qartheen are pleased as well, for them it matters only that trading goes without hindrance. We’ve have ensured all that.  
Dothraki tributes have lessened as well…”  
He smirked at her: “You meant to say your tributes.” She shrugged: “I am the Khaleesi. What is theirs is mine.”  
“One could say that it is quite the counter, but I shall not pry into your trade affairs.” “Better not.” she said gently slapping his behind.  
“To strike a king asks for a severe punishment, woman.”  
“King can always strike me back…” she smiled while running her fingers through his hair: “...are you letting your curls to grow back?”  
“Mayhaps. I got them from my father…” “Yes, you did.” 

“So, what are we to do about Volantis… they will not accept such treaties as Qarth or New Ghis did.” he talked of First Daughter again.  
“Mayhaps they will not. But we shall offer it to them nonetheless. Same as we offer it to Lys, Myr, Pentos, even Qohor.”  
“If I were Volantene, that would seem a lot like an encirclement to me.”  
“It is exactly that. Illyrio Mopatis albeit old still holds influence in Pentos and through him we could bring Myrish and Lysene to sign alliance treaties with Dragon Cities as well. One of Volantene triarchs owes a lot of money to Illyrio, debt that his father has made many years ago.”  
“Which one is that?”  
“Vogys Vhassar. Elephant party, same as his father who was in favor of their fleet besieging Meereen four and ten years ago.” 

“I thought that elephant party is one of merchants who scorn war…”  
“In principle yes, but Jon bear in mind that many Volantene merchants got their riches from the slave trade.  
One such was Illeo Vhassar, now dead. His son, from what I hear is not at all belligerent as his sire was.”  
“That surely has something to do with Volantene fleet being burned down before walls of Meereen by your dragons…” he grinned  
“...what do we know of other two?” “Well, Doniphos Paenymion is also of elephant party and was against of Volantis partaking in war with Meereen on the side of Yunkai slave masters. It cost him re-election then, but as Volantis suffered defeat together with other slavers,  
he was triarch again very next year and he manages to keep that title in every election since.”  
“Is he the one we should approach first?” Jon asked.

“Mayhaps. Though, I expect him to be corrupted to the bone as all Volantene highborn are. Many triarch served foreign interests for good coin.”  
“Who is the third one?”  
“Thoreo Maegyr. Tiger party. He would declare war on us if he were able to. Unfortunate for him, he is one and elephants are two.”  
“Maegyr… that is same name as Arya’s healer, one that treated Rhaella after she was cut.”  
“Yes. They are of same family, though Illeo is as far from Thoreo as you are from Maegor the Cruel.  
Thoreo, from what I have learned of him, is of same ilk as slavers here were once, during last election in Volantis he offered dozens both girl and boy slaves for pleasures of his possible voters.” Jon nodded: “So, he is not the door we should be knocking at.”  
“No, but we can address both Vhassar and Paenymion. Illyrio can be of use to us in arranging a meeting.  
We shall offer treaties of alliance to all Free Cities around Volantis and to the First Daughter itself.  
That way, triarchs cannot say that we aim to isolate them. Though, I doubt they will accept our offer of cordial relations,  
I wager they hate me still, after all these years.” she said while her hand went left and right on the map:  
“Still, even in Volantis we might have an upper hand already…” “That being?” 

She frowned: “Jon Targaryen, don’t act so ignorant of politics in the Free Cities. It begins to annoy me. You know very well of whom I speak. Why do you take so much pleasure in trying my patience?”  
“Mayhaps I’ve grown to enjoy that what comes after our every quarrel.” he said with smirk.  
“Mayhaps in future I shall deny you wholly of this what is now laid before you, dear husband…” she grinned back at him  
“…well, what ally do we have within the walls of Volantis?”  
“Followers of R’hllor. Most of slave population and free smallfolk worship that god and that includes their city guard, tiger cloaks they are called.” Dany nodded: “And thanks to Kinvara and her priests and priestesses I am now even more venerated there than before.  
Unburnt, unslain… and so on.” He chuckled. “Don’t laugh, that unslain title has something to do with you…” she smiled.  
His face went grim in a heartbeat: “I know…”  
“Jon, I was jesting right now. Your wife knows how to jest, whether you believe it or not. Remove that somber mask off your face. I order it.” 

He smiled back at her and rubbed his nose against hers then he placed finger on the far corner of Essos, one north and west.  
“What of Braavos?” he asked. “Braavos is too far north for Volantis to be threatened by our possible treaty with the Sealord.  
And I already have an agreement with certain institution in Braavos.”  
“I know… it appears both sides are upholding that agreement to the letter.”  
She nodded: “I promised them new markets for the merchants that have shunned Westeros and they’ve got those new markets.  
And, not to forget, Dorne is trading with Free Cities as never before. Which is good, given what they suffer now.”  
“And that is…?” he asked playing with her tresses “...what word did you get from the scribe serving good lord Velaryon?”  
“Red Keep has begun the invasion of Dorne. Tens of thousands were gathered on two sides of Westeros and are unleashed on Dorne right now.”  
Jon smirked: “What history teaches us it that vipers cannot be beaten with tens of thousands.  
With hundred thousand or more, aye, but Dornish sands have swollen fifty thousand when Daeron Targaryen led his conquest of Dorne.”  
Daenerys confirmed: “Monterys writes how uncertain that whole plan is, though he always writes in such manner one must read  
his lines many times to grasp its hidden meaning. Tens of thousands may perish in failure of taking Dorne.” 

“Thousands died in the North and for what?” he said “Nothing has changed. Sansa did not get the Gift to include it in her kingdom, let alone lands north of the Wall.” “I see you ponder a lot of her defeat.” “I do. Sadly, I have not learned of it from you, but I’ve got the word.”  
Her hand brushed his cheek: “I will not hide what I learn of Westeros from you, not anymore. Is that all right?”  
He kissed that same hand: “It is, Dany. No more mistrust between us. Weeks ahead of us…  
I dare to say they will set course of House Targaryen for many years to come.”  
“So, our eyes are now looking westwards… how far west, my king?” “As far as... Dragonstone, my queen.” he replied with wild glow in his eyes.  
“Don’t jest with me, Jon Targaryen. Not as this...” she shook her head "...some wounds will never heal. Dragonstone is one of them."  
“I am not jesting, Daenerys Stormborn. The day will come when we shall ponder on retaking our heirloom. If not us, our children."  
"Heirloom... it never felt home to me. Place where I was born and it felt foreign. " Dany spoke with sadness.  
"Place where we have met for the first time... That was seat of our family and it was stolen from us.”  
"It was of our family once... Long ago... I wish nothing that is Westeros. Dragonstone is Westeros."  
"Had Aenar Targaryen thought the same, you and I would have never been born. He saw Dragonstone as Valyrian."

Azzak zo Ghazeen greeted him the next morning as he descended in the throne room from the uppermost floor where chambers of royal family were. “Your Radiance….” he bowed. “Lord Azzak…” he nodded to the young man “…what news you bring me?”  
“The night in the city was quiet and well, City Guard reports four robberies in the port that were dealt with and five and twenty cases of disorder in the city, mostly drunkards and brothel visitors.” “Given that this city is home to nearly half a million now, we could truly call that a quiet night.” “Yes, my king, many that have fled the city when riots and killings following the death of Galazza Galare started are now back in Meereen. And we must add to that folk coming from Yunkai and Astapor to work here. Guardsmen have noted also Lhazareen and Tolosi now within our walls. Elyrian outpost was established on the eastern quay and their goods now come to the city through it. People seem to flock here from all sides, my king. Taxes you have imposed together with the Council of Citizens have made Meereen a proper place to make a decent living, for nobles and lowborn alike.” 

He nodded: “Aye, I sure hope we keep the city on this good course. And the Queen?”  
“Her Radiance is with women councilors; they discuss the laws that concern the womenfolk of the Dragon Cities.” Azzak replied.  
“Ah, that would be the reason you’re not partaking on that meeting?” Jon smiled. “I gather so, yes.”  
“What laws are they discussing?” king wanted to know.  
“I trust they will go through a lot of it, from entering and ending marriage to inheritance laws.  
They aim to draw laws that will still maintain the tradition of our people, but give more room for womenfolk of Meereen.”  
“Our queen is very ambitious woman, is she not?” Jon asked Azzak.  
“Her Radiance detests injustice, same as you do, my king, and she will try to remedy the causes of it wherever she can.”  
“Some would call her a revolutionary… and saying that not as a praise.”

Azzak looked at him: “May I speak freely, Your Radiance?”  
“A man who cannot speak freely will seldom tell what he truly thinks, my lord.”  
“Queen Daenerys mayhaps was a revolutionary once, when I was a boy and serving her as cupbearer, but now she is not.  
As ruler she has matured in every way there is… and allow me to say this, my king, you being at her side has affected Her Radiance  
in best way possible. Meereen is the luckiest city in Essos for having such king and queen.  
And you know well, my king, that I am not saying this to win your favor.” Azzak said, almost in one breath.  
“That I know and I respect you for your sincerity, Azzak. You serve my queen well, but you should give your knowledge to Meereen.  
You’re young, but not a boy anymore, Daenerys and I were both rulers in our own right when your age.  
You should consider seeking place on the Council of Citizens, this assembly is soon ending and we shall have new one voted in soon enough.”  
“Your Radiance, I trust most of now councilors will remain so even after election.” Azzak said.  
“I wouldn’t be so sure, this assembly with its bickering and indecisiveness caused deaths of scores of people when riots started.  
Both nobles and freedmen are tired of them. Ponder on that, Azzak. Meereen needs young men as you in the offices of power.”  
“I shall, my king.” 

Daenerys came from the meeting she held in the audience chamber to the council room where he sat alone reading reports Azzak gave him.  
She was wearing a floor-length silver dress with blue borders, dress made in a fashion that most of her upper body was bare,  
only her breasts and shoulders covered. Her silver tresses fell to the small of her back, unbraided.  
He gazed at her uncovered belly and navel, left in plain sight to all.  
“Gods, Dany, you’re half naked!” he exclaimed.  
“You don’t approve? I wore this dress when I had twenty namedays. It still fits me so well, five and ten years later.  
And four children later. Any man should be glad to see his wife’s body not affected by time and child bearing.”  
“Any man would not be glad knowing that other men can see so much flesh of his wife.” he replied.  
“It is a hot day, Jon, and jealousy doesn’t suit you.”  
He sighed: “Do as you wish. It is too early in the day for me to quarrel with you over a dress. That seems to be unfinished from waist up…”  
She laughed: “I have to send away my tailor then.”

He was about to reply to her when he saw a woman in red robes appearing at the door, behind Daenerys. Woman he knew well.  
“High Priestess…” he greeted which make his wife to turn around: “Kinvara…”  
“My king, my queen…” she said “…I need to speak with you both.”  
“By all means, come in and sit where ever you like…” Jon gestured her.  
“Your reign has taken good root in the Dragon Cities, though it does not yet count six moons...” Kinvara said  
“...treaties with Tolos, Elyria, Lhazar, Qarth all serve to ensure peace and good relations in this part of Essos…”  
“It seems to me that you’re about to say but…” Jon said.  
“Everything before the word _but_ is horseshit…” priestess replied “…as your uncle Eddard Stark has taught you many years ago.”  
That made Jon’s eyes to widen, still he nodded to Kinvara:  
“He did teach me that and it’s no wonder you have knowledge of his words. Still, were you to say but?”  
“I was. Though, not to belittle what you have achieved here, Your Graces, no. Your rule over Meereen pleases the Lord of Light greatly.  
I am here to warn you.”


	61. GENDRY

_Storm’s End, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

**GENDRY**

_Rhaelyanna_ came to Tarth first, her many sails caught the wind blowing from the east and she was ahead of _Nymeria_ for nearly three hours.  
Both ships left the Bay of Pentos five days before, till then being anchored there for a sennihgt following their return voyage from Braavos. 

A smuggler ship bringing goods from Myr to Storm’s End brought a message from Volantis that two ships wearing Baratheon sigil  
on their sails will be coming to Myr within nine days. He knew what that meant and ordered his swiftest ship across the Narrow Sea though many on the court of Stormlands advised to take a war galley as Ironborn fleet was on the move from northern waters towards Dorne. 

“Krakens, m’lord…” said fishermen from his shores “…krakens come in flocks as seagulls…”  
That was truth as fleet of Yara Greyjoy after achieving what could not be called else but a victorious end of war  
against Sansa Stark was journeying southwards to fight at the side of Martell princess. 

Gendry of House Baratheon cared not of that, being certain that Ironborn will show restraint to any ship displaying crowned stag  
as they were of sorts on the same side of the conflict that was tearing the Realm apart.  
And had the same powerful ally, one that remained in the shadows but whose actions shook the Six Kingdoms, cutting them off  
from the markets of Essos and all that trading with lands across the Narrow Sea was bringing to Westeros. 

He did what he could to spare the people whose lord he was from war and hunger.  
Thus far he managed for Stormlands not to cross swords with Dornish rebels. Or Dornish freedom fighters.  
Naming depended on the stance one had in that war. He did not want to have a stance.  
Should he call he banners against the Dorne, that would mean a great suffering for all the Marcher lords who had not enough men to stop the vipers from coming down the Red Mountains for raiding and putting to torch all of the Dornish Marches of which he was Lord Paramount.  
Dorne was strong enough to march their army across the Stormlands to the very walls of Storm's End and no one could stop them.  
Had it not been for loyalty of the Reach, Sunspear with its over thirty thousand spears and Iron Fleet at the sea could take even King’s Landing.  
Luckily for Bran the Broken and the Imp, Dorne had to face the enemy to the west which could not take vipers alone.  
Gendry was determined to delay Stormlands entering the fray as long as he could.  
That part was proven easier than saving his lands from impoverishment and hunger which would in the end follow. 

Since the first days of the year three hundred and seventeenth since his ancestor Orys Baratheon helped Aegon Targaryen to conquer Westeros, ships from across the Narrow Sea stopped coming to Westerosi ports.  
In first days, it was only few ships less crossing the sea to bring or take goods from once Seven Kingdoms.  
Then that few slowly but surely became many in sennihgts that followed and when second moon of the year had begun to spend its days,  
only a halfwit could not say that something strange and unusual, never before recorded in history took place.  
Essos, the Free Cities and their merchants shunned Westers whole.  
Trading ceased almost wholly, save only a few captains whose ships would come yet those were not traders anymore,  
but smugglers who would price the goods on and below their decks twice or thrice than usual.  
Some Westerosi merchants agreed on such terms only to sell what they have overpaid for even more coins, to cover their losses.  
Those from Seven Kingdoms whose goods needed to cross the Narrow Sea eastwards were made to sell it at lowered price these smugglers now were demanding. Many farmers, craftsmen and other that once lived of trading with Free Cities were now ruined, crops and orchards were abandoned, many of such overrun by people searching for food, craft shops closed down as their owners could not live by selling what they made only in Westeros.

By the fifth moon of the year, these smugglers were selling Essosi goods by many folds higher price than was its true worth and buying Westerosi goods for small coin, almost as it were gifted to them. Such trade meant only one thing, slow but certain ruin for any man of once Seven Kingdoms that would do such trade. Some merchants, craftsmen, farmers and others fared better in these new times as Essosi markets were not the place where they sold their merchandise in the past, but as this shunning from the Free Cities affected in one way or the other any living man, woman or child in Westeros, those merchants and craftsmen could not sell their goods no more as poverty and lacking struck hard.

It was six and twentieth day of the sixth moon of the current year that he crossed the Narrow Sea on _Princess Shireen_.  
He named the finest sail ship in the fleet of Stormlands, after his cousin who was burned at the stake, being only a little girl,  
burned as offering to the red god by her father, his uncle Stannis.  
Gendry never met Shireen, but learned a lot about her from Davos Seaworth, enough to name his favorite vessel after her.  
“You’re an honorable lad, my lord.” Davos told him after upon seeing the name on the ships bow and stern.  
He did not feel so honorable as he sailed into the Myrish port.  
He was there to negotiate a more favorable terms of trade for Stormlands with magisters of Myr, a conclave as them were called. 

His hope was in knowledge that a shadow ally, one that Aelyx Celtigar saw in Ghoyan Drohe a year ago, has made an agreement with  
the Iron Bank of Braavos. Agreement that was obligatory to all merchants and rich men of the Free Cities, the clients of the bank,  
agreement which allowed for those from Westeros who were allies of that shadow power to trade with Essos under usual terms. 

Dorne, declared independent kingdom now, was selling and buying from across the Narrow Sea as all Westeros once could,  
but Gendry could not hope for such treatment of Stormlands. His lands were still part of the Six Kingdoms.  
Iron Bank upholding the agreement with Daenerys Targaryen will not allow for Storm’s End to have same treatment as Sunspear.  
He will try to get lower prices for Essosi goods and higher for those from Stormlands.  
Before going to Myr, he has met once more with lord Celtigar. 

Gendry gave Aelyx a letter, in same cipher as one he brought for him from Ghoyan Drohe.  
He needed nor wanted to know the way that message would pass before reaching the one that was intended for.  
Aelyx took the message with him as he sailed back to his keep at Claw Isle, but when his ship passed next to isle of Driftmark,  
that letter was taken ashore with other documents and goods intended for House Velaryon.  
In the end, what lord Celtigar did not know, that letter would come in possession of a certain scribe in service of lord Monterys.  
Scribe who’d see that ciphered words of Lord Gendry Baratheon of Storm’s End reach Queen Daenerys Targaryen of Bay of Dragons.

Only man of the Baratheon household acquainted with Gendry keeping relation with Targaryen ruler in Meereen was his maester Pylos,  
man wholly loyal to him. Pylos was wary of king Bran ever since he took the crown as tales of king’s abilities were spreading across the Realm.  
Upon hearing how archmaester Tarly was removed from the Small Council, Pylos grew even more discontent with the rulers in the Red Keep.  
Gendry made sure that Pylos travelled with him to Myr. 

Voron Irroris, member of the Myrish conclave of magisters, received them in his manse.  
Gendry could not tell of his age, he guessed Voron was in his thirtieth namedays, closing of being fat.  
Magister was of olive skin and dark hair, as most Myrmen were.  
Some maesters claimed people of Myr being of Rhoynar descent, but others disputed such claims.  
Voron must have been comely when younger, that not being the case now, both Gendry and Pylos concluded upon seeing him first.  
Their meeting was brief and it was plain to Gendry that Irroris speaks for whole of conclave:  
“There is a good will among magisters of Myr to resume trading with Stormlands, after all one could call us the first neighbors across the Narrow Sea, Lord Baratheon. Yet I must tell you not to expect same terms nor same extent of trade as we have with other Free Cities  
or with Princedom of Dorne whose declared independence Myr acknowledges.”  
“Lord Irroris, Myr did not make such acknowledgement public…” Gendry told him.  
“Nor it will. As issue of Dornish independence is not yet solved and by all accounts we get from across the sea it will be determined on the battlefield, for Myr to declare of seeing Dorne as kingdom of its own would be unwise now. Still, trading with Sunspear is something else.  
It goes in our favor. Same as not trading with rest of Seven… well Six Kingdoms goes in our favor.” Voron spoke to him with self-content voice.  
“And trading with Stormlands will be done under what terms? If it were to be done?” Gendry asked.  
“We shall trade, my lord, shyly though as Iron Bank demands and whether I like it or not, my affairs as well as affairs of most of magisters in the Free Cities are with the Iron Bank. We shall trade in a shy, one might say covert manner with prices of goods coming and going from your lands that you will find… reasonable. Reasonable under conditions that now rule between two shores of the Narrow Sea.” ,

Gendry, ever since he was a blacksmiths apprentice got a good understanding of buying and selling and now,  
being lord of Storm’s End for twelve years he was getting belated, but enough education so he could grasp the true meaning of Voron’s words. 

He paused for a heartbeat to seem as he were pondering of what he heard, then he spoke to magister:  
“So, then, what you say is that what your ships would bring to my ports will not be as cheap as merchandise that goes to Dorne,  
but it will not be as pricey as it is being sold at the markets of King’s Landing, though markets there don’t exist now.  
It’s more flaying the skin of the back of those in need than proper trade.”  
Irroris smiled contently: “You’re a man of straight words, lord Baratheon. A refreshment of sorts, I must say. Yes, you've pictured it as it will be. Myr will not offer better terms. Iron Bank demands that we continue to shun Westeros from trading and we shall meet their demands.  
Moreover, we have been provided with new markets further east, across the Rhoyne.  
Even Dothraki nowadays have learned to trade, not only to plunder and sack.  
Till such will of the Iron Bank of Braavos stands, better hope not that change of current state will come. It will not...  
Well then, do you accept the renewal of trading between Myr and Stormlands as laid out?”  
Gendry exchanged brief look with Pylos then nodded in agreement:  
“Yes. I accept.” “Very well then…” Myrish magister said cheerfully “…as I trust you have brought the list of goods that you need,  
you may expect first ships coming to your shores within six to ten days.  
That will give you enough time to prepare Stormlands goods to be ready for shipping eastwards.” 

“Are we in some sort of a rebellion now?” he asked Pylos when they were back in the port of Myr.  
“Why do you say that, my lord?” maester answered with question.  
“We'll be part of the Realm that trades more favorably with Essos than other four kingdoms…”  
“Do not burden yourself with such thoughts. You are acting in best interest of the Stormlands, both highborn and lowborn,  
as Lord Paramount should. Other four kingdoms, their liege lords, should act the same. Are you to blame if they have chosen not to?”  
Gendry shrugged: “I guess I am not.”  
“Then waste no more thoughts of it, my lord.”  
“I shall not, Pylos.” he said while his eyes wandered across the harbor, seeking for something that would warm his heart…  
A sail with crowned stag, same as he had on _Princess Shireen_.  
Yet, all the sails he saw, from one end of the port to the other, were those of Free Cities, Summer Isles, not one displayed a sigil of any sort. 

“Westerosi! Westerosi lords!” a slim man called them.  
He wore a cloth of silver with broad sleeves, with jade buttons in shape of seastar.  
His head was covered with a gold colored cap with rooster feather:  
“Belaro Hotor is the name, merchant and seafarer is the trade. Should you require a swift and discreet transport of goods,  
no matter of their nature, from wheat to nubile girls, I am a man you need.”  
_Smuggler… _ whispered Pylos who now stood behind Gendry, though he concluded that already himself.  
“Well, lord Belaro Hotor, as you surely see I already have a ship. If I were in demand of goods why would I need another man’s vessel?”  
Belaro smirked: “I am not a lord. And you will soon learn that coming here to buy anything on Myrish markets was a fool’s errand.  
No one will sell straight to Westerosi. You have come here with your ship in vain.  
And yet two more are coming, with that same antlered creature on the sails.” 

Gendry’s eyes widened, still he kept calm: “You have seen more of my ships?”  
“I have sailed pass them last evening, a carrack and a swan-ship. They seemed as in no rush to call in this port.  
Though I gather they’ll be here before sundown. Your three ships shouldn’t have come.  
You will not make trade here and whatever merchandise you’ve brought from Sunset Kingdoms will be thrown overboard.  
As I have told you, I am the man you need.”  
Gendry nodded, in courtesy, not in approval: “I will make sure for us to meet again, should my coming here proves to be a failed voyage.”  
Belaro bowed and walked down the quay, feathers on his cap fluttering in the breeze.  
“What do you make of this, Pylos?” he asked his maester.  
“Arya Stark is coming here from Volantis, my lord. A welcomed news.”  
“Yes, welcomed indeed...” Gendry said smilingly then went aboard his sail ship:  
“We should take some rest on our ship, before two more stag boats call in.” 

He felt Arya’s fingers passing through his hair, as she lay on top of him, her head resting on his chest.  
She liked playing with his hair, though it was cut short as ever, since he was a boy and Stark girl and him were traveling North  
with Night’s Watch recruits, a travel that ended with them being imprisoned by Lannister troops in Harrenhal.  
It seemed to him as that was ten lifetimes ago.  
Still, he knew that what they have consumed mere moments ago, a passion of two lovers once again reunited, that was planted on that road north, nearly twenty years ago. Arya seemed to him even more beautiful as she were that night when they made love for the first time.  
She matured, both in body and spirit, though still a she-wolf, Gendry could sense a change in her, as she was more womanly than before.  
His mind even harbored thought which was telling him that she would now accept his proposal and become lady Arya Baratheon of Storm’s End.  
Very thought of her bearing his name made him kiss her head. She lifted her gaze at him:  
“Are we in for another round or are you just being gentle with me?” “If I say both, would that please you?”  
“Surely…” “I missed you, m’lady…”  
She grinned: “Fair warning…. should you continue with calling me that, your balls are bare and unprotected. And I have a good grip.  
Mayhaps it would give you pleasure and mayhaps a pain beyond belief…”  
“Then better not to call you any other way save Arya.”  
“Better…” she smiled at him and then they kissed. When their lips parted, he said:  
“I wish you would not go to Braavos. Can’t you stay here in Myr and let some of your men to do it, that first mate from the Reach or someone?”  
“I cannot. Larence Hornwood and Marlon Manderly expect of me to take them to Braavos. From there they will go to White Harbor.  
With young Hallis, he is future of both houses. I am bound by word to them and to my brother Jon.”  
“How is he? I hope I’ll get to meet him in the years to come.” Gendry said.  
“Jon is doing very well. He is father of four now… Daenerys gave birth to new twins.”  
“Well… Targaryens, thought to be an extinct house have been renewed properly.”  
“Aye… one prince and three princesses. As Jon and Daenerys are now king and queen of all that once was Slaver’s Bay.”  
Gendry lifted eyebrows: “Then they’re more powerful than ever… if they were to invade now, Westeros would fall within a moon.  
Hells, half of the Realm would side with them right away.”  
Arya nodded: “Dorne for sure, Ironborn… and you probably. She made you lord of Stormlands.”  
He answered: “And King Bran left me that title. I have no particular loyalty to Daenerys. But I cannot bear any ill will or enmity towards her.  
She was my Queen once. I respect that.”  
She looked at him with approving eyes: “And I respect what you just said. I never liked or wanted her as Queen of Westeros.  
I like her as my good-sister and mother of my nephew and nieces.” 

“Your brother shares not that liking.”  
Arya shook head: “King in the Red Keep is not my brother. He was once, but Bran is long gone. He just as well might be dead.  
Something else dwells in the broken body of my brother. Something evil that I wish not to know nor be close to.  
I am never setting foot in King’s Landing.” He caressed her naked back:  
“They’d throw you in dungeon, Arya. Keep away from Six Kingdoms as long as Bran and Tyrion made decisions in the capital… and Winterfell?”  
Arya shook head again: “I have met with Sansa last year. We parted ways as people which no longer understand each other.  
She is my sister and I love her and will love her till I draw breath, but I cannot follow her as my queen.  
She does not want to see Jon’s family as our kinfolk… and she went to war… for what? For land…”  
Gendry looked at her: “Arya… you do know that she lost that war?”  
She sighed before saying: “I’ve heard of it in Meereen first, then in Volantis.  
Later when passing through Stepstones, I saw from afar dozens of Ironborn ships sailing southwards.  
If they’re going to Dorne, that can only mean they’re no longer warring in the North.  
A defeated fleet would not rush to another war. So, aye… it can only mean that Sansa failed to win that war.”  
He run his fingers through her raven tresses: “Yes, you’ve guessed right. Her army was not defeated, but still broken in the battle that claimed half of men on each side. Winterfell had no other but to ask for terms. Sansa left with no strength to continue warring for the Gift.  
Wildlings bled out also… and by reports that I got nothing truly changed after all that bloodshed.  
Land of both Gifts were left to wildlings and Northern kingdom kept what it held before the war started…” 

“You’re wrong… a lot changed. Thousands died, thousands were made to flee their homes.  
Holdfasts and villages sacked and burned, White Harbor half burned…  
North was ruined with this war, Gendry. And I say that Sansa ruined her queenship. Ruined beyond repair...” Arya said with saddened voice.  
“She was not utterly defeated, Arya, her rule is not in question.”  
“You do not know Northern lords… they will oust her from the throne should they agree there is a better choice.”  
“Sansa is the only Stark in Westeros willing to wear the crown.” he said.  
“She is. But not the only Stark in Known World that could wear it.” she answered. “You’re the only one that bears Stark name, Arya.”  
“Yes, but there are more of those that bear Stark blood. And all which that blood means.”  
He shrugged: “I can’t say that I understand what you’re saying.”  
She smiled: “Forget it. I am musing aloud. Let’s not speak of dark news anymore…  
I will rather tell you how I bought horses for my babe niece and nephew…”  
Gendry smiled: “Will I laugh?” “Do you know what zorse is?”  
“No, I do not.” “Well, then I might laugh more…” 

Next morning, they parted ways again on the quays of Myrish port.  
_Princess Shireen_ went back across the Narrow Sea, while _Nymeria_ and _Rhaelyanna_ set sail northwards, to Braavos.  
Gendry greeted with Larence Hornwood and remembered him from Winterfell, twelve years ago.  
Then still a Snow, Larence came to smithy of Stark castle and then still a Waters, blacksmith who came with the army  
of the dragon queen made him a battle axe from dragonglass. Two former bastards were now lords in their own right and  
either one of them at odds with the ruler of their kingdom.

Arya told him that she will not sail to Ib and Nefer upon reaching Braavos, that she’ll be coming southwards again.  
He did not dare to hope, but it seemed to him that raven-haired woman is tired of life on the sea.  
It seemed she was seeking an anchorage for her alone. Gendry wished most of all for that anchorage to be Storm’s End.

He invited her to Tarth. When she pointed out that he’ll be hosting a woman accused of treason, he replied that Realm is warring in Dorne  
and one seafarer, princess of another kingdom, will hardly be on the minds of Broken king and his Hand.  
She accepted, though not without persuading from his side.  
_Why do I have to persuade her so_, he wondered, _she’d be safer in my ports than in the Free Cities.  
And all that talk of going to Ib and all the way to Nefer… she truly should give up on those plans.  
She should be my family; she should be my lady._

On the day two and twenty of seventh moon of year three-hundred and seventeenth,  
a carrack named _Nymeria_ and a swan-ship bearing name _Rhaelyanna_ laid anchor in the port of the Sapphire Isle.  
On the morning of next day, _Princess Shireen_ sailed in from the Storm’s End bringing the Lord Paramount to the island.  
He sent an envoy to her ship, inviting her to break fast aboard his ship.  
Arya accepted in very formal manner, as she was obliged more than she was pleased.  
Men who served Gendry needed not to see even a glimpse of the true nature of their bond.  
Pylos knew, being closest adviser to lord Baratheon, but to the rest of his household Arya was an old friend of their liege  
which had no interest in men or women. A cold and distant she-wolf of the sea. 

It was a good ruse and they kept it last year while she stayed at his keep, those few days that they spent together  
here in Tarth before she went for White Harbor, then last moon in Myr and now as they ate in lord’s chamber.  
Offered were fried eggs, fried bread, bacon and some blood oranges. That fruit came with other food and goods that were sent  
to Storm’s End from Dorne as token of goodwill since Gendry did not take part in war against them, at least not yet.

“How are things in Braavos?” he asked.  
“Titan still stands.” she answered dryly.  
“Northern lords have gone home, I trust.”  
“They have. It took them ten days from Braavos to Oldcastle.  
And three days for a raven to come to Braavos with word of them reaching White Harbor. Then I took my ships south again.”  
“And here you are.” he said. “And here I am.” she nodded.  
“Where do you plan to go next?”  
Arya shrugged: “I don’t know. Somewhere. Nowhere… Save Dorne and King’s Landing, the rest of the world is open to me.”  
“As is Storm’s End.” he said looking at her eyes.  
She sighed and was about to say something, but Gendry spoke again: “I need you, Arya.”  
“As what?” she asked and that question sounded as she were irked.  
“As a friend foremost, as one who can give me good advice. Times are not easy for me, Arya.  
If I remain out of this new war with Dorne it could mean my ruin. Should I join the King against Dorne, it could ruin me as well.  
I need someone I can trust by my side. Also, my son and daughter wonder when you’ll come to Storm’s End again.”  
“I wish to see Orys and Argella as well.” Arya said, her voice softened.  
“Then I see no reason for us not to sail there this very day.” “It’s not that plain.” she sighed.  
“It’s not that hard either, Arya.” he answered.  
“I have two ships, two crews…”  
“I can take your ships and crews in my service, now that Stormlands will trade with Myr.  
Most of your men are either from Westeros or Free Cities. They’ll be closer to home this way.”  
She smirked: “You’ve planned it all, it seems. My men are no traders.”  
“Arya, last two years you’ve been ferrying merchandise and highborn passengers all over Essos. You told me that yourself.  
Mayhaps you were after what is west of Westeros once, but now…” 

“Now I am not…” she nodded.


	62. TYRION

_King’s Landing, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

**TYRION**

Sunspear was under royal standard for over three weeks now.  
As were the Water Gardens, Lemonwood, Salt Shore, the Tor, Wyl, Starfall and High Hermitage.  
Dornish coastland belonged to the Red Keep once again.  
All that was accomplished in the first seven days of the invasion of Dorne.  
After that initial string of victories, though it could be a matter of dispute were taking of abandoned and burned towns and keeps  
without fight a true victories, quenching of the Arianne Martell’s rebellion was slowed down and then bogged wholly.

Dornish garrison at Ghost Hill resisted for three weeks before setting the castle ablaze and retreating in the hills,  
only to rejoin with their brothers in arms at Godsgrace, another point of the stiff resistance. Greenblood was blocked with sunk vessels,  
dozens of them and king’s forces were made to march for nearly hundred miles up the river.  
Same happened at Brimstone, Torentine, Blueblood and Wyl rivers. All Dornish rivers were made impassable for any sort of floating vessel,  
even a simple raft. That made royal troops to use roads, most of which barely deserved that name being nothing more than paths  
across the rocky hills or caravan trails through desert. 

Main of the western host, one that departed from Oldtown, commanded by Ser Garth Hightower was halted at Blackmont  
where it battled with soldiers of Houses Dayne, Fowler, Wyl, Manwoody and Blackmont.  
Smaller portion of that royal force was holding Hellholt and ventured no further as whole might of House Uller was nowhere to be found. 

Qorgyles of Sandstone, intended to be run over by these two parts of western royal host, faced no threat thus far and their men  
were free to skirmish along the supply line of the enemy that stretched from the mouth of Torentine till the walls of Blackmont  
or to task the defences of royal garrison at Hellholt. Western flank of the invasion of Dorne was not fulfilling what was expected of it.  
Some aims were achieved, yet others were nowhere near of being reached.

On the eastern flank, royal troops ferried to Martell lands with fleet coming from King’s Landing under lead of Ser Lucion Lannister  
and Lord Russell Merryweahter of Longtable moved swiftly across the eastern shores of the Princedom.  
Heir of the Longtable took the Tor on the very first day upon landing of his troops and then turned his main towards Ghost Hill. 

Lucion Lannister stormed the empty walls of Sunspear and hoisted the royal standard on the dome of the Tower of the Sun  
as well as on the tall and slender Spear Tower. In the Tower of the Sun, Lucion hoped to capture the high seats of the Prince of Dorne,  
Rest of the castle was in same fashion; Arianne Martell saw to it that seat of her forefathers is emptied of anything that may serve the invaders.  
Lucion hoped to sent the Dornish thrones to King’s Landing as trophies, but he had to make do with chunk of the fountain from  
the Water Gardens and two pounds of blood oranges. He intended of sending a few flagons of water from the water palace of House Martell,  
but soon had to abandon that notion as all every single drop was poisoned. 

Four days later he crossed the mouth of Greenblood river to take Lemonwood, seat of House Dalt, only the find it equally abandoned,  
equally bared of all that had any worth, be it taken with the retreating lords of this castle or burned before royal troops arrived.  
Orchards of lemon trees, by which this place was named after, were picked to the last fruit, ripe or otherwise. 

Lucion, upon leaving a two thousand strong garrison at Lemonwood, crossed the Greenblood once again, returning to its northern bank,  
where Planky Town once floated, but now there were only traces of this unique river settlement, a few planks or barrels remained  
floating on the stream.

Young Lannister cared little of that and he marched his column of nearly twenty thousand Westerlanders and Reachmen to the Ghost Hill,  
where Dornish still held their ground. On twelfth day of invasion he met with the twelve thousand strong host led by Russell Merryweather.  
Heirs of Casterly Rock and Longtable commanded half of entire royal army which came to keep Dorne in the Realm.  
The other half, of five and twenty thousand was warring from Blackmont to Hellholt.  
Ghost Hill, keep of House Toland was strengthened with men of smaller houses as Carcel, Jolan, Ladybright, Blackram, Odalric,  
Warder, Tyde and Vein. House Santagar upon abandoning its keep at Spottswood sent most of its men to Godsgrace,  
while half of their horse was in the hills around the Toland castle attacking the supply trains of besieging royal army. 

Siege of Ghost Hill lasted for seven and ten days, never truly succeeding to wholly encircle the castle.  
Advantage in numbers that Ser Lucion and Lord Russell had played no role in the rocky hills which surrounded the Toland holdfast.  
Arianne Martell never intended to cling on the Ghost Hill, that siege was merely to keep the eastern royal host engaged, while true Dornish defense line was forming at Godsgrace, near the place where rivers Vaith and Scourge meet for their waters to give birth to Greenblood river.  
During the last week of the siege, Dornish troops were leaving the castle, each night another column would ride out to disappear in the hills, aiming west, to join with the rest of Martell men at Godsgrace. Last to leave, were Toland men who burned their own castle down.  
By then, learning of Ghost Hill being only a distraction, royal troops have already abandoned the siege and marched west as well,  
along the way being harassed by Santagar cavalry. 

“My esteemed cousin has sent me blood oranges which I dare not to eat for all may be poisoned, he did not find it odd that only one tree  
in Water Gardens was left unpicked. Oranges and an ornament from a fountain. Those are the spoils of war in Dorne thus far.”  
Tyrion said to the members of the Small Council. 

Andrew Estermont made a slight smirk, while Monterys Velaryon had a face as of stone.  
Lady Commander of Kingsguard was absent minded as her gaze seem to be glued at the map of the rebellious Princedom of Dorne.

“Ser Brienne? You appear troubled.” Tyrion addressed her.  
“Thus far, save mayhaps poisoned oranges and ornaments from Water Gardens, our war in Dorne, gave little fruit, my lord.” she replied dryly.  
“I wouldn’t say it gave a little fruit, but that we hoped for a more abundant harvest. Yet, rebels as we planned were driven off the coast inland and securing our holds at the shores, we advance into Dorne, slower than expected but we advance still.” he replied to her.

“Rebels retreated inland, they weren’t driven off, there is a difference. And, based on reports we’ve been receiving last days, Blackmont,  
Hellholt and Godsgrace are now places where our advance is halted. Should that halt last for a few weeks more, that will slowly but surely  
spend the supplies of our host. And all of us here are aware that Realm cannot sustain an army of nearly sixty thousand in the field,  
hundreds of leagues away.” Brienne insisted.  
“We’re all aware of that threat, that is why all that Six Kingdoms can give to its host in Dorne, will be given.  
Once Blackmont is taken, Lord Garth Hightower will march on Skyreach and then south and east to join with our garrison at Hellholt.  
Sandstone, seat of Qorgyles will be cut off from the rest of the rebel held land. The next step will be for our western host to march east,  
across the Deep Sands, then down the Vaith river to reach Godsgrace from the other end. That way we shall have the bulk of Dornish army  
enveloped and routed. Arianne Martell after that will have two choices, to yield or to run into Red Mountains, spending her days  
as leader of a ragtag band of rebels that will count no more that few thousands at best.” 

“March across the Deep Sands? That land alone can swallow hundreds, not to mention that Dornish horsemen will bleed our columns  
on every step. Many of their houses have not lost a single man in this war, Lord Tyrion. Yronwoods, Ullers, Jordaynes, Drinkwaters, Wells.  
Those are thousands of warriors hiding somewhere in the hills and oasis, ready to strike.” Brienne warned him.  
“All that I know, but what else is there to be done? Dorne will not give as an open battle, one that would resolve this war in single day.  
We must pick them out one castle by one. And, as you were so wise to remind us, we must do that as swiftly as we can…”  
Tyrion said and then turned to Master of Laws:  
“Lord Andrew, I see that your kinsman, Gendry Baratheon, has no intention of moving his troops up the Boneway.  
He has called his banners and now five thousand Stormlanders camp on the northern foothills of the Red Mountains.  
Doing nothing whatsoever to make this war end quickly.”  
“Last report he sent, passing the words of his commanders, Arstan Selmy and Ser Addam Whitehead, claimed that whole might  
of House Wyl and House Yronwood awaits Stormlands host in the passes, being half again as many than Gendry has assembled.”  
Estermont repeated what Tyrion already knew.  
“One could be forgiven for thinking that Lord of Storm’s End is afraid of marching against the Dornish rebels.” he said looking at all present.  
“Well, he provided the royal troops with twenty ships and same number of boats…” Lord of Ships said.  
“As did all the other great lords of Six Kingdoms that possess anything larger than a pole boat.” Tyrion said with cynical grin.  
“While we’re at the matter, what of the Iron Fleet?” Estermont asked.  
"They've sailed away, in the Summer Sea, towards Lys.” Monterys answered.  
“That is odd. I have expected for Iron Fleet to attack our ships carrying supplies to the troops. Yet, they did nothing of the sort.  
It seems self-proclaimed queen Yara thus far gave nothing for the cause of self-proclaimed independent Dorne.” Estermont wondered.  
“Ironborn make poor allies.” Tyrion said “Arianne Martell will learn painfully as it appears.”  
“Still, Lord Monterys, I advise that our ships along Dornish shores be alerted.” Brienne said. “They are, Lady Commander.” Velaryon replied. 

“There is another issue we must discuss.” Tyrion said “A large band of Dornish raiders is creating havoc in the Reach.  
That we cannot suffer. As Reach is the kingdom that contributes the most in our quenching of rebellion, Realm will give aid to Reach.  
Lady Brienne, I task you to take the lead of one thousand men that will be provided from the houses of Crownlands and City Watch  
and take them to the Reach where you will join the Hightower men and chase those bandits back to Dorne.  
Or even more preferred destroy them to the last man.”  
“My Lord, place of the Commander of Kingsguard is with the King.”  
“And if our king were able to ride into the battle, you would be at his side in Dorne right now.  
As he is not, you will deliver his justice and his peace to the loyal lands of the Reach. It is not me, but King that demands this of you.”  
Brienne nodded: “When I am expected to leave for the Reach?”  
“Five days from now, right after that thousand is assembled here, in King’s Landing.” he answered her, though hiding not his annoyance.  


What liking Hand of the King and Lady Commander of Kingsguard had for each other was long gone.  
Andrew Estermont scratched his beard, as ever before making a question, but Tyrion was quicker: “Yes, my lord?”  
“Well, as it appears we do not know where Arianne Martell is, where many of her bannerman and their troops are, where the Iron Fleet is…  
and as we all know our king has the power to see what is happening now all over the world…”  
Tyrion made a hand gesture and Estermont stopped talking.

“Yes, His Grace has such power but using it drains a lot of strength from him, now more than ever as the weirwood tree we have managed to find and plant in the gardens of Red Keep has not properly taken root…No, my lord, Dorne and the Ironborn will be vanquished the same way  
as wars in Westeros were won for centuries…without magic and sorcery and drago…” He did not end the last word.  
Monterys Velaryon raised eyebrows and it appeared to Tyrion that face of Master of Ships had a slight smirk.

_Dragons. I nearly said it. Dragons. Yes, I am sitting where I am now partly for the dragonflame that melted away the rule of my sister,  
made reign of last Targaryen ruler of Westeros to be counted in mere hours and then it brought Bran Stark as a king. And me as his Hand.  
Mayhaps dragon is to be thanked of it. But Dorne… Dorne will be brought to heel on the same manner my father would done.  
By power of sword and lance, not with magic of any sort. _

“My lord Hand… is there anything else you have for us to discuss?” Velaryon asked and ended his musing.  
“No, Master of Ships, we are done for today. I will see that you receive reports from the battlefields as they come to me.  
Ser Brienne, I expect to see you once more before you part for the Reach.”  


He rose from his chair and made a bow to council members before they left the chamber of the Hand.  
This was the smallest of the Small Councils, having only four members, lacking Master of whisperers, Master of coin and Grand Maester.  
Tyrion served as both Hand of the King and Master of coin while having Master of whisperers served no point with ruler of Six Kingdoms  
having powers that Bran had. Such notion stood for the first ten years of his reign.  
In the last two, oft did Tyrion thought that someone able to listen of how little birds sing would come very useful as council member.  
King became recluse and seldom used his sight to watch over the whereabouts and actions of his friends and most of all his foes,  
leaving the Hand and Small Council to run affairs of the realm in the manner devoid of all inhuman powers.

Tyrion sat in his solar, map of Dorne was laid on the table with small wooden figures, those bearing sunspear sigil and those with raven  
on the shield placed all over the map, marking the positions of two warring armies. Bottle of Arbor gold and a cup was on the table as well.  
Rarely did Tyrion Lannister drunk in the past moons, but a sober man can only bear that much burden while one with enough wine  
in his belly may believe to be able to take on the whole world. It was after his fourth cup that a voice came to him.  
Voice he did not hear since the last moon of the past year, sounded in his head. Varys. The Spider.

_Hello, old friend. Long time did we not talked. And by state of things, I see that you’ve made this Realm not into pig’s breakfast  
but also pig’s dinner and pig’s supper. You sent tens of thousands to die in Dornish desert. Why? What are you trying to prove?  
That no one leaves your king and his reduced kingdom without his permission? What an arrogance. Arrogance and stupidity._  
“Last time your voice filled my head, you claimed that Vale will leave the Six Kingdoms, mayhaps even Riverlands. Have they?”  
Tyrion countered while drinking his fifth cup.

_No, they have not. Yet I wonder are you aware of whom do you have to thank for it… the wildlings and the Ironborn.  
Their victory over Sansa Stark took the whole appeal of Vale linking their fate with Winterfell._  
“Which proves that I was right not to give hand to the failed cause of the Queen in the North.  
I trust that Sweetrobin Arryn now regrets coming to the aid of his cousin.”  
_Dorne left the Realm nonetheless. That is your failure. Even your father, one on whose hands was the blood of Elia Martell,  
knew how to appease Sunspear, you obviously do not. Truly now, Imp, what did you expect? That boy king you serve would do what?  
Enter the heads of all his enemies and made them go either mad or mindless servants? _  
“Bran is a good king, best we had since…"  
_You, stupid fool! Good king? People are starving in thousands already, soon it will be in tens of thousands and when hunger and poverty  
caused by this cease of trade between Essos and Westeros mates with Dornish war which you will not win in a moon or two…  
Well, history teach us that mobs of King’s Landing have torn apart Small Council members before.  
Your future, my friend, is not something I would wager on._

Tyrion took a sip from his sixth cup: “At least I have a future. Yours was reduced to ashes twelve years ago at Dragonstone.  
I have my cock and my life and you, you have neither.”  
_Spare me of your poor wit, Tyrion Lannister, I was burned for trying to remove a ruler that was falling and failing, I tried to poison her.  
For the good of the Realm. And you? You tried to kill her and her family to save your own small hide.  
Had I known she was with child; I’d never act against her. Not before she gave birth.  
Then with heir secured, a child of last two Targaryens, I’d got rid of her and mayhaps even of her nephew.  
With proper tutelage, their children could have been the proper rulers of the Seven Kingdoms. Seven, Imp, not Six._

“Lamenting over past that never came to pass… of what use is that?” Tyrion said, his eyes back at the map.  
A loud laughter echoed in his head: _Ha-ha-ha, I wonder have you gone this dumb or just lazy to do proper thinking. Someone paid  
the whole debt your sister made with the Iron Bank. And as part of that agreement demanded of Free Cities to end trading  
with Six Kingdoms and that one in the North. Who could that be save…?_  
Tyrion emptied his cup in one swallow before saying: “Daenerys Targaryen."  
_If my hands weren’t ashes, I’d clap right now. But surely this must have occurred to you before._  


“It did. Yet that is unlike the girl in which both of us once believed. Her notion of revenge is exactly what she did during that storm.  
Burned my king’s weirwood tree and delivered a rotting head to my doorstep. That is Daenerys.  
Using Iron Bank to starve us out, well…that is something my father would have done. Or Littlefinger.  
Or Olenna Tyrell. Cunning, cold people, not impulsive girl whose main urge always was to burn things.”  
_She is not that impulsive girl anymore. Her apparent lack of interest for Westeros lulled you into believing that she will satisfy  
herself with burning of a tree. She will not. A Targaryen on the path of vengeance is a blood chilling thing._  
“I will worry of her when I see a fleet with dragon paint on the sails. Not before.  
My king is powerful enough to defeat her. He is a Three Eyed Raven.”

_And that thought makes you sleep at night? You poor deluded fool. Your king has not been a king for moons now.  
He did not try to help his sister who lusted for more land and power. Why would he help you? For you like his stories?  
For you proposed him as king? I truly feel pity for you, Tyrion Lannister. I will not be long till we meet in seven hells._  
“And that is exactly the place where you can go, Varys. As always you bore me to sleep.” Tyrion said as his eyelids were shutting. 

He has not dreamt of Daenerys for years, nor of Jon.  
Not until he learned of her being alive and him being with her.  
Not until he received a head of Daario Naharis. Not until Bran’s tree was burned in the midst of greatest storm in last thirty years.

In his dream, Tyrion was with them in the ruins of the Red Keep, watching how Jon has killed Daenerys upon seeing that she has lost  
even the last bit of good reasoning and that she only wants to burn the world away, the old world to make the new one, her world.  
Many years ago, Tryion asked Bran to tell him how Jon killed Dany.  
King indulged him, telling him word by word how life of his once queen ended.

In dream Tyrion listens to her saying:  
"_Be with me. Build the new world with me! We do it together! We break the wheel...together._”  
And then he hears Jon Snow: “_You are my Queen. Now and always._” After these words they share a long kiss.  
Then, instead of pulling a dagger and stabbing her, Jon looks at her with eyes full of devotion and says:  
“_Fire and blood._” She responds: “_Fire and blood._”

That makes him rush towards them: “_No! No! You weren’t supposed to join her! You have to kill her! For the good of all!  
You must kill her! Kill her! Kill her!_”

Daenerys turns towards him, eyes filled with hate and disgust. She gazes at him, without words.  
After that long gaze which would strike him dead if eyes were blades, she utters in even voice: “Dracarys.”  
Above Tyrion, above the Targaryen couple, above ruins of the Red Keep, a huge black shadow rises.  
From its mouth came large breath of fire that bathed small man turning him into ashes in mere moments.

Tyrion woke up right after that, soaked in sweat that had odor of wine.  
He was breathing heavily and his head ached.  
As he got up from the bed and was waddling towards the privy, he made an oath, to himself, to his king, to all of the world  
that he’ll do all that needs to be done to prevent dragons from returning to Westeros. All that needs to be done.


	63. LADIES OF THE NORTH

_Winterfell, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

**LADIES OF THE NORTH**

"Not one man of my family in last twenty years has died, here at home. Not one. My father was slain in the battle at Duskendale.  
His son and heir, killed by the Ironborn on the Stony Shore, when they came to rape North for the first time, under Balon Greyjoy.  
My uncle Leobald was killed when Boltons turned coats and burned Winterfell, slaying that handful of kraken scum that has captured  
the castle, but with them also their fellow Northerners. That was the first step of treason that Dreadfort committed against North.  
When I was made head of our house, my cousin Brandon became castellan. Now he is dead too.  
Eastwatch Forest claimed him, together with hundreds of other Northerners.  
My only living kin is Leobald's other son, Beren. He serves the Queen... No Tallhart man died here, at home."

Eddara Tallhart, Lady of the Torrhen's Square was walking along the ramparts. Her castle had stone walls thirty feet high, square tower guarded each corner. South of here was Barrowton, seat of Dustins, south was Saltspear as well to which a river flew from the lake on whose northern shore castle of House Tallhart was built. North of here was the wolfswood, north and west was Winterfell.

Thought of the Northern capital made Eddara to sigh every time. Sigh that spoke of her disillusion, mislike and resentment.  
Two moons have passed since North was not only defeated but humiliated and disgraced. House Tallhart answered the call of their queen.  
Men wearing brown shield with three sentinel trees painted on it fought and died from Hardhome and Eastwatch-by-the-Sea to Queenscrown and shores of Saltspear. Three quarter of a thousand Tallhart men died.  
She went to all the families of lesser lords sworn to House Tallhart who had lost their fathers, brothers or sons.  
She could not offer them comfort of the victory, no matter how weak that comfort is to those who lost man of the house.  
Nor could lesser lord give the same to the smallfolk they ruled over. There was no victory. Seven hundred and fifty men died in vain.  
Their families grieved while they were trying to find a source of food.  
Lack of food was now common in the North, it began with lack of southern goods and as the Ironborn ravaged both shores of the Northern kingdom folk from the coast had to flee inland. That meant no more goods which came from the farmers or fishermen from the shores were coming to the rest of the North.  
As kraken ships had sway over both Northern coasts, no goods from the south or across the Narrow Sea could be brought by the sea.  
Land transport lasted longer and was costlier. It drained the coffers of all the lords north of the Neck. Then even southern merchandise became hard to obtain. What now made Six Kingdoms was for over half a year now cut off from the trade with the Free Cities and whatever goods south has produced they kept it for themselves.

The faces of the people whose lady she were told Eddara all she wanted to know and a lot of what she did not want to know.  
Northerners were grown use to good years, a decade of it.  
A ten good years of healing the wounds that North suffered ever since Ned Stark was murdered in the south.  
Ten good years made farmers, fishermen, merchants, craftsmen, lords great and small to enjoy the fruits of peacetime, to build or rebuild houses and holdfasts, to work on more land and trade farther than before.  
And to raise a new, more numerous generation of Northerners. That ten good years were promising.  
Promising that it could be only a first decade of a good century, some in the North went as far to claim that.  
Yet, once again it was proved that nothing lasts.  
Was it arrogance or grandeur or urge for conquest or true intent to make Kingdom of the North even stronger, it mattered little.  
Ten years of promise ended. Year and a half of war, death, defeat and misery ended as well.  
Once again the largest part of Westeros was at the crossroad. 

Eddara Tallhart was lady of her house. Same as Jonelle Cerwyn and Erena Glover. They weren't supposed to be leading their houses.  
But as wars that were fought since when they were little girls claimed the men of their families, never before in Northern history  
there were more ladies speaking for the great houses. Eddara oft said herself that.  
_My brother Benfred was to be ruler of Torrhen's Square. I was to be wed with some young lord.  
Now both my brother and that husband I never got to meet are rotting in the ground or were burned on a pyre.  
Mayhaps I wasn't born to be lady of House Tallhart, but that is who I am. North was never supposed to have a queen either..._  
was next that came to Eddara's mind.

She respected Sansa Stark. For ten years. Oldest daughter of Ned Stark was of good temper and even better wit as ruler.  
She knew her land and her people, North was all she worked for.  
With that, queen had a southern talent for politics and ruling, that came with her many years being spent in King's Landing.  
Sansa was first Northern ruler in peace time.  
Some used to say that her sister and her bastard brother have won the wars for her, sister ended the Great War by killing the Night King,  
bastard brother ended the war for Iron Throne by killing the dragon queen.  
And then crippled brother gave her leave to declare North as kingdom of its own.  
Sansa had a chance to begin her rule in times of peace with the threat of the White Walkers gone and with the monarch in King's Landing  
that will not question the Northern freedom. Sansa used those ten years well. Nothing lasts... good decade did not last as well. 

Eddara Tallhart was now weary of her queen.  
_Queen that ruined the North_, as lady of House Glover spoke about Sansa. Erena lost her brother in the early days of the war, at Hardhome.  
Gawen Glover died on the shore of the Shivering Sea, on the other side of Westeros, many leagues far from his home close to Bay of Ice.  
Few moons later, kraken came knocking on the gates of House Glover keep, with axe and torch.  
For the second time in less than twenty years, Ironborn have sacked Deepwood Motte.  
Erena blamed Queen Sansa for it. For sending men at arms in the Gift and north of the Wall while the very heart of the North was left unguarded.  
Losing brother and being forced to flee from her ancestral home was too much for lady Glover to suffer without placing blame to one she felt most responsible. 

Eddara lost her cousin in this war, she couldn't tell that she cared much of him, but he was a Tallhart, he was family.  
Sometimes she felt that Beren was lost as well, being wholly loyal to the queen, paying little heed to the interests of Torrhen's Square.  
Her anger towards the queen was nowhere near one which Erena Glover felt.  
Or one of her sworn lords, Rodrik Forrester who lost his kinsman Eddard at Hardhome.  
Seeds of discontent have been planted in nearly all Northern noble houses.  
North was not defeated in the last war, not soundly, not decisively, its host was not routed on the battlefield. North plainly did not win.  
That knowledge was the poison for the hearts and minds of lords and ladies that were sworn to Winterfell.  
Defeat would have been a heavy burden for them all, but there would be no other than to accept it.  
Victory would have made them jubilant and all the losses, from men that have fell to plundered shores, all would be of meaning.  
A worthy sacrifice. A toil that has given fruit.  
War ended without victory and without defeat. It ended.  
Ended when Queen in the North agreed to terms, agreed she has enough of warring.  
All the dead, the wounded, sacked keeps and torched villages had no meaning.  
All was worthless. And as long moons of fighting ended so, many in the North began to ask the very worst question one can ask: "What if..."  
_What if our host never marched on Eastwatch Forrest... what if decisive battle was fought at Mole's Town...  
what if White Harbor was defended at sea_. All those _what ifs_ lead to the Queen. 

She was their monarch, she was their leader, she named two commanders of the Northern host, both of which have failed to bring victory over wildilngs and the Ironborn. To most of the Northern lords, her bad choices gave the folk that once lived north of the Wall their first taste of victory over North, aided by the Iroborn who lived to see themselves winning against mounted knights.  
No matter how odd that sounded, accepting the peace terms as they were, birthed more enmity towards Sansa than if she were to bend the knee before Ironborn queen and wildling chieftains. Most of Northern highborn thought that their queen did not give the whole effort to win the war.  
Men died in thousands for kraken and Thenn to claim victory while there were more thousands of those willing and able to fight for Northern honor. Same lords who spoke of ending the war when Dreadfort and Deepwood Motte were sacked and burned by Ironborn, when Bear Island was lost, were now maddened for North not continuing the war. 

It reminded Eddara of a man who was willing to end fight after being hit in the nose, but now wishing to deal more blows even if his leg  
was broken. As that man was robbed the chance to avenge his broken nose and broken leg with his foe equally bloodied and staggering,  
his anger turned on the one who pulled him out of that fight.  
Now those lords were awaiting the Queen's Council, first to take place since War for the New North has ended.

Raven came from Winterfell calling lady Eddara of House Tallhart to attend the Queen's Council on day five and twenty of seventh moon of the year. Two days later runner came from Castle Cerwyn, followed by a riders from Barrowton and Deepwood Motte that came on the fourth day.  
As agreed upon in Karhold, Houses Dustin, Glover, Tallhart and Cerwyn will bring their men to the keep of Jonelle Cerwyn and march them  
to Winterfell, not by Kingsroad but through the woods along the road, three days before the assembly of the lords in Winterfell.  
Ladies will come by the Kingsroad with their usual escort. Beron Dustin, Steward of Barrow Hall will travel to Northern capital separately.  
On the ninth day from receiving the call to the Queens Council, runner came from Karhold, one that had to pass over eight hundred miles  
to reach the Torrhen's Square, bringing word that Elric Karstark will bring four hundred of his men to the capital where some Karstark soldiers  
are already stationed, garrisoning the royal castle since he was named commander of the Northern host. Each of the three ladies was to bring  
about two hundred men to Winterfell, for them to wait hidden in the nearby woods, couple of miles outside the castle.  
Over a thousand men would be enough to take the castle by surprise. 

_Taking Winterfell should be easy. Taking North, that will be different task. Many Houses will still rally around Sansa, though none of them  
is one of the great ones. Unless Wyman Manderly decides that Sansa should remain the queen, but this time dependent of his support..._  
Eddara thought after she has read all the messages that runners have carried to Tallhart's keep.

Jonelle Cerwyn did not pass through the Winter Town since last year. Once a growing jewel of the North, was now a settlement of town folk, traders, craftsmen and artisans who struggled for every coin and refugees that were not very eager to return to their burned and plundered homes on the shores of Sunset Sea. Winter Town was overrun with their wooden shacks and tents.  
Old men were seated before such homes, if that name could be given to what these poor people built to shield themselves from cold and rain.  
Dozens of children wandered around, barely clothed for the season and dirty. Mostly they have irked the people of Winter Town as trade of these children were now begging and stealing. Some town men had no issue with the older sisters of little refugees as them were experienced whores that were selling their flesh for moons now. She knew that many among this folk were coming from the lands of House Glover.

One boy, wearing torn shirt that once must have been white, but now was of darkest grey.  
He wore dark breeches, though it was beyond doubt that its true color was lighter one, called after lady of Deepwood Motte:  
"M'lady Glover, m'lady Glover..." boy shouted... "we're folk of your shores! Bread, it's bread we want. Can ya spare 'alf a loaf?"  
Erena answered that she can give him coins to buy bread for his whole family, but boy kept insisting:  
"Coins are no good, bread is what we need."  
Lady Glover looked at Jonelle: "What does he mean, coins are no good?"  
"Boy is right... what goods were once sold for a copper are now being sold for silver wolf. Bread has become a luxury, of sorts."  
"Bread a luxury?!" Jonelle said filled with wonder.  
"Aye... a luxury... " Erena replied "...Bakers in Winterfell can only make that much bread and nearly half of it was meant for the men at arms.  
So, with that little bread to be bought in the first place, the rest followed... price of bread was given in silver, not copper."  
Erena nodded and her eyes went from one end of this makeshift part of Winter Town to the other: "How many of them are here?!"  
"No one knows for certain... here you have smallfolk from Bear Island, Stony Shore, Saltspear,  
some even from as far as Ramsgate and Widow's Watch. Thousands, surely. Orphans of this war, lady Erena."  
"This whole kingdom is an orphan of this war. One whose duty was to nourish it, failed. And now we shall fail her."

As they rode in the courtyard of Winterfell, through the Kingsroad Gate, that were the eastern entrance to the Stark castle,  
Erena Glover was pleased to see the yards and the walls manned in small numbers.  
Most were those wearing the Stark direwolf, but to her pleasure she saw good enough Karstark and Ryswell men there as well.  
Men of both one commanders of the Northern host remained in Winterfell in these first moons after the warring for the Gift ceased.  
Those were men placed in the service of Winterfell and only Winterfell could give them leave.

In the Great Hall itself, one could see many more shields and sigils.  
Mountain clans were there, along with Beron Dustin, Elric Karstark who was leaning in his cane, not far from him was the man who followed  
on the duty of commander of all Northern soldiers, Roger Ryswell, there were Lockes, Flints of both the Widow’s Watch and of Flint’s Finger, separated by entire width of North. Manderlys have already taken their seats as well.  
Old Wyman and his granddaughter Wyla who came with her husband, lord Larence of House Hornwood. 

Next to them a boy in colors of that family was seated. Word of Larence finding his son in Essos came to Erena, though she gave it a little thought. Only when she saw them all together, did she realise that boy in orange surcoat with black bull moose head embroidered on the chest was now heir to both houses.

What drew Erena’s attention was a woman on the other side of the hall, she stood next to the Flints of the western shore.  
She might have been in her mid-thirties, of long curly dark hair, knotted behind her head. Her eyes were of green color, but what was most striking about her was her small stature. If that did not give her away of being a crannogwoman, her clothes certainly have.  
Her lambskin breeches, shirt, sleeveless jerkin, all were of greenish coating, with shield displaying black lizard-lion.  
House Reed of Greywater Watch. 

“Pray tell me that is not Meera Reed…” she whispered to Jonelle Cerwyn.  
“Who is Meera Reed…” Jonelle asked. “Lady of Greywater Watch.”  
“Well, she surely is if she is a Reed.” Cerwyn woman answered uninterested.  
“I’ve heard stories of her… she went with Brandon Stark north of the Wall in days when White Walkers ruled there.  
And she returned him alive to Winterfell.”  
“Are you certain that is her?” “She is…” Eddara said coming from behind “…she didn’t come to Winterfell even when Sansa was crowned,  
but she is here now.” “That is odd.” Jonelle noted.  
“Not for a crannogman. They’re strange ilk.” Erena shrugged.

“Have you perchance learned from your cousin what shall we be discussing on this council?” lady Cerwyn asked Eddara.  
“I have not. Beren shares little words with me. We shall soon know.” she replied.  
“I see Forrester is here, same as Condon and Ironsmith and Stout. Our lesser houses responded in number.” Erena noted.  
“So have those others. There sit Houses Lake, Lightfoot, Whitehill, Mollen, if you look on the other side you’ll see lords of Houses Holt,  
Marsh, Overton, Waterman… then the mountain clans. And those sworn to Manderlys… Woolfields, Lockes.”  
Jonelle's eyes were wandering all over the Great Hall.  
“Fear not, all wolfswood houses are with us.” Erena assured her.  
Eddara looked at Elric Karstark. He sat closest to the throne which was still vacant as Sansa did not enter the hall yet.  
He was tapping his cane on the floor, impatiently. As their eyes met he gave her a satisfied smirk.

She never liked him. Ambitious young lord who wished nothing less save kingship.  
He was ready to wage war and bed the queen to became her consort.  
As neither gave Elric what he was hoping for, lord of Karhold now became a leader of lords and ladies whose discontent  
with the queen was such that they were ready to force her to abdicate. 

With that thought in lady Tallhart’s mind, the Queen entered the Great Hall wearing ankle-cut grey dress and sleeveless leather jerkin  
of same coating over a dark-grey shirt with Stark pin on the left side of her chest.  
Before her entered Eddara’s cousin Beren and exclaimed loudly: “The Queen in the North, Sansa of House Stark!”  
All present rose from their seats and bowed to their queen, yet Erena Glover could see that some bows were barely more than a nod.  
Many faces were sour, many gazes disapproving. Many, yet not all.  
Enough still for those who gathered moon and a half ago at Karhold to act at this very assembly.

“My lords, my ladies…” Sansa begun to talk “…I have called this Queen’s Council as it is necessary for all Northern houses to agree upon our future actions and dealings both in Westeros and across the Narrow Sea. The War for the New North is over…”  
Hall murmured… Eddara Tallhart could swore she heard muffled curses.  
“…I was offered terms and I have accepted those terms. The New North, one with Gift as new vast farming lands for our people,  
with Eastwatch as new crossroad point and Hardhome as second port of our kingdom on our western shores, that New North was to be for the Northerners. For the living. Not for the kingdom which has lost all its grown men, not for the kingdom of starving elders, women and children. War could have lasted longer. We could mayhaps claim victory even after Eastwatch Forest. Mayhaps. What is certain was the cost in lives of our men. New North was worth warring for. It is not worth risking the ruin of whole North. Not now. Not ten or score years from now. Not ever.  
I have made a decision. To end the war. For we cannot fight with our bellies empty and without our menfolk. No kingdom can.  
We have fought a good fight. Against two enemies, each one savage and bloodthirsty. We have stood our ground. We were not defeated.  
We were not humiliated. We were not disgraced. We acted with reason. Same reason that we must muster now when hunger threatens  
all who live in Kingdom of the North, when trade cannot longer take place with the east and selling our goods in the Six Kingdoms  
has become next to impossible. Those are issues we must address today.”

Hall was silent, few of the lords nodded, their gazes dull and absent.  
Others have chosen to set their eyes on the floor rather than on the Northern monarch.

Elric Karstark was about to stand up, yet Erena Glover was quicker than him.  
She stepped out and made a slight bow to the queen, then looked left and right before speaking.

“Aye… Kingdom of the North through the will of our queen has accepted the terms. After half of our men died defending White Harbor,  
after half of our men died at Eastwatch Forest, after my family’s keep was sacked by the Ironborn and after my brother was killed by wildlings  
at Hardhome. What terms were given to us? To leave all we have taken in the Gift and return home, as nothing happened?  
Now I hear that being called as wise and reasonable. We didn’t wage war against common men, we have warred with kraken and Thenn.  
And we have lost that war. No matter in which fancy words one coats the truth, we have lost the War for the New North.  
Not for hundreds that died at White Harbor or thousands that have died at Eastwatch Forest.  
No, we have lost the war for our queen has lost the heart. And that is the single matter I wish to discuss today.”

The hall, on both sides of her was about to burst. “Aye! Aye!” she heard deep voice of a man, while some clapped their hands.

“You would like to question your queen’s actions, lady Erena?” Sansa asked. Her voice rang with sternness.  
“Yes, Your Grace. I would. This assembly owes it to nearly seven thousand of our dead. To dozens of our wounded and maimed.  
To smallfolk that now lives under tents, here, at your very doorstep. We owe it to ourselves. As lords and ladies of the North.”

"Yes, lady Erena of House Glover, it is your right to question the actions of your queen. Same as it it my queenly prerogative to weigh  
is your questioning of my ruling done with purpose of betterment of that rule or with purpose which is to undermine that rule."  
Sansa told her in cold tone.

"A monarch unchecked is prone to be a tyrant..." Elric Karstark rose up and walked slowly to stand next to Erena Glover,  
his cane tapped few times on the ground "...I, Elric of House Karstark, lord of Karhold, second lady Erena.  
We should discuss how you have acted in the final days of the war, without consulting this council, as you have named us.  
You have made peace with the savages and pirates, without summoning Queen's Council, my queen. That was a mistake.  
That was ill advised of you, Your Grace, as the choices you have made shall now affect many generations of Northerners to come."  
He spoke with cold voice, but trace of disgust and hate was there. Sansa's eyes spoke of the same.  
"You seem to forget, my lord, that Queen does not answer to her Council... no matter how highborn sit in it." she answered.  
"Mayhaps the Queen should..." Jonelle Cerwyn stepped out as well and joined the two  
"...House Cerwyn stands with Deepwood Motte and Karhold."  
"As does Torrhen's Square." Eddara got up from her seat and in three paces was at Erena's side.  
"As does Barrow Hall!" Beron Dustin exclaimed, marking that Barrowton joins with Glover woman and Karstark man.  
Soon, one after another, lesser lords came out. Forrester, Condon, Stout, Ironsmith, Branch...

To Erena's surprise House Flint of Flint's Finger came out as well, man who spoke for them was now standing next to her as well.  
That made the other branch of Flints, those from Widow' Watch to declare themselves:  
"We stand with our Queen. This is utter shame for all of you and your Houses!"  
It was as sign to other, lesser lords to act. Lake, Lightfoot, Whitehill, Mollen, Marsh...  
all declared for Sansa, condemning Erena and those that have joined her, uttering insults even. 

Hugo Wull who as always spoke for the mountain clans said to Errold Ironsmith:  
"I'm left in wonder, my lord, to see you with the lot that wishes to judge our queen."  
"She's judged 'erself long ago, when she broke an oath given in the godswood of t'is castle. What ya waiting for, lord Wull, yar place is wit' us." Errold replied. Sansa fumed hearing this:  
"Lord Ironsmith, for slandering your Queen, a well deserved reward would be a sennihgt in Winterfell's dungeon."  
"Aye, lord Errold, man of true faith in the old gods, forgets who he is and who you are, my queen." Hugo Wull reminded.  
"Yet Your Grace should lock herself up along with him as it was from your mouth that we have heard a testimony of that broken oath."  


"You seem to forget yourself as well, lord Wull..." Beren Tallhart said, not without warning tone "...Her Grace does not answer to anyone."  
"If anyone is forgetting here, it is you, my dear cousin..." Eddara replied to him "...Sansa of House Stark was named as our queen.  
A ruler named can also be...""Is that what this is? This display, this show worthy of best mummers in the south..." came from the Lord of the Rills. Roger Ryswell was now on his feet: "Is this an uprising against our Queen? And plainly a long plotted one..."  
"Behold, the loser of the Battle of Eastwatch Forest speaks!" Erena Glover said loudly "Have you not any shame, lord Roger?"  
"If you were a man..." Ryswell said, only to be cut by Rodrik Forrester whose hand was on the hilt of his sword:  
"I am a man and sworn to my lady Glover. You can say your grievances to me.  
Though a man bettered by wildling and kraken scum should not task a man of Ironrath."  
Hall erupted with voices, curses, men and women argued gesturing to one another.  
On the far side of the hall where lesser lords were standing fists begun to fly.  
Sansa leaned towards Beren Tallhart and said something to him, he was about to leave the hall, yet that did not escape Elric Karstark:  
"Beren of House Tallhart, if you were just given order by your Queen to bring men at arms into this hall, waste no paces.  
There is more men outside that are loyal to me and the ladies standing next to me than those loyal to Sansa Stark.  
Who as it seems has no issue of sending guards on the lords and ladies of the North."  
He looked at the red-haired woman sitting on the throne:  
"I will give you the same words Rickard Karstark gave to your brother Robb... You are no queen of mine!" 

"Oathbreaker!" yelled Hugo Wull at him joined by Young Robin Flint, lord of Widow's Watch.  
He was named so as his older brother, the first Robin was killed at the Red Wedding, before he was even born.  
His mother Lyessa gave birth to him few moons after that and named him by his fallen brother. Young Robin was man grown since last year.  
"Oathbreaker, you say? What of Her Grace? She called us, her bannermen to battle the wildlings for greater North, yet asked no one when she was to decide to yield before those savages. As Queen she has a duty to defend Northern land, Northern people and Northern honor.  
She failed at it. And as any man or woman that fails her duty, even Queen can be called to answer for it."  
Voice of Lord of Karhold echoed in that large room, silencing all others that were now in the midst of heated argument. 

Wyman Manderly got up from his wooden chair, an impressive part of furniture placed in the hall to sustain the weight  
of the Lord of White Harbor. He stepped slowly towards the throne, bowed to Sansa and then turned to those in front of her:  
"My lords! My ladies!" his voice as ever boomed across the Great Hall "Before you forget that you are of noble birth and began to shed blood in this royal hall, I would like to know what do ladies Glover, Cerwyn and Tallhart want... what do lords Karstark and Dustin want...  
and Flint from the shore of Blazewater Bay and Forrester... What do you all want?  
If you're about to oust our queen, indeed, you have the right to demand Her Grace to be unnamed, same as she was named twelve years ago.  
As were her brothers before her named kings in the North. Yet, it is not done in the manner you have chosen. And surely it is not done by throwing blame for war we have lost only beneath her feet. You, lord Elric have been warmongering here, in this very hall, on that same day when Her Grace spoke of her oath given before old gods and later broken. Your brother, lady Erena, was next to lord of Karhold in seeking battle with the wildlings. He chose the place of his death himself. I was against that war. That is well known.  
My son and heir died defending White Harbor from kraken scum, my city and port were half burned.  
Is Queen Sansa to blame for that? Yes. And no. We're all to blame. We are the North."  
Elric Karstark stepped out, towards the old lord: "No, we are not all to blame, lord Wyman.  
Yes, I was warmongering as you have insultingly put it. I wanted New North. Gawen Glover wanted it as well.  
Men who died at Hardhome wanted it. Men who were dying at Mole's Town for many moons wanted it. Men dying at Eastwatch Forest wanted it.  
And then Her Grace without seeking anyone's opinion surrendered before wildlings as no king or lord of the North in thousands of years  
of our history has done. And for that I say, standing here before all highborn Northerners, before my brothers and sisters,  
Sansa of House Stark, no longer deserves to wear the direwolf crown!"  
Three ladies and all the lords around them began to clap their hands, soon many others have joined.  
An applause now filled out the hall, but not whole. Many present looked with disgust at those clapping.  


Sansa rose from her throne, holding her head high and being regal as ever.  
It seemed to Eddara that she will give order to have them all seized and thrown in the cells or kennels of Winterfell.  
Instead she spoke in calm, even voice: "Lords and ladies of the North, I stand here before you as I have since the first day of my reign.  
Yes, I have agreed with the terms as they were laid before me by wildling leaders. No, North has not been defeated by them.  
It was defeated by our lack of strength at the sea, something my ancestors left me and by lack of trust of many of you here in the cause of New North. Yet, unlike those that have spoken here against me and dared to accuse me of surrendering to savages, I don't flee from my own guilt.  
But, I shall not be judged as lord of Karhold and his three allies have intended. I stand here, before you and I ask of every lord and lady present to speak his mind and his heart. Am I to remain your queen or am I to be unnamed...  
Yet, all of you shall speak for yourself, not as a pack of hungry jackals."  


Wyman Manderly nodded to these words, being the oldest living lord of the North, who ruled the White Harbor in times of her grandsire Rickard: "Beren Tallhart, you shall call every lord and lady here present and ask do they stand with Her Grace or do they wish her no longer on the direwolf throne. Those who are with Her Grace can say no more than - aye, those who are not can say no more than - no."  
Eddara saw her cousin, one which she now cursed, nodding. Soon after, he began calling out the lords of the Northern houses. 

Bole... aye, Branch... no, Burley... aye, Cassel... aye, Cerwyn... "No." Jonelle said with cold voice.  
She felt nothing for Sansa, nor love nor hate. She wanted her gone.

Condon... no, Dustin... no, Flint of Flint's Finger... no, Flint of Widow's Watch... aye, Forrester... no, Glover... "No."  
Erena spat the answer, tone of her voice coated in hatred.

Holt... no, Hornwood... 

Silence. Jonelle Cerwyn frowned. "Hornwood..." Beren Tallhart repeated.  
Larence stood up and said: "House Hornwood demands more time, we shall speak last if that pleases Her Grace, lords and ladies."  
Sansa nodded as well as Elric Karstark, now leading that part of the council which wanted queen removed from the throne. 

Ironsmith... no, Karstark.... "No!" Elric almost shouted... Lake... aye, Lightfoot... aye, Locke... aye, Marsh... aye.  
Mollen... aye, Moss... aye, Overton... no, Ryswell... yes, Stout... no, Tallhart...  
"Torrhen's Square says no." Eddara uttered, her eyes fixed on Beren.  
Waterman... aye, Wells...aye... Whitehill... aye, Woolfield... aye, Woods... no. 

"Lord Hugo Wull, what say the mountain clans?" Beren asked. "Mountain clans say no. We do not break faith with House Stark.  
Yet it was queen's breaking the pacts of old that brought this war and hunger on all of us."  
"Lady Meera Reed, you speak for all the crannogmen. What says the Greywater Watch?" Tallhart in service of the queen asked.  
"Your Grace, I have traveled to Winterfell for other purpose than to cast the vote which might tip the balance on should you remain  
Queen or not. I shall not partake in the vote." dark-haired woman in clothes marked with green color said." 

"Ten and five voices said aye, ten and five voices said no... it is a draw, Your Grace, my lords and ladies." Beren reported.  
"It is not a draw, Beren..." Eddara hissed at her kinsman, one she would now gladly trade for the one who died in the war "... lord Hornwood and lord Manderly still have their saying." Young Tallhart nodded to his cousin, from whose eyes arrow of hatred were loose on him, and turned to Larence Hornwood: "Have you decided, my lord?"  
"I will let my wife's grandsire to speak first, for House Manderly." Larence responded. "Lord Wyman?" Beren asked. Sansa's eyes were now upon obese old man.  
"Half of us here wants for Her Grace to remain the Queen in the North. Half of us wants her dethroned. An even split that could ruin this kingdom. Ruin way more than wars with Tywin Lannister and Balon Greyjoy and Roose Bolton and Night King and Yara Greyjoy have ruined. Aye, most of great houses no longer want Sansa Stark to be queen. That cannot be ignored. Still, most of smaller houses want her to remain our ruler. That also cannot be ignored. I appeal to all of you to stay with reason. Do not throw Kingdom of the North into chaos of civil war. We are left with few thousands of able bodied men, with smallfolk that starves, with shores that for many more moons will not be home of any farmer or fisherman. We can't trade with the east as their merchants shun Westeros as a whole, we can't trade with Six Kingdoms for their coffers are more and more empty, for this cease of trade with the Free Cities and for the war in Dorne. Should we slip in the warring among ourselves,  
we are finished. As kingdom and as people.

He looked at Eddara, Jonelle, Erena and Elric.  
"My ladies, my lord, I understand what you want. I understand your pain and your rage and your disillusion.  
Yet, as history of Westeros has taught us many times, it is far easier to remove a monarch than to shape one who will come after him.  
Have you given any thought who will succeed Queen Sansa if you were to remove her? Who will sit on the direwolf throne?"  
Elric stepped out: "The one North chooses, lord Wyman. No matter his name."  
"North knows no king but the king in the North whose name is Stark!" someone yelled from the far side of the hall.  
Young Karstark dismissed it, waving his hand: "Our queen has failed us in that regard as well. For twelve years she is unwed and without heir."  
Wyman nodded: "Queen is not the only Stark in this world." Elric grinned at him:  
"Aye, you have hosted our queen's sister in White Harbor. One that has renounced her right to this throne."  
"There is more Stark blood in this world..." a woman's voice came from the other side, it was silent and distant and fading into whisper:  
"...child of east." Beren Tallhart turned to where the voice came: "Lady Meera, I beg you to speak louder..."  
"It is all right, my lord, I wish not to partake in this dispute."

"Lord Elric, princess Arya Stark is not the only other living Stark blood in this world." old Wyman said.  
Eddara frowned at these words and soon asked: "Who else is left that share that blood?" Then her gaze caught Sansa.  
Queen's eyes narrowed as she looked at old Manderly. Wyman did not respond. Instead, he said:  
"I call the heir of House Hornwood and House Manderly, lord Hallis, my great-grandson to speak for our both Houses."  
Lord of White Harbor returned to his chair, mark of pleased man was on his face and young boy that was sitting next to Larence Hornwood  
till then, approached him. She could tell they are trading words, young Hallis was receiving instructions from his great-grandsire.  
Eddara looked at the boy, he could not have been more than four and ten years old... what drew her attention was his face,  
skin of it was darkened by the sun and she recalled that boy was brought back the castle Hornwood from Essos.  
Then she saw a pendant around his neck. Direwolf of House Stark. White direwolf, not grey.  
_Greyscale take you boy if you're to say - aye. What is this fat walrus Wyman scheming now...?!_ passed through Eddara's mind. 

Boy in orange surcoat made two paces and was now standing where his mother's grandfather stood. "My lords, my ladies...  
I was tasked by my father and my great-grandfather to speak for Hornwood castle and for White Harbor."  
His voice was calm and marked with certainty, not once trembled. He reminded some present of young fierce lady of Bear Island.  
"This Council has split into two equal halves. One wishing for Queen Sansa to remain our ruler. Other wishing to remove her.  
House Hornwood and House Manderly wish Kingdom of the North to have strong and sound rule.  
We shall add our voices to that side which will work to ensure strong and sound rule. The side which will respect the line of succession."

"What line of succession you speak of, young lord Hornwood?" Beron Dustin asked.  
"Line of succession of House Stark, my lord." boy answered calmly, then turned to Queen in the North who was looking at him with deadly stare:  
"Your Grace, as we all know, Princess Arya has renounced her right to inherit the direwolf throne.  
That is well known to your side as well, my ladies and my lord..." he addressed Elric, Eddara, Jonelle and Erena next  
"... two Houses I speak for will give their voice to that side which is willing to acknowledge as heir of the Kingdom of the North  
trueborn daughter of our once king, Jon Snow, great-granddaughter of lord Rickard, Princess Lyanna of House Stark." 

Eddara's eyes widened upon hearing this... "Who in seven hells is Princess Lyanna Stark?!" she exclaimed, but her wondering was silenced  
by tens of voices that have filled the Great Hall, all commenting loudly what have just heard.  
Elric Karstark spat on the floor while he was slaying Wyman Manderly with his eyes.  
Queen in the North stood up again from the throne and said, for all to hear her: "Never! Bastard will never sit on Northern throne!"  
That caused the hall to sound with even louder voices, shouts, arguing, curses... Jonelle grabbed Eddara's hand, her face bewildered:  
"She knows! Sansa knows what this boy is speaking of! Look how angered she is!"  
Erena looked at both of them and laughed: "Of course she is angered, you fools! Can't you tell what that means?!"  
"What?" Jonelle asked, still confused.  
"We have a new Queen. North has a new Queen!" lady of Deepwood Motte said, and then laughed even more.  
"Her father was Ned Stark's bastard!" Jonelle said.  
"Her father was our king! Queen is her aunt... that girl is true heir." Erena explained, her face glowing.

Eddara's eyes went to the young Hornwood... he was still standing there, calm and firm. Queen has left the Great Hall and those who said _aye_ were leaving as well, though some stayed and were coming to Wyman and Larence Manderly. Boy in orange surcoat was about to return  
to his father, when Lady of Greywater Watch approached him and asked loud enough for Eddara to hear:  
"Have you seen her in the east... have you seen the wolf child?"


	64. SUN AND SPEAR

_Hellholt, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

**SUN AND SPEAR**

“My lord, we should try at least…”  
“Try what, Ser Alester? There is nowhere we can march from here…  
You’ve barely escaped with your life from Hellgate Hall. That is north of here. West of here is Sandstone, land of Qorgyles.  
East of here, should we even pass the Deep Sands is river Vaith, wholly under sway of the rebels.  
Instead of marching to castle Vaith from the south, from Salt Shore which Gargalens have abandoned, neither Lucion Lannister nor Russell Merryweahter saw fit to send part of our men from there northwards to take Vaith and thus come in the rear of Dornish line at Godsgrace…”  
lord Steffon of House Varner replied to the young knight.  
“Surely there is something we can do…” pleaded lord Clatyon Graceford.  
“We went to take Hellholt with seven thousand men. Two hundred were lost on the march along the Brimstone river.  
Five hundred due to folly of lord Ambrose who took them right into Dornish trap. They’ve let him to take Hellgate Hall while sun was still up and then slaughtered him and almost all his men during night. This land and its sicknesses claimed couple of dozen since we’re holding Hellholt, about hundred or so are bedridden, lying in their tents covered with flies… not to mention those who can stand, but more oft they are squatting down to take shite. To be wholly honest, not more than four and half thousand of our men are battle ready.  
Four and half thousand against full might of House Uller, House Qorgyle and against fucking Ironborn that have sailed up the Brimstone, burned and sunk our supply ships. And I truly doubt that either Lucion Lannister or Garth Hightower were even aware that Greyjoy fleet has come here before receiving our ravens. Those few birds that have reached them. Others were shot from the sky by Dornish. Those Ironborn came as some sea demons out of nowhere…” Steffon repeated what they all knew well enough.  
“Mayhaps we should send the ravens again, demanding reinforcements that will clear the Brimstone of krakens…” Culler Tarwick proposed.  
“Ser Culler, both Lucion and Garth replied that they are not ready to send more men here by the sea.  
They consider this Ironborn attack on Brimstone river as a bait, one which aims to make ships with troops to sail here only to be ambushed by Iron Fleet.” “They hesitate to send us reinforcements out of fear?” Lorent Caswell asked.  
“They seem to be firm in belief that true aim of the Ironborn will be at the mouth of Greenblood or at the mouth of Torentine and they are equally firm to keep the bulk of ships there.” Steffon replied. “Surely Ser Garth as seasoned commander…”  
“My lord, neither of two do see our position as dire. With which I cannot disagree more.” 

Royal troops that have occupied seat of House Uller were in dire position since the night longships with kraken sigil on the sail came upstream  
the Brimstone river taking by surprise about dozen of Arbor ships whose task was to keep garrison at Hellholt well provisioned.  
All of Redwyne vessels were sunk or burned. Makeshift river port on the Brimstone now in the hands of the Ironborn.  
For men under command of Steffon Varner that meant they were now cut off from the main of the royal host and from the source of supplies.  
As Dornish rebels were well aware of their ally now being in the waters of Brimstone, Ullers were marching to retake their ancestral home, strengthened with few hundred spearmen of House Qorgyle. 

“By all accounts we have received, Ironborn were seen sailing to Lys, to lick their wounds from the war with Stark queen and to rest  
in the brothels… They were not seen nowhere near the Dornish coast.” Lorent Caswell, lord of Bitterbridge said shaking his head.  
“A kraken’s ruse, my lord, one that Red Keep and our commanders were well aware of. They waited for Yara’s fleet to appear before  
Sunspear or Lemonwood… or at lower Torentine, to battle our western host. Anywhere but Brimstone.  
I assume they trust how a small host of bit more than six thousand men is not tempting enough for the Ironborn…” Ser Culler Tarwick told him.  
“And they’d be right, Ser, yet one thing has escaped them. Ironborn in this war serve as Dornish fleet, they do not war only for themselves.  
Most if not all their actions will be agreed with Arianne Martell and her lords. Taking the flow of Brimstone is one such move...” Steffon said  
“… and that, if I was to trust the scouts, done with score or so longships… Gods only know where Iron Fleet warships are.”  
“Gods and our king… he is said to have powers…” Alester Norcross reminded them.  
“Please, Ser Alester, I have heard a lot of that superstitious shite while I have warred in the North. Armies win wars, not sorcery.”  
Culler dismissed what young knight has just said.  
“Be that as it may, this army at Hellholt is far from victory as can be.” Clayton Graceford uttered. 

He was angry, willing to fight yet wholly aware of how things are.  
They were now behind the enemy lines. With few options remaining. 

One was to wait at Hellholt for Dornish troops to encircle the castle, lay siege that will may last for weeks, moon even but with certain outcome.  
Defeat of royal garrison, what Dornish spear or arrow does not claim, the sickness and lack of fresh water will. 

Other option was to abandon Hellholt and march towards the coast. A feat not without its merits, but only passable road to the sea was one along the Brimstone river and that was now under both vipers and krakens. Six thousand would go marching south, but their commanders were aware that every sixth man would see the end of that march. And even with reaching the sea, it did not mean they were out of peril.  
Only if ships loyal to the king were there. 

Third option, one that loomed over their heads for last sennight was one they could not even fathom when they have taken over the Hellholt, almost two moons ago. Surrender. No one dared to speak of it aloud. This was garrison of over six thousand.  
To have that many men to yield before Dornish rebels, was unimaginable. And yet, with every passing day, more and more real. 

Steffon Varner came out of his chambers that morning.  
He did not even break the fast, but went on whole tour of defense positions.  
First he walked along the ramparts, then courtyard and camp before the castle that was fortified with makeshift brick wall which  
was now over nine feet. Next he went to armory and to the stables. Then he spoke with two maesters that were added to his army. 

He summoned his commanders two hours later. 

“My lords, I have thought well on our position. And ways how to deliver ourselves from it. To abandon Hellholt and march south to the sea would ruin this host, mayhaps to the last man. A column of six thousand men spread across few miles of enemy land is as offering itself to be ambushed and harassed all the way. And should we keep close to the river, in its lower flow we shall meet the Ironborn as well.  
Even if we do not meet a single foe, our water supply will not be enough for that retreat and we barely have enough food for the horses.  
So, no more talk of leaving for the sea.” Steffon told them.  
“Are we to take our stand here then, my lord?” Alester Norcross asked.  
“That would mean we shall come under siege within days.  
Ullers will bring all they have against us and they have enough to break us.”  
“They can’t have more swords than we do, my lord.” Alester protested.  
“Four thousand well fed and watered men against six thousand thirsty and starving… That is what we shall meet in very short time.  
No more food or water will come from the shore and that was the only thing which kept this garrison here. I’ve spoken to maesters.  
We can expect more men with sickness, water we have is not good anymore. Is this cursed sulphur from the river somehow found way into our barrels, they cannot tell, but thirst can drive men mad. Should we commit to holding the Hellholt we shall not be holding it for long.” 

Clayton Graceford nodded, his face as of stone:  
“It leaves us with last option, my lord. One I dare not to utter.”  
Ser Alester’s face reddened: “Are you talking about surrender?! That cannot be! We’ll all be traitors of the Realm should we agree to this!”  
Lorent Caswell agreed: “I’d rather die than give myself in the hands of Dornish.”  
Culler Tarwick was silent. Notion of surrender to the Ullers disgusted him, but dying in their keep, surrounded, hungry and thirsty was the same.  
Lord Varner looked at them: “Yes, there is no honor in surrendering to the Dornish, no honor in falling into their hands.  
Still, are we traitors, Ser Alester? A garrison which has done what was ordered to do, holding this castle for nearly two moons, waiting for far stronger host to break the rebels at Blackmont and send word to us time has come to march at Sandstone… Well, instead cleaning this part of Dorne from rebels, it appears that rebels are closer of removing king’s troops from here. Are we to blame?”  
“My lord, to surrender to Ullers… you know what other Dornishmen say of them? _Half of the Ullers are half-mad, and the other half are worse._" Caswell warned. “I know of that saying, lord Lorent. That is why I am going to try how mad and worse they truly are…”  
Steffon said “…I shall lay terms of surrender not before them, but before Arianne Martell herself.”  
“What terms of surrender?”  
“I shall send a raven to Godsgrace, to Dornish princess. Asking that Hellholt garrison marches out in strength with banners and leaves  
for the shore. Without any hindrance. That will save lives of over six thousand men. Men which Realm can use on some other battlefield.  
Hardly an act of treason. More of wisdom.” Tarwick was doubtful:  
“Once we’re out of these walls, who can vouch for our free passage? Should you do that, it is placing too much faith in Dornish vipers.”  
“I shall ask of Arianne Martell to give her personal guarantees. On her honor.”  
“Lord Steffon, Dornish princess is no fool. It suits her better to have six thousand dead enemies than six thousand which she let go to fight her another day.” “Indeed, Ser Culler, that is so. But, does it suit her to lose her own in hundreds or even thousands to take a castle she could have without a fight. We shall die here, should siege take place, but Ullers will lose many men as well.” 

Lord of Bitterbridge nodded: “All you say has its merit, my lord, yet all is based on a presumption that we deal with men of reason and not with Dornish… They’re mad as fucks. And these Ullers are the worst.”  
“That is why I shall address to their leader. If she has an ounce of her father’s mind, she will accept.”  
Alester Norcross fumed: “And if she does not?”  
“Then we shall stay here and make sure that Ullers pay in blood for every damn brick of this hell hole.” lord Varner replied.

_Godsgrace, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

From here began the flow of the Greenblood, river that came to be when Vaith married Scourge, here, near the Godsgrace. Fruit of that union, Greenblood river flows eastwards, to the Summer Sea. At river's mouth lies the Planky Town. Castle Lemonwood is few miles across the river, on the coast. In truth, for last two moons, Planky Town was moved upstream, for the first time since Rhoynar refugees founded it, many centuries ago. Seat of House Dalt, Lemonwood, was abandoned and burned. Dalts took all that can be taken and burned the rest. Now, all their household and their men, together with House Gargalen that also retreated from their keep of Salt Shore, were at Godsgrace, home of Allyrions. 

Princedom of Dorne had larger half of its host around Godsgrace. Thus far they brought to life the words of House Allyrion. _No Foe May Pass_  
Men of Houses Martell, Vaith, Santagar, Toland, Jordayne, Drinkwater, Gargalen and Dalt, with their sworn bannermen, brought here nine and ten thousand men which repelled the royal host under Ser Lucion Lannister and Lord Russell Merryweather twice already. 

Lord of Godsgrace, Ryon Allyrion and his oldest son, a baseborn Daemon Sand, leading a force of nine thousand, first met the enemy in the lower flow of the river, as they were disembarking from the ships. Greenblood, as all other Dornish rivers, was made impassable with sunk ships or boats. For blocking the river, Planky Town provided enough, from boathouses to rafts. As vessels from Crownlands, Driftmark island and few of Stormlands brought the king's troops to the part of the river that was blocked with dozens piled up ships, boats and barges, to continue advancement on Godsgrace, Lannister and Merryweather had no choice but to proceed by land. Dornish waited for disembarkation to be in its fullest, with riverbank crowded with thousands of men and hundreds of horses, then they charged at the enemy who was as far from proper battle order as Greenblood is from Frostfangs. Chaos ensued as Dornish aimed to scatter the horses, which was done to some point. It was a brief attack, over in less than hour, but costly for the royal troops, not in lives of men as much as in number of killed or stolen mounts. Dorne is no land for a long march of foot soldiers. 

In days that followed, commanders of king's host acted cleverly and spread their men on the northern bank of the river, one that was closer to Shandystone, Ghost Hill and Sunspear itself. Their column was shortened as much as it could be, guarded from both sides by cavalry. In that formation, five and thirty thousand men marched along the Greenblood river, towards Godsgrace.

Second time vipers and "raven army", as Dornish lords referred to soldiers of the Realm, clashed was in the night time, near Dry Ford. Hundreds were killed on both sides, it slow down the advance of Lannister and Merryweather, but they pressed on, with skirmishes taking place nearly on each mile. When they have finally reached Godsgrace, on fifth week of invasion of Dorne, lord Russell and ser Lucion faced a defense line of trenches, palisades, spikes, pits stretching three whole miles before the castle. Behind that lines were Dornish, with their rear and reserve placed between rivers Scourge and Vaith, the former being bridged by the barges and boats of once Planky Town. So Battle of Godsgrace begun. Though it was more of a siege, as it dragged for over three weeks already. There were attempts of royal cavalry to cross the Greenblood five miles eastwards and then after riding along its southern bank for bit less than twenty miles to reach and cross the Vaith as well. That would bring them behind Dornish reserve. Not one of those attempts succeeded. 

_And I pray that none ever will... _ Arianne Martell mused in her tent which was raised on the hill above the southern bank of Scourge. She had a visitor. Daemon Sand, bastard of Godsgrace was handsome man, of strong jaw, eyes blue as sky. His hair was light brown. Same as his cropped beard. Arianne as maiden of four and ten learned that hair between Daemon's legs is of same coloring. He was her first lover, one that took her maidenhead. Daemon acted with honor and asked her father Doran for Arianne's hand but was refused. After that, he distanced from her.  
Was it his doing or was he doing her father's bidding she never learned. Later Daemon squired for her uncle, Prince Oberyn Martell, being knighted by the Red Viper himself. She heard rumors that he uncle bedded Daemon, as Oberyn was known to fuck women and men alike, but she never learned the truth. Till this war brought Arianne and Daemon together once more and it did not take long for him to find a way into her bed.

"Were you his sand steed?" she asked lying naked on top of Daemon "Or was he yours?"  
"What are you talking about?" Daemon replied as his hands went down her bare back.  
"My uncle and you? Who fucked who?" Arianne asked with a grin. "I've never bedded Oberyn. He was keen on more gentler, sweeter boys."  
"So, our _friend_ Lucion Lannister would've been to his liking." she laughed. "I'd say your uncle would stick something in that man cunt."  
"How long has it been since you've stick something in me?" Arianne asked, kissing him on the neck.  
"Last time or first time?" he smirked. "Both."  
"Two days and twenty years... something like that.." Daemon answered. "...you had no teats then, woman, but gods gave them to you, belated but abundant." "Ha-ha, Ser Daemon, you truly know how to delight a lady." Dornish princess laughed again. "I don't delight, I speak what I see."  
She rose up on top of him and could feel his manhood swelling again. "Well, knight of Godsgrace is readying his lance again..."  
"It's your hips that squire for me..." he smirked at her. "Yet, I need you not to lust now, but to think, Daemon. Raven came with message for me, from Hellholt." "Raven? From Hellholt? If it were retaken by Ullers, they'd send a rider with news, not raven. You forbade using of ravens in Dorne." "Yes, till this war is over and maybe even beyond. Raven is animal which that broken boy in Red Keep controls the easiest... You're right.  
Message came from Hellholt, but not from Ser Ulwyck Uller or any of his. It was sent by commander of king's men there."  
"So, the head of our foes there has sent you a message? Was he asking of you to surrender?" he japed.  
"No... he in truth offered his." Arianne said smiling at him. His eyes widened: "King's host at Hellholt is offering surrender?"  
She nodded contently: "They do... with certain conditions." "Which are those?" "Safe passage along the Brimstone river to the coast.  
Where they will embark on ships and leave to mouth of Torentine, to join with the troops led by Garth Hightower."  
"He'll hang them all as cowards and traitors..." "Not all, but commanders he could and that is of no concern to me, Daemon. What is my concern is that should I accept this offer, Hellholt will be the first of our castles freed from invaders... and a small port for the free part of Dorne.  
Ironborn longships can sail upstream all the way to Hellholt. With supplies from across the sea."  
"So, if you accept this surrender, how many men are you letting go to rejoin with Garth Greysteel?" he asked.  
"Their commander, man of House Varner, wrote he has about six thousands there." Princess said.  
"Seven hells, Arianne, that is too many. Can't you wait for Ulwyck Uller to kill some of them?"  
"Hellholt is more important than few thousand of raven's troops. With them gone from there, no king's sword will be found from Blackmont to Godsgrace. Central Dorne will be free. And Uller and Qorgyle men also free to fight along Torentine. Mayahps even to retake High Hermitage, trapping Ser Garth between two Dornish hosts."  
"So, you'll answer to that Varner that you accept his surrender of Hellholt and give him the passage?"  
"I will. But not before I send riders to Ulwyck Uller and to the Ironborn at Brimstone. I will order Ulwyck to let them march to the coast.  
And I will inform the Ironborn that ships are coming to take enemy troops to the west. A proper prey for the Iron Fleet.  
Daemon, I will give safe passage till the coast and thus keep my word.  
What happens to that six thousand when they're on the waves... Well, I shall leave that to Yara Greyjoy."  
"Sometimes you seem to me as Oberyn with teats." he grinned at her again. "And since you haven't been his steed, you'll be mine. Right now." 


	65. STORMBRINGER

_King’s Landing, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

**STORMBRINGER**

He smirked every time he would hear the bells of King's Landing. Bells rang once and fire consumed thousands.  
That many deaths pleased him. Greatly. Manner of death did not. He had no use of ashes. Dead bodies, yes.  
Of those just fallen, of those rotting in the ground for years or centuries, bones with or without flesh. Men and beasts alike.  
That was his army. That should have been his army.  
Growing larger with every death. Largest army world has ever seen. An army of million and more. 

Those of hot blood in their veins gathered at the castle of wolf family.  
Thousands of them, of all skin colors, those that have fled before him over the Wall, those who shared their blood yet no their ways,  
copper-skinned riders from across the sea, men with shields and spears that stood in hundreds and fought as one.  
A young woman with two dragons. A young man that slew two of his lieutenants.  
A boy in the chair with wheels. One who took the power of the Three Eyed Raven. Boy mattered nothing to him.  
It was power that he wanted to destroy. Destroy the mortal body which hosts the Three Eyed Raven and his power shall vanish.  
Last greenseer. Wielder of power that was as old as his was. 

Both came from the creatures that once lived in Westeros, creatures that could not halt the tide of invaders coming from the lands of the east, bringing their swords of bronze, their leather shields, their four legged beasts upon which they sat, their gods.  
Creatures were called _woh dak nag gram_ by giants, to them they seemed as little squirrels.  
They called themselves _those who sing the song of earth_. To most men creatures were known as children of the forest.

They were gone now. Their powers lived on.  
One of death and destruction and one of seeing things that are and that were and even those that will be.  
Powers they have given to men, first violently by thrusting a obsidian blade into one's heart. Other by sharing.  
Both were meant to fight men, to keep them at bay. To save the singers of the song of earth. It did not save them.  
One created by violence turned against them, the other, given to men was lost and forgotten, lingering among the roots of weirwood tree.  
It was last passed on to a broken boy of wolf family.  
That was end of the boy, he lived on and he did not. He was no longer himself, but vessel of the power of last greenseers.  
Power that was used against men who came to this lands from the east first, the First Men. That power was strong in the broken body of the boy and it was placed to serve living men, those who were enemies of greenseeers of the old, greenseers among the children of the forest.  
He wanted to remove that power off this world. Men were not supposed to master in a way that boy did, in a way a warrior from dragon family,  
a king's bastard son did. A Three Eyed Raven was to be bane of men, not their weapon.  
Not against him. They were two ends of same stick. Not stick. A spear.  
A girl of wolf family destroyed that what held his powers for thousands of years.  
Ice body may shatter, as it did, leaving the power, his very essence, with no form to carry it.  
Such bared power would fade away, into nothingness. And it would have.

If that broken wolf boy had not given in to his curiosity and used powers he barely knew how to use to search for him. But he did.  
And he marked him. That mark was strong enough for him to find that broken mortal body anywhere in this world.  
That mark was strong enough for his power to crawl into flesh of once Brandon Stark. And nest there for years to come.  
What are years of waiting compared with scores of centuries that he spent dormant, in Lands of Always Winter.  
Boy, the remnants of his spirit, told everyone he cannot be lord of anything. That truly was Bran.  
Son of Ned Stark who was pushed from the tower in his home upon seeing brother and sister loving each other as man and wife. 

"If we choose you, will you wear the crown?" Imp asked, twelve years ago.  
“Why do you think I came all this way?” mouth that once spoke for Bran Stark responded. That was not Bran answering.  
That was Three Eyed Raven. That was also him. That was his victory.

He could not remember his true name. It has been thousands of years ago that he was called by it. He was given many other names.  
Lord of Darkness, Soul of Ice, God of Night and Terror... worshipers of fire demon from the east called him.  
Night King, called him folk of Westeros. Those that believed he exists. Many did not.  
Even now, twelve years after his army killed thousands at Winterfell, after he rode on undead dragon,  
many in the land he got to rule believed it never happened. That pleased him.  
Such men were ignorant of him and his powers, of Three Eyed Raven and his powers. 

Bran Stark was long gone. Last he did before his spirit vanished same as he were dead was to warn his cousin in the east,  
that same man who killed two of his... sons, in truth they were his sons.  
Born by woman of hot blood, but given to him to change them into perfect beings.  
That man and a woman, both dragon riders, were living in the east. He knew what they were now.  
Power of fire demon made both return from darkness. Them and their children. They were not ordinary.  
They were beyond his grasp. Imp failed to kill them. That did not trouble him.  
As they were keeping themselves to the east where his foe, Lord of Light was strongest.  
Bran Stark was gone, dead as all his brothers before him. His flesh remained and in that flesh he battled with Three Eyed Raven.  
Or was that a battle... sometimes it seemed more of a quarrel of two brothers.  
When that what Bran Stark felt and thought was no longer present in the broken body,  
Three Eyed Raven slowly yet surely lost his bond with humanity. He did not care anymore.  
War in the North came first, in the land that once was home to Bran Stark, to Three Eyed Raven and to him.  
Thousands died. Raven did not care. He surely did not. He was glad.  
And he rejoiced upon learning that thousands of fallen in that forest near Eastwatch were not burned, but buried.  
_What an army will that be one day..._ he thought. 

War came in the south as well. He did not care. Raven as well. As time passed, they were becoming as one.  
As for ten years that remnant of Stark boy was the barrier between them.  
That last shred which made the Three Eyed Raven to care of mankind and their toils.  
Wolf boy was gone. One who for ten years managed to rein the Three Eyed Raven for the good of his people.  
His broken body should have become an empty shell, but it did not. It remained, hosting two ancient powers of destruction.  
He knew that what little remained of the Stark boy was not strong enough to keep him at bay.  
Boy did not even know whose voice was speaking to him till it was too late.  
When power of greensight learned of dragon queen living again and having children that were born by the power of fire demon,  
that was time for him to strike, to kill what was left of Bran.  
Then to lock with Three Eyed Raven into embrace that was melting the two into one. One undoing for the realms of men. 

When weirwood tree was burned at royal gardens, burned by by dragon flames, it weakened the Raven,  
such was his bond with the trees of white bark and red leaves. His sight was not as strong, nor was his resistance to him.  
Raven was chained to him, greensight was to serve him now. Tree was burned, yet for moons he did not urged for another one to be planted.  
Dwarf from lion family, his loyal servant, or was he in truth Bran's servant, suggested one from God’s Eye.  
He would strangle the halfman if he weren't inside a crippled body.  
Order of Green Men was ancient one, keeper of ancient knowledge and magic, he wanted not tree nourished by them in the Red Keep.  
Green Men were of children of the forest, of their Pact with First Men.  
He rebuked dwarf for proposing that and then withdrew from the affairs of the Realm. 

Southern princedom rebelled. That was of little interest to him. Imp gathered a large army, robbing the land of all able bodied men.  
He listened to his reports. What castle was taken, what town burned... trifles. How many men died and were buried, that only mattered.  
Hundreds of fallen pleased him. Thousands thrice as much.  
Eastern continent abandoned trade with Westeros. He listened of it as well. Of merchants and craftsmen and farmers becoming poor.  
So poor that they were not able to put food on their tables. Hunger kills same as blades, only slower.  
More bodies in the ground. More soldiers for the army to come. To come once again. In one hundred or one thousand years.  
When realms of men forget. Of him, of Three Eyed Raven, when stories of him are again only to scare little children.  
Time he had enough. This broken body will sustain him. It was still young, decades ahead of him. 

Dwarf managed to find a weirwood tree. By then he and Three Eyed Raven were as one. As those who have created their powers intended.  
Greensight was now there when he needed it. It was weaker now, as there was still resistance from the Raven who kept the memories of men that once wielded that power, but memories are not as true spirit of man, as spirit of Brynden Rivers was, as spirit of Bran Stark was.  
He used the sight to see the dry hills and sands of Dorne where men who marched in the name of broken king battled with those who served the olive-skinned princess. That was not his war. That was Lannnister dwarf. That was his war.  
He saw fleet of ships with dark sails, carrying the sea creature with tentacles on sails, dozens of ships coming to aid the men of the desert.  
He could say words of warning. He did not.  
Those ships meant more deaths, more soldiers in the army that never rests, never falters, never doubts, never retreats and never yields.

He tried to see the dragonriders in the east, but he could not. Only those around them and even that was blurred, shadows moving around even darker shadows, he could not hear the voices even, it was as humming to him. Sounds and sights that would hurt his ears and eyes.  
Still, he could saw well enough in the east to learn how blood of the dragon was now ruling again, its sway growing even more.  
His gaze went to the north next. Drawn to that cursed place where his army was ruined, together with his form of ice.  
And he saw someone he knew well. Though in truth, the Tree Eyed Raven and Bran Stark knew her well.  
She was a woman now, they knew her as a young girl. Girl coming from the edge of the North, from swamps.  
One of her blood, dead for many years, had the gift of greendreams. And now another one of her blood had it.  


She came there, to the wolf castle to bring word of advice, but there was no one to give advice to.  
All others that have gathered before the Stark woman who wore the crown, were quarreling, accusing each other, accusing the Stark woman.  
Then one of them said the name. Name of a child that came to this world through the power of fire demon. His foe. His first and last foe.  
And he saw woman from swamps asking of her. He knew what must be done.

"Ryman Peckledon, please inform the lord Hand that I wish to speak with him urgently."  
he said to the page right after he was wheeled in the royal garden by one of the Kingsguard.  
Shortly after, Tyrion Lannister appeared at the gates of garden and rushed towards him.  
Weeks have passed since they have spoken last and he could see how glad the halfman was, even happy.  
He would laugh, but laughter as tears are traits of those whose blood runs hot in the veins.  
Instead, he had a face blank, cold and distant. As ice itself.  
"Your Grace, you demanded my presence?" Tyrion asked.  
"That I did..." he answered "...what news you have for me of the Realm?"  
"Well, the retaking of Dorne from the rebels has started well, all the shore was under our sway in matter of days, then our advance inland was slowed." "I know. Lord Garth Hightower thus far has failed to take Blackmont and Skyreach. Your kinsman, Ser Lucion Lannister and Ser Russell Merryweather are battling at Godsgrace with no success. And our ships, those of royal fleet and of House Redwyne now are made  
to patrol large portion of Dornish shore. As Ironborn have arrived. And more ships are coming from Iron Islands." king answered.  
"From the Iron Islands? That would mean Yara Greyjoy is throwing everything she had into the fray." Hand concluded.  
"Yes. It would mean that. As your intent to attack her very home was put aside when Arianne Martell's rebellion begun, she is even bolder now.  
In matter of weeks, there will be close to one hundred of Ironborn ships in Dornish waters."  
"I shall alert lord Redwyne and Velaryon immediately. If only the Ironborn were willing to offer a proper battle on the sea." Tyrion said.  
"They offer battle only when they know that victory is in their grasp. As you well know..." king told his Hand "...have you  
solved the problem of Dornish host in the Reach? Two thousand men raiding and burning for tens of miles. For over a moon now."

Tyrion frowned, then nodded, relief was on his face as he was aware that his king is again watching the world around him:  
"On tenth day of seventh moon, they have sacked Highgarden. Two thousand Dornish cavalry came during the night, as they've fallen from the sky, and surprised the garrison there, which was poorly manned. As Your Grace knows, seat of Lord Paramount of the Reach is Oldtown. Highgarden is left..." "Highgarden is for the Reach as Dragonstone is for Crownlands, lord Tyrion. A sign of might more than only a castle.  
To have it sacked means to have no power to protect it." king cut him off coldly.  
"I have sent Ser Brienne with one thousand men to the Reach, merely days before Dornish attacked the once Tyrell castle.  
For nearly a moon now she is chasing the vipers across the southern Reach." "And they have been chasing her as well, lord Tyrion."

"Do you have anything else to share with me, my lord?" king asked, yet his tone was one discouraging further questions.  
"I am certain that Your Grace knows all that happened or is happening in the Realm and beyond." Tyrion answered.  
He was truly glad that King Bran was back again from his recluse, that he is not turning back to the world anymore.  
"Six thousand men retreated from Hellholt, lord Tyrion. They will embark the ships of House Redwyne some five miles from the mouth of river Brimstone. Overmorrow they will be at sea. Were you informed of that?"  
"I was, Your Grace. Our captains are instructed to ferry them to the mouth of Torentine, for them to join the host of Garth Hightower.  
Six thousand swords could make difference at taking Blackmont." Tyrion reported.  
"They could. But they will not. You shall not ferry those men to Garth Hightower." king said.  
"Your Grace?" Tyrion asked.  
"You shall give command over that six thousand men to Ser Culler Tarwick, lord Steffon Varner is free to return to his keep, and ferry them to Lannisport." "Lannisport, my king? Are you sending those men to take the Iron Islands, now that Yara Greyjoy has almost all grown men on ships near Dorne." "No. Those men are not going to the Iron Islands. At Lannisport they will rest for a few days.  
Before going to their true destination." "Then where my king?" Hand of the King asked.  
"North, lord Tyrion. Those men will be sailing to Saltspear and then from Moat Caillin march to Winterfell."  
Lannister's eyes widened: "Are we invading North?!"  
King smirked, though barely: "No, we're coming to aid of the ruler there." "Your sister... Queen Sansa is ruler there." Tyrion said.  
"Then your information is old, lord Hand. Half of Northern houses have turned against Sansa Stark.  
Half are still loyal to Sansa, but those are all smaller houses... yet in both halves there are those who might support..."  
_her..._ he left that word unsaid. "Support whom, Your Grace?" King shook his head:  
"It matters not whom they will support. Six Kingdoms will preserve order in the Northern kingdom. With or without Sansa Stark."  
"If they oust her from the throne... who could rule in her place." Tyrion wondered.  
"Anyone wit even a small wit, lord Hand. Lord of Karhold is ambitious man and shares blood with Starks."  
_Anyone but her._  
"I'll see that men from Hellholt are set on course for Lannisport and then to Saltspear." Hand nodded.

"Good. See it done, my lord." king said. 


	66. MEERA

_Castle Cerwyn, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

**MEERA**

Lady of Greywater Watch rode southwards with escort of twenty crannogmen. Three and ten years have passed since she was in Winterfell last.  
She now felt as she should have let tree and ten more to go by. Queen's Council ended with Northern lords asunder.  
Half of them willing to take the crown off the brow of Ned Stark's oldest daughter, half of them willing to serve her still.  
Queen retreated from the Great Hall, thus ending the council meeting while both quarreling sides left the Stark castle,  
riding hastily to every side of the world there is. 

Meera came to this Queen's Council not to listen how other lords and ladies throw guilt for the lost war at each other.  
As ever before, no one wished to claim defeat. Had it been victory, they would all took credits for it.  
She did not came for that. Nor did she care for it. Crannogmen guarded the Neck from the enemy, but he never came.  
Not in this war. This time the Ironborn did not come for the Moat Cailin. Her people did their duty. Duty.  
House Reed always did their duty towards House Stark. Ever since they pledged their fealty to the lords of Winterfell, all those centuries ago.  
It was for that duty that Meera rode to Winterfell, for the first time after she left it.  
She was only a girl then, barely a young woman. She left Winterfell saddened as she learned that boy, with whom she went over the Wall  
and far in the true north to meet those that were things of stories and legends, is no longer. He was there and he was not.  
All that made him what he was, a boy who had mother and father once, a boy who could laugh and cry for himself and for others,  
all that was gone. His family, his sisters and brother, learned he was different now. She knew that not to be truth. He was not different.  
He died. Sometime later, a word came to Greywater Watch of him being a king.  
She cared not. Boy she liked, boy she loved as he was her own family, died.  
What remained was something she did not want to know. That what remained came after boy named Brandon Stark died,  
after a simpleton called Hodor died, after a large wolf named Summer died. And after a boy named Jojen Reed died. Her brother.  
Same as Bran and Hodor and Summer he died there, far beyond the Wall, in the cave beneath the huge weirwood tree.  
Their remains were left there. Bran's body she brought south of the Wall, to Winterfell. A bit of him was left, a very small bit.  
All else was a being of great ancient power. Being of greensight. 

Jojen had that gift as well. Yet, his compared to that of Three Eyed Raven was a pebble next to a boulder.  
Her brother had dreams of things to come, some more, some less clear. He was no true greenseer as he could not bond with the weirwood trees. Meera had not such gift. Two years upon her return to the Neck she wed Lonnel of House Fenn, a crannogman as she were.  
His house was sworn to House Reed thus she asked that children which were born to them bear her family's name.  
Her son and heir Howland was born eight years ago, her daughter was soon to have her eleventh nameday. Jojena of House Reed.  
She named her girl after the uncle she will never know, uncle that died long time ago.  
When Jojena was in her ninth year, she begun to have strange dreams. Dreams which spoke of things that mattered little,  
but things that have come to pass, some sooner, some later. But she saw things, some as clear vision, some as clouded prophecy.  
Her daughter saw them. Meera did not like that. It made her worry for Jojena. Such dreams made her brother an old, solemn man  
in the body of a boy. No mother would ever wish for her babe girl to be as that. Still, Jojena was not touched by her dreams.  
She was still the same little girl as she was before the dreams came. A nine year old child acting as nine year old child, not as crone  
of ninety namedays. Meera thought that was for Jojena's dreams were not of death and darkness taking the worlds as her brother's were.  
Her dreams were of things that considered their family and land and mostly prophesying good tidings.  
House Reed lived a good life for past decade.

It was last year that Jojena's dreams changed and she could tell that girl mislikes having them.

_I dreamed that the ice was creeping over the halls made of blood. Men serve the ice as it was living and warm and good.  
Salt water flows from both ends of the great wall. It floods the land, drowning many. _

Meera knew what part of that dream meant. Jojen had dream of sea flooding Winterfell.  
And soon the Ironborn came to take the castle. Now, her daughter's dream came true as well, as Ironborn came from both shores of the North.  
Rest of the dream she could not understand. And there was no one in the Neck that could interpret what little Jojena was dreaming of.  
More dreams followed, one again spoke of ice whom men trust, one of sea upon which mammoths sailed, one of blazing sun and spears  
growing from sand as grass. Death was common to all of them. It began to burden the mind of her daughter, to make her afraid and sad.  
Meera wished she could chase away those dreams, to remove this cursed gift from her daughter.  
It made her brother to act and think and feel as old man, scores of years before his time.  
She could do nothing to save her child should that fate come upon Jojena, that angered Meera greatly.

Another dream came. For the first time over a moon ago. And it repeated few times, every time more vivid and more clear.  
This dream did not burden Jojena Reed. It made her calm and smiling. When she dream it last, girl said to her mother:

_A house tall as a mountain, there from where sun is coming. A wolf white as snow with eyes red as blood, when he howled, he howled fire...  
then he turned into a child, I could see only a shadow, yet it was a child. As I am. And I know that shadow saw me as well. I felt no fear.  
Voice kept telling me in that dream same words, again and again... wolf child, child of east... Stark of Winterfell..._

Two days later a raven came from the Queen in the North calling all the lords and ladies of the Kingdom to attend the council.  
Meera left for Winterfell the very next morning, for the first time since North was a country of their own.  
All the years before lord Lonnel of Houses Reed and Fenn would attend the Queen's Council. This time she insisted to go.  
She wanted to speak with Sansa Stark. Queen in the North was only one of her family left in Winterfell.  
Arya Stark was said to be lost at the sea, once King in the North, one Meera saw fighting the deserters from the Night's Watch  
at Craster's Keep, was lost north of the Wall. Meera wanted to speak with the queen of Jojena's dream.  
She could not tell what it meant, yet that there was more Stark blood in the world.  
Was it by Arya Stark who sailed around the world, was it by Jon Snow no matter how hard that was to believe...  
but Sansa Stark was not the last of her line and Lady of Greywater Watch wanted her to know that.  


It was only at the Council, when houses of the North divided on the matter of Sansa being a Queen, that she heard the boy from House Hornwood speaking of a girl named after Ned Stark's sister, daughter of Jon Snow, only then Meera knew of whom did her daughter dreamt.  
When she saw how aunt of that girl took the news, calling that child a bastard, it was sign to her not to talk to Sansa Stark,  
but to return to the Neck. North was sliding into another conflict, one in which Northerners will be upon each other.  
Before that she approached to the Hornwood boy, one that wore a white wolf pendant around his neck and asked him of wolf child.  
He said nothing, just looked at her with his eyes wide.

That was over seven hours ago. Meera and her escort were riding hard down the Kingsroad, she way many days ride away from home,  
but eager to remove herself away from Winterfell. She managed in doing that, yet she was now riding through the land of House Cerwyn  
and she wished nothing more than to leave that land behind her as well. It was not to happen.  
Thirty riders were awaiting on the road, barring her to pass further.  
Some had silver shield displaying black battle axe on their clothes, yet some had silver fist on scarlet shield.  
_Glover men_, came to her mind right away.  
More appeared from the woods on both sides of the road, about score from each side, she saw a small banner on a spear.  
Green trees on brown cloth, House Tallhart. "Lady Reed, you have been invited to Castle Cerwyn by my lady, Jonelle of House Cerwyn.  
She offers you hospitality of her home." man leading the Cerwyn men said.  
"I ask you to convey my gratitude to lady Jonelle, yet I have to decline. I am in great haste to return to Greywater Watch." she answered.  
"Night shall be soon upon you and these are not times to be riding in the darkness, lady Reed. I fear that my lady will not take kindly your refusal. She already hosts lady Erena of House Glover and lady Eddara of House Tallhart. And we expect lord Larence Hornwood and lord Wyman Manderly to join us. They are coming to here from Winterfell, yet, due to old lord's carriage they are few hours behind you." he spoke politely, yet commanding. "Lady Jonelle is very kind to be hosting so many of use that are traveling south. Yet, Deepwood Motte is many miles  
north and west from here. And, still lady Glover is here." she noted. "Wolfswood is no place for night ride, lady Reed.  
It is even less safe than Kingsroad." man replied, gesturing with hand to direction of Castle Cerwyn.

_Minced lamb with pepper and roasted duck stuffed with mushrooms and fennel and onion..._  
Meera gazed at the dish that was brought before her in the hall of Cerwyn keep later that night. _Most of Northern folk is more hungry  
than fed these days, yet lady Jonelle can feast her guests so..._ she pondered _...or is he trying to impress us all._  
Next to her Eddara Tallhart was seated and though she acted politely, she could tell lady of Torrhen's Square is burning with wish to ask her something. Erena Glover was right next to Eddara.  
Meera noted that she was loudest among those who wanted to remove Sansa Stark from the Northern throne. Erena Glover and lord of Karhold.  
Across the table were three men. Truth be told, one man, one boy and one fat elder. Larence Hornwood, Hallis Hornwood and Wyman Manderly.  
_A queer gathering_, Meera mused. Yet, it had its good sides. It was better to sit close to hearth of Castle Cerwyn and eat roasted duck than to spend the night somewhere along the Kingsroad, chewing on dried horse meat. She knew this will come with a price.

Jonelle Cerwyn wanted her to be here, same as she wanted all others to be here.  
As they were finishing their meals, the lady of the castle clapped her hands and all the servants have left the hall, closing the thick wooden doors. Jonelle Cerwyn was to say something, but Tallhart woman could not wait any longer:  
"Wolf child... What did you mean with that, lady Meera? When you asked young lord Hallis of that?"  
Meera saw that Jonelle frowned as he was the host here, not Eddara.  
"Do you know of old gods, lady Eddara? Of true purpose of weirwood trees? Do you know of wargs and greenseers?" Meera asked.  
"I've hears stories, aye. Same as I've heard tale of how you went with Bran Stark north of the Wall when White Walkers still ruled there..."  
she answered. "That was no tale, that was how it happened. Same as it happened that someone close to me saw a child in a dream.  
Who was a wolf as well. A white wolf. Same as one young lord Hallis has as his pendant." Meera told her.  
"A dream? You let your actions to be guided by dreams?" Eddara almost smirked at her.  
"Had you seen things what I have when I was half as old as I am now...you would not dismiss dreams so lightly." she answered in grim tone.  
Jonelle nodded: "Lady Meera survived what few women on this word could. And if dream made her come to Winterfell today, well... it gave her good guidance." She looked at Wyman Manderly next: "My lord, no highborn in our whole kingdom has the wisdom in ruling as you have, wisdom tempered through many decades. So, I trust that you would never allow anyone of your blood to speak out so openly before queen  
and assembly of all highborn. So, pray tell us all, my lord, who is Princess Lyanna of House Stark?"  
Wyman gave her a slight nod, then said: "I thank you for the words of praise, they sit well with me, even being this old as I am, yet I would do injustice to my great-grandson and his lord father to answer what you ask. For they have seen the princess, same as they're looking at you now." Lady Cerwyn's eyes went to Larence Hornwood and she gave him a little smile.

"Answer to your question, my lady, is that Stark blood lives and thrives in the Bay of Dragons, in Meereen.  
Princess Lyanna is daughter of our once king Jon and once queen of Seven Kingdom, Daenerys of House Targaryen."  
A chunk of food fell on the plate, as lady Erena Glover almost choked on the bite of lamb.  
"Do you mock me, my lord?" Jonelle asked.  
"No, my lady. Why would you say that?" Larence asked.  
"Dragon queen is dead. Dead for twelve good years." Eddara said.  
Larence smiled: "I assure you, my lady, she is as alive as all of us here are. Hallis, my son, how old is Princess Lyanna?"  
"She had her twelfth nameday, my lord father." boy answered. "Dead woman cannot bring babes to this world. And woman we speak of gave  
birth to four." Larence said next. "Prince Cregan, a babe, princess Daenysanne, his twin. And their older sisters, twins Lyanna and Rhaella..."  
Hallis added. "Cregan? Well, Jon Snow truly respects his father's family..." Eddara noted "...Cregan Snow... Lyanna Snow..."  
"No, my lady. Prince Cregan of House Targaryen and of House Stark." Wyman told her.  
"Targaryen?! Jon Snow let his children to bear his mother's name?" Erena wondered.  
Meera looked at her: "Your name will die with you if you find that so odd."  
"Aye, lady Reed is right. House Reed same as Glover, same as Tallhart, same as Cerwyn has lost their male heirs...  
My children will be Cerwyns." Jonelle said.

"As they should, my lady..." Larence nodded approvingly "...yet, our once king gave his children the same name he was given by his father."  
"His father was Ned Stark... and he never gave him his name." Eddara Tallhart said.  
"No, lady Tallhart. Jon Snow was a lie. A stain in honor of a man whose honor was such that he was ready to wear that stain,  
that false stain, for a promise he gave his dying sister." Larence Hornwood said.  
"I have to say, my lord, I am lost in your words." Eddara shrugged.  
"Ned Stark, my ladies, presented a babe boy as his bastard son. While in truth, that babe boy was trueborn, conceived in wedlock  
of Lyanna Stark and Prince of Dragonstone, Rhaegar Targaryen. Man we knew as Jon Snow, was heir to the Iron Throne.  
A Targaryen and a Stark, same as his children are." Wyman Manderly said calmly.  
A fork falling on the floor, that was the only sound in the hall.  
Meera's eyes widened and she saw a jaw of both Jonelle and Erena dropped.

"That is impossible..." Jonelle, who managed to keep her calm somehow, said.  
"Same as it was impossible for a crippled boy to go north of the Wall and returns. He is now king in the south." Wyman shrugged.  
"But it was said that Rhaegar kidnapped and raped lady Lyanna..." Meera said.  
"My lady Meera, I am only one here who knew lady Lyanna. I was already beyond my fortieth nameday when it all happened.  
No man could kidnap a she-wolf..." Wyman told them "...it was tale which suited best Robert Baratheon.  
Man of his pride would never accept that his betrothed left him for another man.  
Jon of House Targaryen is no bastard, but a true dragon and wolf."  
Jonelle, Eddara and Erena looked at each other, still in disbelief, then lady Cerwyn said:  
"Lord Larence, you have found your son in Meereen, then? Among the Targaryens..."  
"I have. Among Targaryens that have Stark blood as well. You see the pendant my son wears... it was given to him by Princess Lyanna."  
"What is she like, young lord Hallis, that girl Jon Snow named after his mother, as it seems?" Erena asked.  
"She is of black hair and grey eyes, a true Stark in looks. She is noble and just. She looks and acts as her aunt Arya Stark." Hallis answered.  
"My cousin, Ser Marlon Manderly, saw the girl. He swears that she looks as Lyanna Stark when of her age." Wyman added.  
"And yet, if Daenerys Targaryen is her mother, a woman that burned King's Landing, that makes her three-quarter Targaryen...  
If Jon Snow was half-dragon himself." Eddara noted. "So what of it? I don't give two shites for King's Landing and Sansa is half Tully..."  
Jonelle smirked then asked Larence Hornwood: "...you speak only of girl Lyanna, not of other children of Jon Snow..."  
"Two of them are babes and Princess Rhaella is Targaryen in both name and looks. Yet... Ned Stark lives in that girl.  
Both Ser Marlon and I saw that." "You seem to like those dragons in Meereen, lord Larence..." Erena noted with grin.  
"Aye, I do. They are dragons. But they're blood of the wolf as well." 

Meera listened to them talking and knew that game of thrones was just being played, those three ladies wanted Sansa gone.  
Old Manderly wanted Lyanna, daughter of Jon Snow, proclaimed as heir to the throne or on the throne right away.  
When young Hallis spoke of Targaryen princess, his eyes glowed and she knew what that meant.  
And what future lord of White Harbor desired for the Kingdom of the North.

Jonelle asked that same man: "Lord Wyman, should we do as your great-grandson has asked on the Council,  
should our three houses support you in declaring Princess Lyanna Targaryen as Queen in the North,  
that will mean war with Winterfell and with Karhold. Elric Karstark craves the crown for himself.  
For a very long time. I say he'd have no issue in marrying girl Lyanna if that would gave him kingship."  
Hallis' face darkened upon hearing this and Meera smiled.  
_Boy likes her, he likes that... wolf child..._  
"We shall fight Karhold as same as we shall fight Sansa Stark. Who is no longer a true queen.  
She cannot be. Half of North is against her now. Most of great houses are against her." Wyman said.  
"Then I pledge House Cerwyn to Lyanna, she-wolf's granddaughter." Jonelle said.  
"As I do House Tallhart." Eddara added.  
"House Glover will march for daughter of Jon Snow!" Erena exclaimed.  


All were now looking at Meera.  
"My lords, my ladies, crannogmen kept for themselves for most of the history of the North.  
Yet, its troubles are our troubles.  
When North bled we have bled. When North rejoiced, we have rejoiced.  
We have kept faith with House Stark for many centuries. I was loyal to Queen Sansa.  
I bear no ill will towards her nor will I ever. Yet, house divided from within cannot stand.  
King or queen should unite its people. Or they're not true king or queen.  
We all know Sansa, what she did well and where she has failed. We don't know this girl from the east.  
Yet, I greatly wish to meet her. Granddaughter of Lyanna Stark should come to North.  
We are her people. Her father was our king. She could be our ruler.  
For that I want to meet her. To see if she's worthy to be our queen.  
Men of the Neck will then give their faith an their swords to her.  
To Lyanna, the wolf child." 

Shrewd lord Manderly rose his goblet and said loudly: "To Lyanna of Houses Stark and Targaryen, the Queen in the North!"


	67. DAENERYS

_Meereen, Essos, year 317 After Conquest_

**DAENERYS**

_The Conquest of Dorne_ was laid on the table in her solar.  
A chronicle of invasion of Dorne by King Daeron Targaryen, First of his name. The Young Dragon.  
Albeit telling of events as Boy King saw them, the book was still taken as the best account of the war.  
Growing up in exile, she never received a proper formal education.  
It was more important to escape before assassins sent by then king of Seven Kingdoms. Escape with nothing save life.  
She and her older brother had nothing else in those years. It broke Viserys.  
Daenerys always believed that her brother has been driven mad by exile and beggar's life exile had given him.  
She remembered words of Barristan Selmy how Viserys always had it in him, that he was true son of Mad King, ever since a little boy.  
Exile and poverty and ridicule of rich magisters and merchants in the Free Cities hastened his turn into cruel and vain but still weak  
and foolish man. She suffered his violent ways and outbursts. Till that night in Vaes Dothrak. When he got his crown, of molten gold.

What she could not get as a child and young girl, Daenerys made sure she got during first five years of life of her twin daughters.  
Their teachers, whenever her affairs allowed, tutored her as well. She learned quickly and though never having such love for books  
as her oldest brother, Rhaegar or her sweet Rhae, in short period of time Daenerys Stormborn read scores of titles, from historical chronicles  
and arithmetic to such titles as _A Caution for Young Girls_, one of the most debased works of carnal debauchery in history of Westeros.  
It was an alleged life tale of lady Coryanne of House Wylde, written by none other than Coryanne herself.  
She, if stories from over two and half centuries ago were truthful was one of the ladies sent to Dragonstone in attempt to convince  
then young Alysanne to annul the secret marriage with her brother, Jaehaerys. As both were not yet man and woman grown,  
their mother hoped that unconsummated marriage will be easier to undo. All attempts failed. 

Dany laughed at Jon's reaction when he saw the book in her library for the first time. He was appalled with notion that she owns a copy.  
Until they went through the lines in the book together. And he saw that some of things described can add to their lovemaking.  
Same as her, Jon relished in those pleasures. Ten years of separation was soon replaced with long nights and days of passion  
that only a dragonblood can have for a dragonblood. _Two babes more and we'll have our half a dozen that I could raise with you..._ she jested.  
Though she never told him, Daenerys was willing to bear one more child. Cregan and Daenysanne were seven moons old now.  
After their first nameday, it was proper time to conceive another Targaryen. Aemon. She already knew the name.  
Should fate give them another twins, Aemon and Daeron. Young Dragon was favorite Targaryen king of her husband. A boy conqueror. 

One that wrote the book she was reading now, thought she has read it some eight years ago.  
She needed that chronicle of Dornish war to compare it with war that raged in Dorne now.  
"The arms of House Martell display the sun and spear, the Dornishman's two favorite weapons, but of the two, the sun is the more deadly."  
She repeated the line from the book aloud. That was truth. Dorne was never a land ripe for taking. Its foes were oft broken there.  
Son of the Lord of Winterfell after which her babe son was named died fighting Dornish as well.  
Rickon, son of Cregan Stark, died outside of Sunspear in the final days of Daeron's war.  
This invasion of Dorne, that lasted for two and half moons already mimicked the Young Dragon's campaign though only to a point.  
What she liked to do is compare the reports that were coming from Westeros, be it from R'hllor priest glamoring a scribe on Driftmark  
or from captains of ships that were sailing from Meereen towards Dorne avoiding royal fleet.  
Both sources were rich with information that she would compare with accounts Daeron gave in his book. 

Since eighth moon of the year begun, Dornish eastern defense line was moved from Godsgrace to Vaith, making royal host to deploy most  
of its troops in the land between rivers Scourge and Vaith. As army mustered by the Red Keep went deeper in the land of Arianne Martell,  
its ability to battle was lessened, supply lines extended and both sun above them and land beneath them were all but allies.  
In the west, Garth Greysteel of House Hightower finally managed to take Blackmont only to be marching on the same enemy at Kingsgrave,  
further in the Red Mountains. With seat of House Manwoody taken, Hightower would be near of taking the south end of Prince's Pass.  
That would give the royal army an unhindered land road into Dorne. Troops that lord of Storm's End committed to guard the northern side of the pass would have no other but to join the fray and fight in Dorne for the king. Greysteel's southern flank was tasked daily by Qorgyles and Ullers who three sennights ago claimed victory against king's men on the Brimstone river. Dorne, same as ever before, was wearing its enemies out.  
She made sure that fast sail ships from the Free Cities would load their decks at Lys and sail to the mouth of Brimstone which was now under sway of the Iron Fleet. 

Yara Greyjoy was elusive in the waters of Summer Sea, keeping away from the shore and yet harassing the coastal towns and keeps that were held by royal troops. While Redwyne fleet wished to punish this insolence and on few occasions sailed after the Ironborn to pursue, most notably after thirty ships with kraken sigil came before Starfall during night and unleashed the flaming projectiles from their trebuchets and scorpions on the castle and the supply vessels anchored before it. Along the western shore, ships that flew king's banner, but mostly having a Velaryon seahorse on their sails, were much more reluctant to seek battle with the Iron Fleet warships, even common longships that dared to sail in Dornish rivers could not make them to abandon defense of anchorage before Sunspear, before once Planky Town and Stinkwater.  
Spotswood, Lemonwood and Salt Shore were raided once every week, makeshift piers which royal troops made for their supply ships to lay anchor were torn down almost faster than it were rebuilt.  
Yara Greyjoy, as she was now almost certain that Realm will not launch the invasion of her own islands, called more of her warships to sail to Dorne, adding over one score to the eighty that she already commanded in the westernmost Summer Sea. Ironborn ships were supplied at the open sea, by merchant vessels from the Bay of Dragons that would sail under this or that banner of the Free Cities.  
Their captains never approached the coasts of Dorne for it was not guaranteed that royal fleet would not seize or even sunk them. 

Reports that came from Ezzelyno on Driftmark to R'hllor temple using glass candles about rest of Westeros were also important to her.  
Valyrian sorcery that created obsidian candles as mean to see across the seas and mountains or to speak with those half a world away  
did not come cheap. It spent a lot of strength from Ezzelyno who was not as powerful servant of R'hllor as Kinvara.  
She used the candle to see beyond the Narrow Sea and later told Daenerys of how two mounted hosts are battling in the Reach for many weeks now, one under banner of raven king, led by tall woman of yellow hair and another, beneath the speared sun, whose leader was one with red scorpions on his clothes and other, more comelier man with sword and falling star on his shield. Men of speared sun were burning fields and houses where ever they would come, while tall woman tried to trap and destroy them. Both of these hosts would scatter and band together, roaming the land that once growing rose ruled. Both lost many of their riders, but they fought on. As large cavalries or small bands of riders,  
they fought on, bringing only misery to green land of the Reach. 

Daenerys' main concern now was to ensure that Kingsgrave is not taken by the western royal host, one led by Ser Garth Hightower.  
He proved more able commander than Tyrion's kinsman and one of House Merryweather who both lead the eastern portion of Broken King's men. Greysteel was determined man and his losses at Blackmont that mounted to few thousands did not weaken his resolve in taking  
seat of House Blackmont. Now, he was aimed for the keep of Manwoodys where them joined with Daynes, Blackmonts, Fowlers awaited him.  
Yronwoods were expected to strengthen Kingsgrave as well. Where Hightower was weak was south and east, land between Skyreach  
and Hellgate Hall. Queen of Bay of Dragons knew that Ironborn fleet must provide all that is needed for Ullers and Qorgyles. As Brimstone was  
under sunspear banner again, that was no issue. That much she could learn from the reports that were coming to Great Pyramid regularly.  
Few days ago, Ironborn ship, one that managed to sail between Lys and Meereen in bit more than three weeks, brought a message from Princess Arianne Martell who was thanking her for the aid provided, once again pledged alliance with House Targaryen and swore that Dorne  
will not bow not bent nor broke before raven king. Thus far, she was true to her word. Dorne was nowhere near to yield.

Dany was pleased. Dornish war was the first one she took part in from a distance, not being in the van, not seeing how besieged cities fall,  
not having to fly through smoke to lay waste on armies and fleets, not having to see burned enemies. Not having to see burning innocents.  
What she did to King's Landing was always with her. That sin, that guilt will never go away. Nor it should. She failed.  
Utterly. Failed and fall and died. Then she rose never to fail again.  
She had a plan for Westeros. Somwhere in her mind, somehow a plan has formed, though for years she convinced herself that lands across the Narrow Sea are of no concern to her. For years. When she was a Targaryen, a grown Targaryen alone. Now she was not. She had her King now.  
Her dragon king. To him, Westeros was only home. When he spoke of retaking Dragonstone, that was the moment when all those years she spent in chasing away thoughts of the Realm her ancestors forged were gone.

Dragonstone. Zaldrīzesdōron. Place where she was born. Place where she truly fell in love with a man. It was not home.  
It will never be home to her. But it was heirloom and poor is the family that keeps not its heirlooms.  
Every time when she was on the apex of the Great Pyramid and looked at the fluttering dragon banner above her head, Daenerys felt it.  
Desire to retake what was theirs. In one year, in ten years... in two score years when her children or their children will carry that banner  
and ride on Drogon... it mattered not. Dragon will take what is his, with word and oath or with fire and blood. He will take it.

Her husband was not into Dornish war as she were. "As one born in Princedom of Dorne, that does not go to your credit, my king.  
You suckled on teat of Dornish wet nurse as I remember. They are your people, of sorts..." Dany jested with Jon. He did not find it amusing.  
She shared reports from Westeros with him now, a token of trust between them and he did gave it a time due, once even sat with her,  
map of Martell lands stretched on the table, he spoke of how Dorne was invaded in the past, how Red Keep was doing it now, where are strengths and weaknesses of both sides. He had a military mind, much more savvy than when he battled against Ramsay Bolton, when he allowed his wolf blood and, though then still ignorant of it, his dragon blood to overtake him while he charged alone at whole Ramsay's army which caused  
death of thousands and nearly his own. He was a smarter, far smarter man now. Yet, Dorne was not so important issue for him.  
He committed to the founding of Yunkai and Astapor City Guard. And their Freeflames. Jon Targaryen was making host of Bay of Dragons. Mayhaps he was not even wholly aware of it, but Freeflames and guards in three cities were just that. An army. Meereen had city guard of four thousand strong, it surprised the Targaryen couple how fast it grew. Yunkai was at two thousand, Astapor followed closely with eight and ten hundreds. 

"Before this year ends, ten thousand men will serve as guardsmen. Should recruits keep coming in these numbers,  
twice as many will make city guards one year from now. Twenty thousand. Of that I hope to have six thousand Freeflames."  
Jon told her as they walked through southern part of the city where she was visiting the homes of freedmen. Dany was their Mhysa.  
Now same as six and ten years ago.  
"Six thousand warriors trained as Dothraki on the horse and Dornish on the ground, dressed as Northern rangers..." she mused  
"...host of Volantis would not stand a chance before them." He frowned: "Why do you say Volantis?"  
"Oh, should I've said... King's Landing? I know where our enemies are. At mouth of Rhoyne and at Blackwater Bay.  
I wonder how they did not approached one another already...Tyrion has grown old and his wit is no longer that sharp."  
"Dany, Volantene are not people that wages wars, not for centuries now. Most of all not for interests of others. They will not challenge  
Bay of Dragons for sake of the Red Keep." Jon said to her. He liked going with her around the city, to quarters where former slaves lived.  
There he could see the woman he fell in love with, as he would tell her every time upon their return to the Great Pyramid.  
A woman of good heart and great will to help those who can't help themselves.  
That would bring her such joy as she was hearing those words for the first time.  
They were happy, Jon and she, as never before.

Not all was well, it never is for the rulers. Law making for the Bay of Dragons dragged for too long and it make first Jon, then her angry. Freedmen wished to have laws that in many ways would be turning the tables and nothing else, making once slaves privileged over once masters. That would only plant seeds of new conflict in the city and undo all that was accomplished thus far. Nobles of the city, having more of those educated in matter of law making in their ranks, proposed such laws that seemed of being able to deliver justice to all at first glance,  
but after thorough reading it was nothing but more of the same. That irked Targaryen royal couple.  
The more delays it had, more Jon and Dany were annoyed.  
Failure in bringing laws for the kingdom they rule will be noted in the neighboring lands as well.  
"They will see that as first falter in our rule. And that will make them bolder, those that have accepted alliance with us and those that have not. Those most of all. Triarchs of Volantis will be rejoicing should Meereen fail in bringing laws that shall speak of rights and duties of Meereenese." they both concluded. Though proper and well thought, Dany's bringing the priests of main faiths to voice for the freedmen in law making process was not as useful as she expected. 

Rashazna Shiak, high priestess of the Temple of Graces, brought forth good proposals but denied all that came from her R'hllor counterpart, Kinvara, seeing in all proposals made by servant of Lord of Light attempt to put traces of her faith into laws of Meereen and Bay of Dragons.  
High Priestess of Red Temple of Volantis, who now changed Rhoyne for Skahazadhan, was not willing to yield, even for a word.  
And for last sennights she oft uttered the words of warning to both Jon and Daenerys, vague and unclear.  
"It angers me and saddens me both..." she said to her husband as they were refreshing in the water pool on the apex of Great Pyramid  
"... I had impulse to bring lawmakers from Pentos or Qarth or as far as Yi Ti to consult with the freedmen and draw their proposals...  
yet we said that we shall not intervene, leaving people to draw their laws..." "Leave them few sennights more, then we will have  
to cut short this drag and sit them all together." Jon said. His patience for political games was even lesser than hers.  
Though he knew that few things in Bay of Dragons will grow as fast and well as City Guard.

Azzak zo Ghazeen knocked on the door of her solar.  
It was two hours till sun will mark the half of eight and ten day of eight moon of the year.  
She turned her gaze from the map of Dorne. "Enter." Her aide came in the room, bowed and said:  
"Ñuha Dāria, iā rūniapos hen Timpa Vilinion." (_My Queen, a letter from White Harbor_)  
Dany's eyes narrowed: "Issi ao ȳgha? Timpa Vilinion?" (_Are you sure? White Harbor?_)  
"Kessa, ñuha dāria. Ziry gryves nesh hen Manderly Lentor ."  
(_Yes, my queen. It bears the sigil of House Manderly._) he said giving letter to her.  
"Skorkydoso gōntan bisa māstan naejot ao?"(_How did this came to you?_)  
"Pentosi jentys maghatan ziry kesīr..." Azzak answered "...ziry soljagon syt toliot iā hūra naejot Mīrīn."  
(_Pentoshi captain brought it here.. he sailed for over a moon to Meereen_)  
Daenerys nodded before saying: "Mirre paktot. Kostā jikagon, Azzak. Kirimvose." (_All right. You may go, Azzak. Thank you._)

She broke the wax seal on the letter, seal displaying merman of House Manderly, unfolded it and began to read.  
_"To Her Grace, Daenerys of House Targaryen, Queen of the Bay of Dragons,  
us, lords and ladies of the Kingdom of the North, wish that you know how our allegiance with Sansa of House Stark has ended,  
that we have publicly proclaimed how we do not see her fit to be our queen any more.  
To ensure the proper succession on the direwolf throne, on behalf of our houses and all lesser lords sworn to us  
we invite Princess Lyanna of House Targaryen and House Stark, daughter of King Jon of House Targaryen and House Stark,  
granddaughter of Lady Lyanna Stark, to assume her rightful place as Queen in the North.  
In that she will have our whole faith, support, swords and shields.  
North needs Princess Lyanna, daughter of once King in the North, daughter of Mother of Dragons,  
granddaughter of Last Dragon and She-Wolf.  
North wants Princess Lyanna.  
We expect her at White Harbor where she will be greeted as true queen, as Stark of Winterfell.  
With our signatures, we pledge ourselves to her,  
Lord Wyman of House Manderly,  
Lord Larence of House Hornwood,  
Lady Erena of House Glover,  
Lady Jonelle of House Cerwyn,  
Lady Eddara of House Tallhart,  
Lord Ondrew of House Locke._

Daenerys read the letter, once, then once more. And again. And again.  
Next she got up from her chair and stormed out from the solar.  
Azzak was walking down the hallway, aimed for the lower lever of the pyramid, where throne and audience chamber were.  
"Azzak, were you given a letter for His Grace as well?" she asked in Common Tongue.  
"Yes, my queen. That captain gave letter for king Jon to lieutenant Tumco Lho of the Freeflames."  
"Then, king must have read it already." she said. "I trust he is, Your Radiance." Azzak answered.  
"Azzak, I urge you to go to King Jon and tell him to come to the room of Princess Lyanna." Daenerys said.

Next she went to Lyanna's room.  
Her raven-haired daughter was lying on the bed and reading from the book _Account of the War of the Ninepenny Kings _.  
Dany smiled at that, more than anything Lya loved reading about the battles of the old.  
There was a bookshelf on the other side of the room and and she could see titles as _The Edge of the World_, _Kingdoms of the Sky _,  
_The Rogue Prince_... book about life of Prince Daemon Targaryen.  
She was glad to see titles about their family and Valyria, _The Fires of the Freehold_, _Dragonkin_, _Fire and Blood_.  
Lya was never into books as Rhaella still she would enjoy to read, history of wars most of all.  
Dany spotted book about travels of Corlys Velaryon, _The Nine Voyages_. Next to it was a thick one, its covers dark-grey.  
Titled _Winter's Kings, or the Legends and Lineages of the Starks of Winterfell_.

"Muña?" Lyanna's voice came to her. Dany smiled and turned her gaze away from the book:  
"Lya... I was just looking what books do you have."  
"Aunt Arya gifted me that one about the voyages of lord Velaryon."  
"No surprise there..." her mother said "...she gave you this one about Stark history."  
"No, mama. Hallis gave me that one before returning to North with his father. Lord Larence brought it from his own library for me."  
Daenerys frowned: "I did not know that. That was generous of him."  
"You don't like me reading about Starks, Muña?"  
"Lyanna, that is not so. You have one quarter Stark blood and you look like them, same as your father. They are part of you." Dany said.  
Girl nodded: "They are." Lyanna noticed that her mother is troubled with something: "Muña, are you all right?"  
"Oh... I am, Lya... I only wished to tell you that letter came from White Harbor." she said to her raven-haired treasure.  
Lyanna sighed deeply, which surprised Daenerys: "So... it is as I saw it in a dream."  
"Of what did you dream?" Dany asked.  
"Of me... standing before statue of merman." Lya replied, ever so calm.


	68. FIRST OF HER NAME

_White Harbor, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

**WYMAN**

Lord of White Harbor was seated in his heavy wooden chair that was brought from the New Castle to the pier of inner harbor.  
It was early morning of nine and twentieth day of ninth moon of year three-hundred and seventeenth after Aegon's conquest.

This morning fog loomed as far as he could see, it was as he could touch it, shrouding everything in a thick white veil, the light barely managing to pierce the haze. The sounds of birdsong that should have been filling the air around him all seemed to have disappeared, even his footsteps had been swallowed by the greedy beast. A vast blanket of white hung heavy over the city. It covered every building and wall, swallowed everything that was merely few yards away. It crept round Sept of the Snows, around the jetty wall, hid the Seal Gate and all the ships  
in the inner harbor. Outer harbor and ruin of the tower at Seal Rock were as vanished.

He waited. His granddaughter waited. Her husband waited. Their son waited. All the Merman's Court waited, along with those that came from near and far. All waited. Scores of people waited on that pier. People of White Harbor, of Oldcastle, of Ramsgate, people that lived along the banks of White Knife and Broken Branch. And Weeping Water. Some came from as far as Wolfswood and Saltspear.  
Greater and lesser lords, men at arms, smallfolk. All waited. He waited. Time went slow. Slower than ever in his long life.

Sound came from the fog. Weak, but it was there. Then another. And once more. He could not make what it was. Then it sounded again.  
And twice more.Horn. Large horn. Someone was blowing it. Answer came from the city walls, from the Seal Gate. Horn blew three times as well.  
All those gathered at the pier now gazed into the fog, to where the sound came from. 

A shape was emerging from the fog. Dark and blur, but it was coming towards the pier. He narrowed his eyes to see it better.  
Then veil of the fog was torn apart by ship's prow. A figurehead came out first, a snarling wolf. Rest of the vessel followed.  
A carrack with sails displaying the grey head of direwolf. Sigil of House Stark.  
On the main mast there was Stark banner too, yet this one had a white wolf head with eye red as ruby. 

He saw the relief on the faces of people, upon seeing the colors of lords of Winterfell. Wyman nearly smiled himself.  
_Nymeria..._ he saw the name of the ship as it was docking... now he smiled. For the knew what that meant. 

First, after gangplank was lowered some thirty men came ashore, their boots and breeches were grey, knee-cut tunic was black while jerkin  
over it was of dark-grey coated leather with engraved white direwolf on the left chest. They had hooded cloaks, black with red border.  
Weapons of these men were swords and spears, but each had a double-curved bow as well. All were Westerosi by their looks, Wyman noted.  
Next, officers from the ship disembarked, he knew some of them. A Volantene, dressed as nobleman for this occasion, a man from the Reach also in best attire he possessed and a one whose last name was Pyke, dressed wholly in dark-brown.

Then a woman came ashore, dark-haired, her face speaking of resolve.  
She donned leather boots, brown breeches, grey-blue surcoat and brown leather jerkin, followed by belt and scabbard with curved blade.  
Arya Stark.  
She gave a long look around the pier, as she was assessing all present, upon seeing him she made a slight bow, then turned back to the ship and gave an approving nod to someone. Wyman tried to see but he could not. He needed not.

A girl was coming down the gangplank. Girl of dark hair same as Arya, with resolute face and slow pace.  
She was dressed in black leather boots and breeches, white knee-cut tunic with high collar over which she whore black sleeveless overcoat with grey borders. On the tunic, across the chest a sigil was embroidered. Quartered shield that bore Targaryen three-headed dragon and Stark wolf. Around her waist was a black leather belt on which a thin blade hung. Wyman nodded contently, but then his eyes widened.  
Girl halted her pace and turned around, saying something in soft voice.  
In a heartbeat, at her side was a huge beast, a wolf as large as smaller horse, reaching to girl's shoulder.  
A direwolf, of white fur and red eyes, lacking one ear.  
"Gods! That's Ghost! That's Jon Snow's wolf!" he heard Larence Hornwood exclaim.  
He, same as all present were taken aback, looking how girl and huge wolf are coming ashore.

There was silence for a while. All those gathered on the pier looked at the girl and she was looking at them.  
Her escort was behind her, while Arya Stark and Ghost stood by her each side.  
Wyman was about to stand up and walk towards the girl, when man at arms, whose clothes were shabby, but one could tell  
that he bears the sigil of House Forrester, stepped out and drew the sword which made direwolf to bare his teeth.

Man looked at the girl, both his face and his eyes were glowing, then he pointed sword at her and shouted:  
"Stark of Winterfell! The Queen in the North!" Next he bent the knee, holding sword before himself, tip down.  
"The Queen in the North!" yelled another man and knelt. And another. And another.  
Wyman witnessed how scores of men and women, lords, ladies, knights, soldiers, smallfolk are bending the knee before dark haired girl.  
"Stark of Winterfell!" "The Queen in the North!" "The Queen in the North!" filled the inner harbor of only city that Stark kingdom had.

_Meereen, Essos, year 317 After Conquest_

**LYANNA**

Muña and Papa quarreled. Over her. Over letters that came from the grandfather of Hallis' mother and some other lords of the North.  
Letters said that they no longer want Sansa Stark as queen and that they wish her, Lyanna Targaryen to be the queen.

The Queen in the North. It sounded as folly to Lyanna.  
She thought of herself to be no less Stark than she was Targaryen, her bond with Arya was strong, but same as Rhaella had with their Stark aunt. She loved to know all about North and for that she would talk of it with her father and with Arya when she was in Meereen, sometimes for hours.  
Stark and North was part of her, but she was blood of the dragon, born in Essos, who lived here all her life.  
Lya knew of Westeros only from books and other people's stories. And from her dreams. Dreams that were strange during last two moons. She no longer dreamt of battles in thick pine and oak forests.  
That war was over, she knew that well. It was over before Hallis returned home with his father and kinsman of his mother. 

Now, someone was coming to her dreams, a girl, younger than she was. And small. Lya could see her clear.  
Girl had a curly dark hair and green eyes, same as her clothes were. _A strange thing_, Lya thought. Even stranger were things that little girl was saying... _I can't see you, but I know it is you, ._ She would say to the girl: _How can you not see me, you little fool, I am right before you.  
I can see you. Can't you hear me?_ Girl would not answer only repeat few more times: _wolf child... child of east... child of hope..._  
"Of hope? That's a new one..." Lyanna said that morning after she woke up "...of all the people that have gift of dream visions some blind  
and deaf child comes in my dreams." She was more burdened with argument that her parents had after receiving those letters.  
She hid in the throne room where they have quarreled. 

"I will not allow Lyanna to be used in Northern power play... that is what this is, surely you can see that..." father said to Muña.  
"Did you see the signatures below that message, most of great houses in the North have turned on Sansa." she replied.  
"Most, not all. I know those houses better than you. They don't have enough power to remove Sansa should all others rally behind her."  
"What if they do? And Wyman Manderly ousts Sansa from the throne and we have rejected them? You know what that means...  
someone who is not a Stark will sit on the Northern throne. Is that what you want, Jon?"  
Lyanna saw father shaking his head: "You enjoy this, admit it. Nothing would give you greater pleasure than to see Sansa dethroned and your own child as new ruler in the North. A vengeance of Daenerys Targaryen." Mother hissed at him: "Yes, my vengeance. But it was not me who made Sansa to start a war with Free Folk, it was not Daenerys Targaryen who defeated her, it was not Daenerys Targaryen who gathered Northern lords against her. That was all her. And should she fall, I as a mother of children that have right to Northern throne will act.  
If you as their father would not. Lyanna was offered to become the Queen in the North. And she will..."  
Papa looked at her with his eyes wide: "You would send your daughter to the land she knows nothing about only to claim victory  
over woman you loath. Why Lyanna, why not Rhaella? She is all that Lya is."  
"You know damn well why not Rhae. Lya looks as a Stark, same as you do, has a Stark name and was always closer to the ways  
of your family than Rhaella. Lyanna might be happy there and you know that Rhae would not."  
"Might be? That is not good enough. I liked that boy Hallis, but I will not risk my daughter by giving her to a boy half a world away, who might not even like her when he becomes a man. Wyman Manderly wants Lya at White Harbor. Convenient for him and his ambitions,  
to have a Stark heir betrothed to his great-grandson in the eve of what might be civil war in the North.  
Very convenient for him. But, not for my little girl. Not for us."  
"And what about our ambitions, Jon?" Muña asked angrily "Is this generation of Targaryens so weak that we remove ourselves from  
the thrones so that lesser men would rule? I will not have it. You hear me, I will not have it."  
Papa sighed: "It all comes down at this, doesn't it... Daenerys Targaryen again wishing to conquer the world.  
What she could not do with dragon children, now she wants to do with her own flesh and blood."

Lyanna saw how mother slaps him and almost let a painful cry, as she too was slapped.  
"How dare you, Jon, how dare you? What I am doing is to make our children safe, them and their children. Targaryen can only be safe when strong. And that means to hold power. Our children will not hide in exile on under bastard names as we had to. No.  
Our children will be kings and queens. I owe them that much. You, you owe them even more."  
Father embraced Muña and kissed her brow: "We want the same, Dany, but our paths to it differ. You think I would not be happy to have  
my daughter as Queen in the North? There is no better way to honor my mother. We don't need to rush with the response.  
If Wyman wants a Stark Targaryen bride for Hallis, then he better clear the path for her."

Lyanna went to her sister and told her everything. Rhaella was now sad as well.  
"Muña and Papa argue over you being a queen? Instead of that Sansa woman? Have they asked you what do you want?"  
"I don't know what do I want, Rhae. I am girl of twelve namedays."  
"If a throne were waiting for me and a husband, I know what I would do..." Rhaella answered "...I would go. To take my crown."  
"We're too young to rule." Lyanna said.  
"Your namesake from House Mormont was of our age when she died. And younger when she ruled Bear Island." Rhae answered.  
"How do you know... yes, you've read about it..." Lya shrugged "...but you know that it means we would not be living together anymore, Rhae.  
I cant't leave you and Cregan and Little Dany." Rhaella hugged her tightly, tears went down her cheeks:  
"You are my twin sister. My other half. I don't want you to go either. And yet, it would make me so happy to see you on the Stark throne, Lya."  
"What if I don't want that throne, Rhae?"  
"But you do. You are a Targaryen." her twin answered.

**JON**

He looked at that cursed letter for what might have been a hundredth time.  
Or five-hundredth. North was in turmoil.  
A good deal of great houses withdrew their support for Sansa, thus unnaming her as their queen.  
Sansa was named as Queen in the North. Same as he was. She was only Stark remaining in Winterfell, only one remaining in the North.  
Expected to give heirs to House Stark upon finding a suitable king consort.  
She had not done it ever since she was crowned, much to displeasure of Northern lords.  
Jon knew that, he needed not to hear news from the North, he knew how lords there acted.  
And he also knew that Sansa cannot be pressured.  
It was not her being unwed and without a child that brought these actions against her, actions of great houses led by Wyman Manderly,  
oldest and shrewdest of Northern lords. Jon knew why this letter came, offering queenship to his daughter.  
No one would rally behind him, nor behind any other lord that was signed on that letter.  
They needed a Stark to fight a Stark. Lyanna was perfect choice...well... that was what they believed. They believed that little girl that has Stark name and looks, but is a complete stranger to North, will be figure behind which Wyman and other will hide as they march to take the direwolf throne. Jon was disgusted by it. He will not send his girl among those jackals. Daenerys had different notions.  
Mayhaps even plans. She was overjoyed upon receiving letter old Manderly addressed to her.  
Sansa losing her crown, very thought of it made Dany to grin.  
He was divided on the matter. Not for Sansa, more than twelve years have passed since he spoke with her last, in the port of King's Landing before leaving for the Wall again. During his ten years in true north, among the Free Folk, he would hear of her seldom and all he heard  
spoke of her being a good ruler. Things changed when he was already here, in Meereen.  
Word came of Sansa warring against the Free Folk in order to annex the Gift and Hardhome to her kingdom.  
Soon, the Ironborn came to aid the wildlings while Vale gave its lances to Stark queen.  
War lasted for over a year, thousands died, Northern shores were plundered, castles sacked and burned... Sansa lost that war in all but name.  
She gained not any new lands, only acknowledged the right of Free Folk to dwell in the Gift, Gift that was to be no land of no kingdom  
as it was centuries before. That defeat led to discontent of Northern lords who now wanted her to abdicate.  
There was not enough of those lords, half of houses still supported Sansa, albeit small, she had enough support to defend her crown.

He argued with Daenerys of how they should respond to the letters from White Harbor.  
He saw that she would answer to Wyman as he asked, sending Lyanna to the North, to land his little girl knew nothing of.  
When he said to Dany that her desire of vengeance on Sansa was clouding her judgement even at cost of bringing their daughter in peril,  
she countered by asking if he was worried for Lyanna or in truth trying to help Sansa to keep the throne.  
Jon saw that his wife is not acting with whole reason and calmly when it comes to his sister-cousin.  
A stranger, in truth. Queen in the North was a stranger to him now.  
They agreed to wait. Even a whole moon if needed. He wanted to see how things in the North will go further, will this discontent of great houses last or will they make peace with Sansa in the end, reaffirming their allegiance to her. That was great risk for all those who signed to letter. Sansa was taught the game of thrones in the south, in Red Keep, by Cersei Lannister and Petyr Baelish and Olenna Tyrell.  
She was hostage of all of them and survived all of them.  
She would have all those ladies and lords removed from her path sooner or later, no matter how many times would they bend the knee to her. 

He always found peace with his babe twins.  
Daenysanne fell asleep in his arms. Jon’s third daughter was soon to be eight moons old, she tried to make first steps already and she babbled  
a lot. That was enough to light even his darkest day, his babe girl and her smile. Jon wondered will Little Dany be more as Rhaella or as Lyanna.  
Girl had silver hair of dragon and grey eyes of direwolf family. Her brother had his mother’s eyes and his dark curls. Cregan. Heir of his house.  
Both were fruits of reconciliation and love between two last Targaryens. 

_A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing,_ words of maester Aemon came to his mind.  
_There is six of us now, uncle… _Jon thought_…a family renewed, family with future and hopefully family that will never again give proof for that saying about coin that lands one way or the other. Family that will not guard the purity of blood by bedding and wedding brothers and sisters.  
And with that invite the madness in generations to come._  
Notion that Targaryens of old would saw fit for Cregan to marry Daenysanne and arranged it already at this age disgusted him.  
Daenerys was his aunt, yet she was his age and he fell in love with her before learning of their relation. For a while, he was struggling with his feelings for her, knowing that she was close kin but not that close for them to be committing sin before the old gods and the new.  
Being older than her Jon never could see Daenerys as his aunt. Nor did she ever show will to be one.  
_Mayhaps she would be kinder aunt than she is wife_, every time he thought of that smile came to his face.  
Last dispute between them made him think of it again.

Ten days upon receiving the letters for King and Queen of Bay of Dragons, Braavosi ship came to the port, bringing Ser Marlon Manderly  
to Meereen again as messenger of Houses Manderly and Hornwood. He brought grim news.  
Six days after Wyman Manderly sent letters to Meereen, Winterfell was taken by men of House Karstark whose leader, named Elric,  
held Sansa as his captive, demanding of her to proclaim her abdication and him as heir to the crown.  
Karstark sunburst waved over Stark castle for nine days when some five thousand men sent by King Bran came to Winterfell.  
Ships brought them as far as mouth of Fever river into Saltspear from where they marched up the Kingsroad,  
across the land of Houses Dustin and Cerwyn, none of which tried to halt their advance.  
Host of five thousand was more than any northern house could muster alone and only greatest lords combined could reach that number.  
Southern army did not make Elric Karstark to yield nor his troops to abandon Winterfell.  
Commander of that army made parlay with both Sansa and Elric and on folowing day, head of House Karstark was proclaimed  
Lord Protector of Kingdom of the North with Sansa remaining the Queen.  
Was that a wish of King Bran or an arrangement made in Winterfell that day, no one could tell.  
Upon receiving the word of it, House Woolfield withdrew their _aye_ for Sansa and declared for Lyanna of House Targaryen.  
House Reed declared for Lyanna as well while House Dustin and Flint's Finger albeit against the queen, aligned with Elric Karstark.  
Ryswells remained loyal to Sansa while mountain clans sent word to White Harbor that they give their axes to the daughter of White Wolf.

"Your Graces, North needs you now. North needs Princess Lyanna. We need a Stark to lead us, a true Stark. Not one who is either prisoner in own home or agreed to terms of southern king and his army." Marlon pleaded to Jon and Daenerys. Jon felt eyes of his wife on him.  
"What shall I report to my lord Wyman, Your Grace?" knight of White Harbor asked.  
"Nothing, Ser Marlon. You will report nothing..." King of Meereen said in stern voice  
"...nothing save that Princess Lyanna of House Targaryen and House Stark will come to White Harbor before next moon is over."

_White Harbor, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

**ARYA**

She was staying at Storm's End for moon and a half when message came for her, from Meereen.  
From Meereen by Driftmark, from where a small sail ship brought it.  
Arya noticed the very first week how news or words from what was now known as Bay of Dragons come to lord Gendry Baratheon using ships from island of House Velaryon. She did not ask how and why is that. Message that came left her in wonder. It was Jon.  
Telling her that his twelve years old daughter, Lyanna, was offered the crown of Kingdom of the North and that she will take it now when usurpers sit in Winterfell. Jon asked of Arya to bring her ship, _Nymeria_ to Braavos.  
From there she will ferry Lyanna to White Harbor on a ship that has Stark sails and flies Stark banner.  
"What will you do?" Gendry asked. He did not want for Arya to leave. For over a moon now they enjoyed each other's company.  
He felt as he had Lady of Storm's End and Arya had no issue with it.  
She loved being his lady, but nowhere near all those wives of Stormlords that were coming to Baratheon holdfast.  
She was world apart from them. Arya knew Gendry was in need of her.  
Not only as friend and lover, but as adviser. Thus far he managed to stay out of the war with Dorne.  
He did gather and send five thousand men to guard the northern end of Boneway pass and contributed the royal fleet with forty ships and boats.  
Still, no man from Stormlands crossed swords with Dornish. Gendry hoped to keep it that way.  
All his efforts were aimed towards trade with Myr which kept the threat of hunger away from his lands, thus far at least.  
"I will do what my brother asks. They are my family and now a girl I've saved from some Braavosi ruffians in Qarth two years ago is coming to take the Northern crown. My place is with her." Arya said. "What of your sister Sansa?" he asked.  
"I will make no action against her, but as it seems she is queen in name only. I fear her reign is already over." Arya answered.  
"And this little girl, is she able to rule whole North?" was his next question.  
"She is as wild as I was when of her age and twice as clever, what does this tell you?"  
"If so, the North is safe..." he smiled before kissing her "...I hope it will be all over soon. I don't want to be without you for many moons."  
"It will not last that long." Arya told him. "I think you'll put that girl on the direwolf throne yourself."  
"If need be, yet I am certain Lyanna will take it all by herself." 

She was reunited with her _wolf child_, her mother and father three weeks later on the shore of Braavosian Coastlands.  
Before that, as Jon's message said, she went to Pentos to embark two scores of Meereenese guardsmen and Freeflames though all the men that came aboard were Westerosi. Mostly once Golden Company, now fiercely loyal to Targaryens of Meereen.  
_Drogon is near, soaring in the sky or resting somewhere in the hills..._she thought when she saw Lyanna with her parents standing on the shore. Then, Arya's face lit. She saw a large wolf pacing around the girl...  
Ghost was now twenty years old, but still impressive animal. Those red eyes glowed.  
_They must have flown Drogon to the Antler River once more, they have found Ghost and now Lyanna will come to the North _  
_with white direwolf of her father. Clever... people will see little girl looking like Lyanna Stark with living sigil of House Stark at her side. _  
_It would be no wonder if that was her mother's idea... _

"I am afraid, Arya..." her raven-haired niece said as they walked side by side along the deck of _Nymeria_.  
"Good. That means you're no fool..." Arya told her "...and you are no fool, sweet niece. I saw strength in you that day in Qarth.  
You have it. And you have wisdom."  
"I am still only a..." Lya began but Arya cut her off: "...You are not anything _only_, you are a dragonwolf, heir to the Northern throne.  
You are coming for what is yours. And I, Arya of Winterfell will be with you every step of that way. I swear it by old gods and the new."  
Lyanna embraced her, girl's eyes watered: "I love you, Arya." "And I love you, wolf child..."

"I wish that two of you tell me what is your plan..." she said to Jon and Daenerys as they were sitting in her cabin  
"...you're sending your daughter in the chaos Sansa caused. Is that wise?"  
"I gave this a lot of thought, Arya, and it is still wiser than to let North be ruined by that Karstark man and others like him." Jon said.  
"Winterfell is once more taken from House Stark. Lyanna will take it back." Daenerys' words were stern.  
"Lyanna or those that will use her as battle cry?" Arya asked.  
"Those men will be fighting for her. When Winterfell is retaken, she can choose to stay in the North or go back to Meereen  
till she is woman grown." Jon told her. "Till then who will rule in her stead?" she asked.  
"A proper regent, who is honest and true. Larence Hornwood. Father of Lya's mayhaps husband." Daenerys replied.  
"With our help and overseeing." Jon added. "I see you've thought of everything..." Arya smirked "...I truly hope it will be as that."

It was evening of the day when Lyanna Stark Targaryen landed in White Harbor. Merman’s Court was crowded with people,  
all the Northern houses that have declared for young daughter of their once king were represented.  
Them and their bannermen, lesser lords and their men at arms.  
Manderly, Hornwood, Glover, Cerwyn, Tallhart, Woolfield, Reed, Forrester, Condon, Ironsmith, Wull... 

Lyanna was still dressed in same garments as she was in the morning.  
Only difference was that her hair was now fashioned in single braid, as it was custom in the North.  
To her right sat Jon and Arya, to her left was Wyman Manderly as their host, then lord Larence and young lord Hallis Hornwood..  
Hall echoed with loud comments, laughter, even few curses.  
Lord of White Harbor made sure that there was enough of wine, mead and meat on the tables.  
Daenerys did not go with them, she was not of the North and even after all those years she wished not to see Northerners.  
She flew away on Drogon, before ship reached White Harbor.  
Yet, Arya knew that she was close and that she will not be absent that day when her daughter rides in Winterfell victorious. 

Arya's gaze was on Lyanna almost all the time. She smiled to every lord that came to greet her.  
Arya could tell her niece is not troubled by this assembly of unknown men and women on the other side of the world.  
Girls eyes oft fleeted to Hallis Hornwood who would give all he had and twice over for a chance to sit next to Lyanna.  
That amused Arya and then a wish came to her mind, wish that her niece four or five years from that night would be as happy  
with that boy as she was with Gendry Baratheon. A little girl lost in western quay of Qarth was growing into a fair maid and a queen.  
The Queen. 

“My lords, my ladies, on behalf of House Manderly I greet you all at Merman's Court...” voice of lord Wyman thundered across the hall  
"...this night I have honor and privilege to host our young queen, Her Grace Lyanna of House Targaryen and House Stark,  
daughter of King Jon of House Targaryen and House Stark, granddaughter of Lyanna Stark, the she-wolf of Winterfell.  
To greet a Queen we chose. A true heir of direwolf throne. Long may she reign!" "Long may she reign!" dozens of voices answered.  
Wyman then turned to Lyanna and asked her loudly: "Your Grace, would you like to say a few words?"  
Hall went silent that same moment, Arya frowned at fat old man.  
Yet, her niece got up and walked around the table in slow dignified pace. She was now standing where all present could see her.  


"Lords and ladies of Kingdom of the North, I am Lyanna Stark Targaryen, daughter of Jon and Daenerys, granddaughter of Rhaegar and Lyanna.  
I know that I don't sound as you, for I speak Common Tongue as my mother does, not as it is spoken in the North..."

An approving laughter was heard over the hall.

"Yet, if not accent I have inherited many other traits from my father, His Grace, King Jon of the Bay of Dragons and once King in the North.  
I look as my father, but that is plain to all who have eyes. Same as him I detest lies and falsehood. And broken oaths.  
Same as him I am true to my word. And this night I offer you these words: should you place your swords and spears and arrows to my command,  
I swear before all of you, before old gods and the new, that I will grant mercy to our weak, help to our helpless, and justice to all.  
And I shall never fail you! 

Hall was silent for a short while, all those sitting at the tables beneath the dais were now looking at the dark-haired twelve year old girl.  
Arya could tell they were taken aback with her words, same as she was. Then, those on the far side of the hall began to clap their hands and cheer: "Queen Lyanna! Wolf and dragon!" "Wolf and dragon!" "Wolf and dragon!" "Queen in the North!"

As she went back to her seat, Arya gently grabbed her arm: "That was some speech, Your Grace."  
"Thank you, Rhae and I were preparing it for three days..." she replied with honest smile.  
Arya laughed and went back to her meal as Merman's Court was still sounding with approval for her niece.  
After a while two women came to dais, one was older, she could be of same age as Arya, other was little girl, not more than ten namedays.  
Both had dark curly hair, green eyes and their garments were marked with greenish tones.  
Arya could hear old Wyman presenting them to Lyanna:  
"My queen, allow me to present you Lady Meera Reed of Greywater Watch and her daughter, lady Jojena."  
Her niece first nodded, than shook hands with lady of House Reed, then her eyes widened as he looked upon little girl.  
"Have we met before, my lady?" Lyanna asked.  
"Indeed we have, but only in your dreams... wolf child." 


	69. SANSA

_Winterfell, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

**SANSA**

Two moons have passed since she has called the council of Northern houses. Her council. On which she was betrayed. More than once.  
Only a fool would not see that Elric Karstark and Erena Glover were acting in accordance. Jonelle Cerwyn and Eddara Tallhart have joined them.  
That too was plain. And some other, lesser lords from their lands. They all have accused her of losing heart before wildlings and Ironborn,  
of ending the war when victory still could be achieved, of not being fit to wear the Northern crown.  
Beren Tallhart, her loyal aide, would have no issue of calling in the guards to remove the insolent three ladies and lord of Karhold,  
a jackal who lusted the direwolf throne for years now. She was smarter than that. She called all present, great houses and small to cast a vote.  
Each one to speak loud and clear how he or she sees Sansa Stark, the Queen in the North. And they did.  
Half of them remained faithful to her. Other half said openly that they do not want her on the throne any longer.  
Lady of House Reed, one that accompanied her brother from north of the Wall abstained from vote.  
It was a draw. In truth it was her victory as four great houses could not persuade rest of the North, save lesser lords  
that were sworn to them, to remove her. She was pleased at that moment._Those four brigands will not remove me from the throne…_  
She would remove them as leaders of their houses. That would be her task beginning the very next day after the Queen’s Council.

Then came another, more devised and fouler betrayal, cleverly wrapped in concern for strong and sound rule, concern for line of succession.  
Hornwoods, those she gave Bolton lands to and legitimised their male heir, joined with sly Wyman Manderly and openly, before  
all Northern lords and ladies, set terms under which two houses will support her as queen or those who wanted her gone.  
To keep the support of White Harbor and Hornwood Castle she should declare Lyanna Targaryen as heir to Northern crown.  
_Lyanna Targaryen… Princess of House Stark as traitors from White Harbor called her. A twelve-year-old girl… if I count years well.  
Stark only by her father’s mother, all rest is dragon. All rest is Mad King. All rest is Mad Queen.  
Girl born out of kinfolk bedding, daughter of Aerys, Second of his name, bedded grandson of same man.  
Girl was fruit of nephew and aunt fuckery…_

Sansa seldom used profane words, but very thought that daughter of Daenerys Targaryen is proposed as next in Stark succession line  
disgusted her. _She and her father have same grandmother…_ that notion even made her laugh _ Her father, my long-lost brother…  
he returned to her after ten years, after he has done most heroic deed of his life. After he killed the fire tyrant.  
Yes, Arya killed the Night King who wished to cover the world with ice. Mad Queen wished to cover the world with ash.  
Of all those that shared not her visions of new world, world that in her mad dragon head was good.  
Jon killed her. He same as Arya has saved the world. _

She was mad at Arya ever since she learned that it was her who helped Jon to find Daenerys and their children.  
Their bastards… she had them outside of wedlock. _How does one call bastard between two Targaryens? Blackfyre?  
No, that is not how that now extinct line came to be… Lyanna Snow?  
Surely girl was conceived here, in the North when they have journeyed here with her armies or mayhaps in bedchambers of Winterfell…  
yet girl was born in the east… pity they don’t have names for bastards there. Lyanna Horse for the Dothraki.  
Lyanna Harpy for Meereen…or beter yet Lyanna Pyramid. _

Such musings were lifting her spirit, somewhat at least. In days following the Queen’s Council she has sent ravens to all ten and five houses  
that have voted for her and to the House Reed which she called to keep upholding vows their ancestors have given to Starks of Winterfell.  
House Ryswell was with her which she saw as chance to sway Dustins of Barrow Hall back to her fold.  
That would put Torrhen’s Square and Castle Cerwyn between Winterfell and loyal holdfasts.  
Sansa planned on dealing with Jonelle fist, then Eddara. She already had Beren as proper replacement for that treacherous cousin of his.  
She was pleased to have Woolfields and Flints of Widow’s Watch on her side as well.  
_When three weasels are dealt with, I shall give my whole attention to the jackal in Karhold, _ she said to Beren and Beth Cassel.

Word came to her of a meeting at Cerwyn’s keep where old Wyman and his puppet, the ingrate Larence Hornwood  
have met with _three weasels_ and persuaded them to declare for dragonspawn from the east.  
Sansa had her spies and informants in all castles of great lords. A lesson learned in her youth.  
Even at White Harbor from where she has learned that Wyman wrote to Meereen asking from Daenerys Targaryen to bring the girl to the North where she will be declared as queen. Sansa already knew of Wyman’s plan to marry Wyla’s boy to that girl who as Arya told her had Stark looks  
and was given Stark name. _Dragonspawn will never sit on direwolf throne. Never._

While she thought of dragons, jackal came. Five days upon she learned how Wyman Manderly is forming an alliance of great houses that support the ascension of Mad Queen’s daughter as ruler of Kingdom of the North, Elric Karstark came with force of some seven hundred men.  
As there still were men from lesser houses sworn to Karhold in the ranks of Winterfell garrison, gates of Winterfell have opened in the night  
and Elric rode in unopposed. Morning of next day witnessed the sunburst banner fluttering high over castle of House Stark. 

“Should I bend the knee to you now, my lord?” she asked him as he limped into her chamber. Elric grinned:  
“We have been bending each other in many ways, my queen, even in this very room. Part of me still misses those days…”  
“Your performance was not that impressive for me, my lord.” she replied dryly.  
“Two mad fuckers and one dwarf are hardly something to compare true men with, Your Grace.” he replied.  
Sansa looked at him, there was lust in his eyes:  
“I’ve been raped before. You scare me not. I’ll even disrobe myself for you, do your thing quick as you always have and be gone.”  
He sighed before saying: “I would never rape you, Sansa. Never. You are still queen and a lady of Winterfell. I don’t hate you,  
no matter what you think of me. I only see you for what you are. A woman, weak and wavering, unfit to rule when hard times fall upon you.  
This war you’ve lost has proven it.”  
“So, you have come here with hundreds of mounted men from Karhold to see that a better ruler takes North, you… King Elric of House Karstark.”  
“I will not declare myself as king, Sansa.” he said firmly.  
“What do you want then?” she asked, being more and more annoyed.  
“We have common interest and common enemies.”  
Her eyes had a glint now: “Are you so deprived of any shame? Or wit? You’re my enemy.  
To speak of common interest is either stupidity or insolence. Next thing you will propose me again.”  
“I will not. I don’t think that would be a happy marriage, two of us…”  
Sansa slapped him so hard that his head veered to the side. He laughed.  
“And with this you’ve proved my words… No, my queen, I wish not to be your king anymore. Yet, you should declare me as Lord Regent.”  
She laughed even more: “Lord Regent?! Am I a child queen now? Or inept to rule?  
Have they educated you so poorly in Karhold that you do not know when regency takes place…”

He frowned: “Then you, being so educated, answer me how a queen who was nearly ousted from the throne can continue ruling same as before? Half of the kingdom is against you and most of those which make that half wish to bring another queen instead of you. Some girl from Essos, that your bastard brother sired with Dragon Queen. Should you name me Lord Regent, I will bring those three bitches from Deepwood Motte, Torrhen’s Square and Cerwyn in chains within a sennight. And then, mine and your men combined will deal with that old fuck Wyman Manderly.”  
Sansa grinned at him: “Oh, poor Elric, you truly take me for a fool. Yes, having all you have mentioned chained in dungeons beneath this castle would give me no greater joy, but what then? Would you thank me for my trust in you and step down as Lord Regent? Of course not. First, you would find some weaklings to take the lead of all houses you have mentioned and then on the very next Queen’s Council both them and those loyal to me would cheer you as one who has saved the crown. Then you would demand of me to declare you my heir or you would have another vote, one that would make you King in the North. All legally, all with legitimacy. Well, that is not happening.”  
His face darkened, she saw through his scheme with ease:  
“Very well. I have offered you a truce. You have declined it.”  
“Am I your prisoner, lord Karstark?” she asked.  
“You may consider yourself confined in your quarters. You may have your handmaidens and other laides of the court present.  
You’re to receive no one else.” Elric said.  
“Are you not aware that word of Karstark host descending upon Winterfell will go around whole North, marking you as traitor,  
same as some Karstarks before you were… you do follow in footsteps of your kinsmen.”  
“That word was sent by me, with first daylight. Ravens flew to all castles loyal to you informing them that Karhold answered  
to the call of the Queen, strengthening the defenses of Winterfell before traitors.”  
Sansa shook her head: “Only a halfwit would believe that.”  
“Well, then your kingdom is full of halfwits, Your Grace.” he grinned.

Sansa watched the Karstark banner defiling her walls for eight days.  
Even from her chamber window she could see the distress in the courtyard.  
Men wearing sunburst sigil were coming and going, some rushing to the walls, then descending from it again.  
She even caught a glimpse of Elric speaking to his officers. Even that short gaze told her of him being unease.  
Beth Cassel came to her later that day with rumors she heard from some Karhold men whose trust she gained with few smiles…  
a large host was coming from the south, by Kingsroad, host that was not Northern.  
Once before in her life Sansa watched a large host coming from the south.  
_Is daughter coming to end what mother could not? _  
Images of young Targaryen girl riding ahead of an army came to her mind.  
And of dragon roaring as he passes overhead. 

On the morrow of ninth day, horns were first to sound the arrival of that host.  
Sansa could saw them from her window. It was nowhere near as large as one that Dragon Queen brought with her twelve years ago.  
Yet had more men at arms than North had now.  
Many folds more than Elric had at Winterfell.  
Thousands were coming up the Kingsroad.  
And what make her heart beat faster, they marched beneath the banner of King Bran and the banner of House Stark. 

People of Winter Town cheered as they marched through East Gate, though a southern army, these men were more welcome than Karstarks.  
North indeed remembers and even with Alys Karstark dying here as she fought to defend Bran Stark from the wights,  
her death ending that line of Karstark family, deeds of Rickard Karstark and Harald Karstark were not forgotten.

“Your Grace, you are to receive the commander of royal host of Six Kingdoms in the Great Hall…”  
Beren Tallhart came to her chamber the next day, excited.  
He was not allowed near the queen same as any other man of Sansa’s household.  
“Who is their commander?” she asked.  
“Ser Culler Tarwick, Your Grace. He fought for you in the War for the New North. Then he fought for King Bran in Dorne.”  
“You may inform Ser Culler that I shall receive him within an hour.” 

Sansa donned attire nearly the same as wore when she assumed the throne. A dark grey, floor-length dress with sleeves stitched with weirwood leaves on one arm and fish scales on another, honoring her mother’s house. She placed a metal breast plate, ornate with weirwood branches,  
over the dress. Northern crown, a ring shaped as two howling direwolves adorned her head. 

Ser Culler Tarwick found her seated on the throne of Kingdom of the North, a direwolf throne as was oft called.  
It was a royal seat made of ironwood, of black, hard wood that could be found in wolfswood and in forests beyond the Wall.  
Throne was ornate with direwolf heads and fur.

“Your Grace…” he said before kneeling down.  
“Raise, Ser Culler.” she gestured him, then said: “I was not expecting to have a host of Six Kingdoms at my gates, Ser.”  
“I would not call men under my command a host, Your Grace. True host of Six Kingdoms wars in Dorne, quenching the rebellion.  
As King Bran became aware of rebellion against you, he ordered me to take over five thousand men North.”  
“As what, Ser?” she asked. “As aid to the lawful queen.” knight answered.  
“I see. As much as I can appreciate such action of King Bran, moreover as I have not asked of it, coming of thousands of southern troops  
here will not fall well with some Northerners. It will appear that my brother is saving my queenship.”  
“King Bran as I was instructed by Lord Hand, Tyrion Lannister wishes only to ensure the peace on our northern border as we already have open rebellion of Dorne and Iron Islands. And, if you allow me to add, while warring with the wildlings, I as Southron have bled with men of the North. They should not scorn us now.” Culler told her.  
“Where have you fought, Ser?” queen asked.  
“Last River, Battle of the Brandon’s Gift, Eastwatch Forest… a victory, a defeat and a draw as I call it.”  
“Was there a chance for victory in the war, Ser?”  
“It was, my lady, but your commanders allowed the wildlings to fight them on their terms. Terms that took away the advantage of heavy horse and proper warfare. Now, far in the south, Dornish are doing the same. Not offering a true battle, but slashing and bleeding you slowly.”  
She nodded: “What were you hoping for had that victory happened?”  
“I hoped to keep my head on my shoulders, Your Grace.”  
Sansa smiled: “As any peasant with a spear. Yet, you being of noble birth… surely you strived for more…”  
“I am of the Reach, Your Grace, knight of the Reach strives to have a keep of his own and some land to call his own.” Culler answered.  
“Well, Ser Culler, you have already bloodied your sword for North. You may do it again and this time I assure you, there will be a good choice  
of castles and lands for men loyal to one true Queen in the North. There are two rebel houses not far from Winterfell that I intend  
to strip of titles and lands when their rebellion is quenched. Serve me well, Ser, and I shall reward you. Abundantly.”

He remained silent for a heartbeat.  
“Something troubles you?” she asked.  
“Lord Karstark.” Culler said.  
“What of him? He should be in chains already.”  
“Your Grace, of all your lords he has the largest host.”  
“I trust that Wyman Manderly commands with more men, but even if Karhold does have most men at arms, he remains traitor.  
He took this castle by trickery.” “And shed no blood while at it.”  
“Since when are bloodless treasons awarded by traitor suffering no consequence, Ser?”  
“Your Grace, I receive ravens from the Red Keep in orderly manner. A bird flies from south every day. With messages and orders.  
King Bran and lord Tyrion are well aware how divided Northern houses are.  
To them it is of utmost importance to keep those that do not wish your niece as queen…”  
She cut him off: “She is not my niece, Ser Culler! Only sired by a man who once was my brother.”  
He nodded: “…to keep those who don’t want your brother’s daughter as one fold, no matter are such loyal to you or bonded with lord Elric.  
For that, both King and Hand recommend concessions to be made.”  
“I could be forgiven for thinking that both Bran and Tyrion consider me a queen who needs tutelage in ruling.”  
“I cannot speak for them, only convey their opinion on the matter.”  
“And what matter is that, Ser Culler?” queen asked, her patience spent.  
“Lord Elric asked of you to proclaim him Lord Regent. He told me of it yesterday.  
Of course, such request with queen being a grown woman of whole sanity is unacceptable to you same as it is for Six Kingdoms.”  
“Well, that is unfortunate. He wishes regency and I have no intention to give it to him. An impasse has been reached.”  
“Not necessarily, Your Grace. Red Keep suggests of naming him Lord Protector.”  
“Is this a jape? A man who stormed the royal castle is to be named Lord Protector of Kingdom of the North… ”

“Your Grace, it is no jape. Once the threat of rebellion against you is removed, then you will have support of Red Keep against Karhold.  
And mine. As you have told me, North can offer a lot to a man who is loyal." Culler said.  
"What will lords loyal to me think of their queen when they hear that she named her enemy Lord Protector..." Sansa said dryly.  
"Indeed, he is your enemy and King Bran sees him as such, but also he sees him as lesser enemy than those who would bring  
a foreign queen on your throne."  
"You may report to your king and his Hand that I will call all those houses which support me as their ruler against traitors and conspirators.  
If I have to suffer lord of Karhold in order to achieve that... well, I have suffered far worse in my life, Ser Culler."

In following days, Sansa sent ravens to all castles that have shown loyalty to her during vote at the Queen's Council and those who did not,  
but still have not declared for Mad Queen's daughter. Upon learning that Elric Karstark was named Lord Protector,  
House Woolfield turned the coat and joined with Manderlys. Flints of Widow's Watch confirmed their loyalty to her, same as House Ryswell.  
House Dustin and Flints of Flint's Finger sent word very same day raven came from Winterfell.  
Their response was that they stand by Queen in the North and Lord Protector against conspiracy led by House Manderly.  
Figures have been placed, a game of cyvasse could begin.


	70. DRAGON DAUGHTERS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear all,  
thank you for reading my story for which I have never hoped to reach this many chapters.  
Thank you for all your kudos, bookmarks and comments.
> 
> Back in late May, I wrote the first chapter with Arya Stark meeting Jon's kids.  
As a short story. That was original intention.  
A glimpse of future for Jon and Dany ten years after the finale of the TV show.  
Well, that future asked for more and here we are. At Chapter 70. About Jon's kids.
> 
> I wish you all Merry Christmas and Happy New Year 2020!
> 
> Next chapter will follow after holidays, in first week of January.

**DRAGON DAUGHTERS**

_Meereen, Essos, year 317 After Conquest_

Rhaella was doing her arithmetic for tomorrow’s lesson.  
She insisted that Mallaro Deeth gave her such tasks that are worthy of novice at the Citadel.  
Most of her hours after noon would be spent solving them, oft night would find her battling with numbers and formulas.  
Muña was not pleased with her troubling that much over arithmetic or anything else, but Rhaella was stubborn and persistent.  
After learning, she would take her Dothraki bow or goldenheart longbow and shoot the straw men placed on the uppermost floor  
of the Great Pyramid to clear her mind and strengthen her arms.

Archery and arithmetic… her favorite pastime. Though she liked history and geography of the Known Worlds, stories and songs from every land she knew of and lore. She liked lore. Dragonlore most of all, but also lore of House Stark and Kings of Winter. And giants and Free Folk.  
She went beyond the Wall. Before eleventh nameday. _What girl in Westeros of her age can say that about herself…_

It was third day since Papa, Muña and Lyanna flew off on Drogon to White Harbor.  
In truth, to coastlands near Braavos from where aunt Arya will take Lya to the city of lord Manderly whose granddaughter was mother of Hallis.  
She could not think of him without smiling how she caught him naked in the mud of Skahazadhan. _Goodhearted and bit clumsy around girls_, she thought of young lord Hornwood. She befriended him right away, not like Lyanna, it took some time for her sister to come to terms with Hallis who believed that Northern cause in the war with Free Folk is just. Later she could tell that Hallis looks at Lyanna with that funny glow in the eyes. Rhaella find that very amusing, while Lya was angry at first.  
Now she was across the Narrow Sea with Hallis who could become her husband.  
Even at age of twelve, she knew that it was expected of her to find a suitable husband and to give heirs to House Targaryen, to be proper lady and princess. All that when she is woman grown, not now, now she will do her arithmetic tasks and place arrows in men made of straw.  
And learn as much as she can of many things of this world. _Grandpapa Rhaegar would be proud of you_, her mother once told her. 

Azzak zo Ghazeen came to the terrace as she was unstringing the longbow.  
“Princess Rhaella…” he addressed her with utmost respect.  
“Lord Azzak, you’re still working? Sun will soon set…”  
“I am Queen’s aide, my job is from sunrise to sunset.” he replied.  
“My royal mother is not in Meereen, lord Azzak, you should rest more while she is away. Don’t you visit your family?” Rhaella told him politely.  
“I went to them eight days ago.” “And you will go tomorrow, my lord.” she said smiling.  
“I cannot leave… there is a lot…” “It is my wish for you to go, surely you will not decline your Princess.”  
“Then it will be as Princess wishes.” he bowed.  
“Good. But, there is something else you would like to talk of...”  
“Princess, as you know, overmorrow is day when King or Queen receive petitioners.  
As Their Raidances are not in Meereen, we will have to send away all who would come.” Azzak explained.  
“That is not wise, Azzak, some travel as far as Astapor to lay out their troubles before their monarchs, it will anger them should they be sent away.” “I know, but Queen Daenerys is not here. Nor is King Jon…” 

She smiled at him: “But, Princess Rhaella is.”  
His eyes widened and his eyebrows were lifted, then he nodded:  
“I will arrange everything for your audience with the petitioners.”  
“Please do so, my lord. You will stand at my side two days from today.” 

She entered the throne room and climbed the stairs that led to the throne of Bay of Dragons.  
Her mother had it made, six and ten years ago, after she threw out the wooden harpy throne that was later used as fire wood.  
Daenerys chose plain stone bench to serve as throne of Meereen.  
Rhaella sat on it and looked down as she was now towering over the floor of the audience chamber.  
Today she wore black ankle-cut dress with high neckline whose sleeves were made to mimic the dragon scales.  
Around her waist she tied a red sash. Necklace with pendant in shape of Targaryen three-headed dragon adorned her neck.  
Her silver hair was fashioned in two braids that fell over shoulders.

Azzak came quarter of an hour later with list of petitioners.  
“How many, lord Azzak?” she asked.  
“Five and thirty, yet it is only four hours till midday, Princess.”  
“Mother told me of days when she had to receive hundreds.”  
“Those were more difficult days…” he said.  
“Days are not difficult, Azzak, men are...” Rhaella smiled.

“Ñuha Dārilaros… I stand before you as man robbed of his right to earn for living, to put food in my belly and those of my children and clothes on my and their backs…” Ikaz zo Mahza lamented with hands gesturing to picture his troubles even more “…what this man and his lot have done is next to thievery. And that should be punished accordingly. By the laws of our great city.”

Ikaz was man who passed his fiftieth nameday, she learned from Azzak, indeed he had four small children with his third wife.  
He descended from one of lesser slaver families, those that if not dealing carefully with their coffers and possessions could easily end up wearing a collar themselves. In old Meereen, before dragon came and broke the harpy. Azzak left him to be the last petitioner of that day.

He now owned a stable for horses and camels in Rhazdar quarter, about a mile from _Purple Lotus_, a known winesink close to spice market.  
Caravans coming to that market had few choices but to put their pack animals in Ikaz’s stable. He, knowing that closest stable was in Barsena quarter, one where pyramid of Merreq stood, nearly three miles away made his services to caravan merchants pricey, compared to western part of the city where port was.

As nearly every merchant who came to the spice market was bringing at least three camels or half a dozen mules or horses, Izak’s prices were not something they would look agreeably on. Their complaining about it reached ears of their associates at the spice market and they tried to find other stables in the quarter. That was only possible if stables of citizens were used which took place after spice market and merchants reached agreement with over dozen Meereenese families in Rhazdar quarter that owned stable or could turn part of their houses into one.  
Izak paid no heed to it at first, but as dozen quickly grew to over thirty and his stables were now only half filled with mules and camels  
coming from the west, from Tolos by Valyrian road or from the east, from Lhazosh or Kosrak.  
It did not take him long to learn who is undermining his affairs and earnings.

Mazlos Olu was one of those citizens who after only two sennights of lending his own stable to caravan merchants got enough silver coins  
to buy two more smaller stables in neighboring streets, stables in which their owners till then held goats or even pigs.  
After only moon and a half, Mazlos had five places where horses, mules or camels could be put and dozen men who worked with him.  
Ikaz was angered, moreover with notion that Mazlos was once slave, a stable boy of House Rhazdar.  
Though he felt whip on his back more oft than some stallions he was charged to tend, he learned the job well.  
Now he was his own master and his affairs thrived.

Ikaz decided to put an end to that.  
With Mazlos removed as competitor, all others will think twice before taking horse or a mule from a merchant in their stables.  
He came to Great Pyramid hoping to persuade king or queen to forbade citizens of Rhazdar quarter to lend their stables. 

Much to his surprise, he found a girl sitting on the throne.

“If I have understood you well, Ikaz zo Mahza, your grievance with Mazlos Olu is that him having more work means less work for you. That is not thievery. That is Mazlos being either more fortunate or more skilled in what he does.” 

Ikaz slightly shook his head: “It is not so, Princess. He offers the same services as I do for half a price. I offer proper stables for pack animals, good food and clean water and skilled stable hands. That comes at a price as it is natural. He offers once pig stays for camels with water yellow as piss and he feeds horses with hay that pigs rolled in merely days before. To demand payment for that is insulting one’s good senses.” 

“And yet, my Princess, merchants are more willing to come to my _pig stays_ to water and feed their stallions with piss and rotting hay than to be skinned at Ikaz’s stables paying for same service I provide. Merchants that are men of wealth…” Mazlos countered. 

“Princess, what I seek is royal decree that no citizen can lend his stable to merchants or any other travelers without being given permit by Council of Citizens first… without that, anyone in Meereen who has stable or stall or even a simple pen even, will be doing my work.  
Which will lead to my ruin and ruin of all true stable owners…” Ikaz demanded. 

“That is reasonable. And I on behalf King and Queen will recommend that to councilors…” Rhaella agreed “…what is not reasonable, lord Ikaz,  
is that you expect from King or Queen to forbid or even punish those who offer stables at lower price than you.”  
“Princess, that would say Mazlos and his ilk will carry on to undermine my affairs.” Ikaz protested.  
She looked at him silently for a heartbeat: “You remember times when slaves were sold all over this city, right?”  
“I do, Princess. I remember it well.” he answered, not without frown.

“Then you remember that not all slaves came at same price. Some cheaper, some pricey.  
Were those that brought cheap slaves to the market undermining merchants who sold slaves at higher price?  
Cheap slaves that were bought by great masters and by those who owned not half a dozen slaves alike… were such accusations made then?”  
“No, Princess, every master was free to decide how much he will pay for a slave.”  
Very moment he said that, Ikaz bit his tongue.  
“Then you see that rulers of Meereen have no other but to leave all those coming to this great city on horse or on camel to freely decide  
where they will put their animal and how much they will pay for it.”  
“I see that, Princess…” Ikaz said, defeated.  
“As for you, Mazlos Olu, you will ask permit by Council of Citizens for your stables and you will be taxed accordingly within fortnight.  
It is spice market of this city that keeps your stables, no matter if they're proper or makeshift, filled with pack animals.  
You will give part of your earning to Meereen, as it is right.”  
“I will do as you order, Princess.”

When two men have left, Azzak looked at Rhaella with amazement.  
"Princess, I might be wrong, but you have just solved the possible stabling trouble in the city." he said.  
"Hardly a trouble, Azzak. A bickering more like it."  
"Not a trifle, Princess. Spice market is one of most visited place by merchants from west and the east, offering stables has become source of earning same as offering rooms is. With much more caravans coming here now, it would be unwise to leave that untaxed and without rules."  
Rhaella smiled contently: "Then, I am pleased with my first day of receiving petitioners. What is next in order?"  
"Princess, you will not rest after receiving almost fifty of them?" he asked.  
"No, I have no need to, yet, you may rest for an hour, Azzak." she answered.  
"Princess, I admire your ardour. Next in order should be attending the City Guard ceremony on the Archery Range. That building is finally over."  
"Thank Tessarion for that!" Rhaella exclaimed.  
Tessarion was her favorite Valyrian goddess. One of music, arts, knowledge, healing, prophecy, poetry, beauty and archery.  
"My father... King Jon was annoyed with finishing that building being so delayed. I guess it was due to the muddy ground of that islet."  
"I know that commanders of City Guard will be honored to have you there in your parents stead, Princess Rhaella." Azzak told her.  
"Then I better not let them down. I will change my attire, though. Then we can ride to the Archery Range."  
"It would be proper for a Princess to be taken there in a carriage."  
"Not this princess, lord Azzak." Rhaella said with smile before leaving the throne room. 

When she returned, she was wearing brown linen boots, black trousers, shirt of same color over which she donned a dark-red sleeveless tunic with black borders and a hooded brown cloak. At her waist, a Valyrian steel dagger hung with hilt adorned in dragonglass. She had Dothraki bow and arrow bag across her back. "Now you see, my lord, why I can't go there in a carriage..."

From that day till her parents have returned from Westeros, Rhaella was wholly dedicated to affairs of ruling over the city, as much as she could grasp it. She made sure that Azzak zo Ghazeen and Mallaro Deeth at her side, providing her with good advice, but not making her decisions. 

Much to the surprise of councilors, she came to the session of Council of Citizens and sat at head of the table, bringing records from previous council meeting. Reading it, she inquired what actions were taken since that last session and made notes of it.  
Some of the present frowned at being questioned by a twelve year old, but Rhaella stood firm and smiled at all of them, showing them due respect yet demanding the same for herself: "I am very young, lords and ladies of the Council, still I have a duty to be here in King's  
and Queen's stead. To do my duty, I require of you whole and truthful account of how city stands." 

"Princess, Elyrian envoy came to the Great Pyramid. Lady Naesa Velennis humbly asks to be received by King or Queen."  
Azzak told her in second sennight since Rhaella's mother and father accompanied Lyanna to Northern kingdom.  
"Humbly? I am certain that she is certain of their absence. Please inform lady Naesa that she will be granted audience with Princess of Bay of Dragons." "She certainly does not expect that." he chuckled before leaving the throne room, to bring Eylrian noblewoman.

"Riña Naesa, nyke Dārilaros Rhaella hen Targārien Lentor sȳrī māzigon ao naejot Mīrīn.  
Iksan rigle naejot jiōragon ao isse ñuha dārōñe kepa se muña brōzi."  
(_Lady Naesa, I Princess Rhaella of House Targaryen welcome you to Meereen.  
I am honored to receive you in the name of my royal father and mother_)  
"Noblest Princess, I speak a little of tongue of Sunset Kingdoms... It would please me to talk with you in it."  
Woman said it with accent that was different than one of Meereenese when they spoke in Common Tongue.  
"I see no reason why we should not." Rhaella made a slight bow and smiled. She always smiled at those who came in the throne room.  
In many books and texts she read of ruling, it wrote how kinder stance towards others is not mark of weakness, but sign of ruler open to talk. Sign that can vanish in a heartbeat if harsher stance is required.  
"I came here, noblest one, as our... delegation, is that the word...?" Rhaella nodded, again with smile. "...our delegation is dīnago...  
place in ñāqa hen vilinion... east of port. As we now trade with Meereen more, much more, Elyria wishes to arlinnon..."  
"I understand, lady Naesa, you wish to move the delegation to more fitting place. I see no issue with that."  
"Tolos has an issue. They wish us not in the same part where their place is." Naesa explained, struggling with words.  
"Issa daor pōja iderennon. Issi daor gō pāletilla hen Rāenion Zaldrīzoti..." Rhaella said in Valyrian.  
(_It is not their choice. They are not under crown of Bay of Dragons_) "..to Meereen they are same as Elyria is or Lhazar or Qarth."  
"You are very wise, noblest one. Elyria wishes not our moving in the port to make rulers of Meereen trouble with Tolosi."  
Lady Velenis was pleased, but gave a warning. Princess nodded: "I trust we can remedy that.  
By giving them quarters where your delegation is now. Thus, Tolos will have two trading posts in the port. "  


On nineteenth day of her holding court, a group of women came among the petitioners from Mossador quarter.  
It was a long dragging issue of wife and daughter who have survived rich one slaver and his brothers who deemed their marriage  
to be annulled since they did not live as man and wife for years.  
"Īlon epagon sepār hen Mīrīn Sētenon." (_We ask justice from Meereen's Delight._) woman said before bowing to her.  
"She asks justice from whom?" Rhaella asked her two advisers in soft voice.  
"That is you, Princess. People of the city now call you Meereen's Delight." Azzak told her.

_White Harbor, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

Lyanna stood at the ramparts of the city.  
Nearly seven moons has passed since men under kraken sails tried to sack the White Harbor. One could see scars everywhere.  
On the walls, on Wolf's Den, on Seal Gate, on Fishfoot Yard, rows of houses that were closest to the walls.  
City was hit with stones and burning projectiles from trebuchets, with flaming scorpion bolts that came after barrels filled with oil.  
Thousands died on both sides, but merman banner remained waving over both outer and inner harbor and over whole city.  
When two sides agreed on terms of truce, krakens withdrew from the harbor, taking their dead, and leaving longships that were burned or damaged so that they were no longer seaworthy. Sails from those ships, those that have not burned away, were displayed at the walls  
of New Castle. Shields of the Ironborn now adorned the Seal Gate and she studied it in detail. 

Bloody moon on purple shield. House Wynch of Iron Holt. A strange blue-green sigil showing drowned man, pink and pale, floating upright  
in the sea with fish nibbling at his limbs, House Sunderly of Saltcliffe. Then ominous black shied with bare stone tree in grey color.  
House Stonetree of Harlaw. Next was gold-banded black warhorn on red shield. House Goodbrother of Hammerhorn.  
House Myre of Harlaw had ten nooses as their sigil. It has been some time since Lyanna had learned about noble houses of Westeros and their sigils, seeing these shields of fallen Ironborn reminded her how Iron Islands even in that regard differ from rest of Westeros.  
Houses in the Reach flew apples and grapes and birds. Stormland lords had even more feathered animals on their shields. Those from Iron Islands had skeleton hands, scythes, nooses... Main trait of one or other part of Westeros was as poured down on the shields of its noble families. 

Lyanna now knew by heart which houses declared for her and their sigils. Merman, battle axe, sentinel trees, mailed fist. Brown bullmoose.  
And those on the other side of this great Northern rift. Crossed battleaxes, black horse's head, stone hand... white sunburst. Grey direwolf.  
Hers was white. Her father was called the White Wolf. Many here called him Jon Snow. He was their king. Man who avenged the Red Wedding.  
Where many of Northern houses lost their sons or brothers or husbands. He united them with Free Folk to stand together against the White Walkers. Woman he thought to be his half-sister, in truth his cousin, broke that pact. She wished lands where Free Folk lived, with them as her new subjects. They never were anyone's subjects, they wished not to be hers, no matter the alliance of the Great War.  
Her father respected that. Sansa Stark could not.

Drogon came to Meereen, to that same place near the Skahazadhan river from where he flew eastwards, to the Narrow Sea. He was large now,  
it seemed to her even larger than he was when she, Rhae and Arya went on his back to the Antler River to find father.  
"Soon you will be as big as Balerion..." mother told him before he leaped off the ground.  
Lyanna sat between mother and father, Drogon was harnessed so that later they could lie down in canvas bags, coated inside with wool.  
As Drogon was approaching coast land of Braavos, father leaned forward and both he and Muña whispered something to him, he changed course towards North and flew hard over the Shivering sea, not coming closer to the Northern shores.  
"Papa, where are we going?" she asked.  
"Last time you had to leave him behind. Now, he is coming with us. His place is with you now."  
"Ghost! We are going for Ghost!" she yelled, her whole being filled with joy.  
"We are, Lya, now be still. You are flying dragon hundreds of feet over the sea." mother said.

They have landed at Hardhome. Northern fort, one that fell early in the war, causing utter dread among the few hundred Free Folk  
who now lived there, men, women and children, making that place a small but living port of the lands north of the Wall.  
Some run away deep in the forest, others hid in the cliffs. She saw few of them with spears and bows in hands, but one loud roar  
from Drogon made them to lose heart. When father shouted loudly his name and asked of Tormund Giantsbane.  
One of the men came forward from hiding among the cliffs. He seemed familiar to Lyanna.  
"Is t'at truly ya, King Crow? We 'eard ya were gone... some said beasts 'ave eaten ya..." he talked with thick Free Folk accent.  
"Aye, it is me, Norren... eaten by the beasts..." he laughed before asking: "Do you remember the girl at my side?"  
"I do... she and other girl and woman t'at said she's yar sister saved me and my son's children from Karstark scum... she left me t'at white direwolf..." "Where is he, where is Ghost?" father asked impatiently.  
He did not get to see the man called Tormund Giantsbane, but he found Ghost. Or mayhaps Ghost found him.  
They weren't in Hardhome for more than two hours when large wolf came in the fort, running towards father, Papa embraced Ghost who then turned towards her and she fell on the ground as direwolf leaped up, placing his front paws on her shoulders.  
"He is your direwolf now same as he is mine, Lyanna." she heard father's words.  
They had to tie Ghost to Drogon's back before flying back south, to Braavosian Coastlands where aunt Arya was waiting for them on _Nymeria_. Dragon and direwolf already knew each other from twelve years ago and save long first gaze, two beasts acted as they are together every day.

Having large white wolf at her side worked very much to Lyanna's favor among the Northerners. Another proof of her Stark lineage.  
Ghost was lying at her feet when lord Hugo Wull, called Big Bucket as his sigil was three wooden buckets on blue shield, came to speak with her in the name of mountain clans, with men from Houses Knott and Harclay. Mountain clans were her northernmost supporters, on far north and west of the kingdom, while they were now sitting in the halls of Manderly castle, south and east. They knew that Sansa and Elric troops can cut them off from rest of the North which supported Lyanna, but they pledged it will not take away their resolve.  
"Men of mountains bend the knee only to those we choose and we have chosen you."  
Though lord Wyman presented her as queen that first night at Merman's Court, the very next day she asked to be addressed as Princess. "Direwolf crown is not at my brow yet, my lords. I can only be queen when I sit on the throne in Winterfell. Only then, not before."  
Her father was pleased with her words. "You are true heir, not an usurper or a pretender. There cannot be two queens in the North, only one. Now it's the wrong one." Papa let Lyanna to speak with the Northern lords alone.  
"Should anyone wrong you even with a gaze, you shall say it to me right away.  
But, _tala_, they must see you as Lyanna Targaryen, not as Jon Snow's daughter.  
Meet the lords alone, trade words with them, you are wise enough to do that."

Before meeting with great houses that supported her, Lyanna asked Hallis to show her the White Harbor.  
It was the only city and only true port that North had and though it seemed ridiculously small compared to Meereen, she liked it.  
Hallis, overjoyed that he finally got to spend time with her alone, made sure they visit all.  
Fishfoot Yard, Old Mint, Sept of Snows where she learned that this is city of Seven, of new gods that Manderlys brought with  
them from the Reach, Wolf's Den, even fish market. People greeted her everywhere... _Young She-wolf_, _Northern dragon_, _Wolf child_...  
Smallfolk of White Harbor called her by many names. As city was well known by its silversmiths, Hallis took her to few most prominent ones.

"They love you, Lyanna, people here truly love you..." Hallis said as she paced around the shop of Olivar Upcliff, silversmith whose grandfather came to White Harbor from Crownlands. He had a reputation of being the best of his craft in the city and as she looked at jewelry, cups, plates, cutlery Lyanna knew it was well deserved. Then she came closer to Hallis: "They love me... and what about you, my lord?"  
He blushed: "What about me?!" She grinned: "As your father and mother and lord Wyman wish us to be betrothed and my mother and father  
will agree to it once Sansa Stark is gone, surely you have something to say on the matter." "I want us to be betrothed too, Lyanna."  
He said, still at unease with what they were now talking about. "Why? Why do you want that?" she asked.  
"You're kind and smart and noble... A Stark of Winterfell..." "Is that all? You want to be wed for I am Stark of Winterfell which is not even wholly true. I am Targaryen with Stark blood. Is that reason good and strong enough for us to be husband and wife?" she asked.  
"Yes... well no... I don't know!" he said bit annoyed. "Poor lord Hornwood, he does not know. Why should I agree to be betrothed with such an ignorant..." she grinned at him again. His eyes narrowed, she made him angry: "I am not an ignorant! I know that you're beautiful and I like being with you as we are now. I love you, Lyanna." She smiled and stepped closer to him: "There, lord Hallis, you do know. And do you know how lord proves his lady that he loves her?" Hallis frowned at first and then he leaned towards her and kissed her.  
They parted lips in a heartbeat and both were now blushing. She placed her hand on his cheek:"I like being with you as we are now as well."  
"Do you love me as I love you?" he asked, his voice trembled a bit.  
"If I didn't, after stealing kiss as you just have... I''d break your nose."

Next day she had time to practice swordfight with Hallis in the courtyard of New Castle making all the present men to watch in amazement how good she was with the sword. After Hallis, few more men sparred with her and she made every one of them to yield at least once. As she went to refresh in her chambers, as ever closely escorted by the Freeflames of Westerosi blood, most of them once of Golden Company, there was a girl in greenish attire. "Princess..." she bowed. Lyanna invited her in her chamber.  
"Lady Jojena Reed, I haven't seen you since that feast at Merman's Court and I wished to talk with you more."  
"As I have with you, Princess, about dreams I have." "You may call me Lyanna. I'm not into formalities."  
"Good... I hate it as well... Lyanna, you said that you saw me in your dreams same as I saw you."  
"I did. When I tried to speak to you, it was as if you were deaf and blind. You kept repeating same words, I yelled at you but you could not hear me as I've heard you." "I did not see you or hear you, there was only shadow... blur and far." Jojena said.  
"A shadow...? How do you see others in your dreams?" "I see them as they are. I see their faces, I hear their voices."  
"What do you dream of, Jojena?" Things that were, things that mayhaps will come to pass..."  
"I had such dreams as well. Both lines of my ancestors had visions, Stark and Targaryens, wolf and dragon dreams." Lyanna said.  
"Have you ever dreamed of a raven with three eyes?" girl with curly hair asked.  
"No, never. You speak of Bran the Broken... he wants me, my sister and my mother dead. I never dream of him." she said with voice filled of anger. "That is good, that means he can't come into your dreams. My mother says that is not Bran, that he died in a cave beyond the Wall.  
And that tree eyed raven is cold and heartless thing." Lyanna looked at Jojena: "Cold and heartless and evil."  
"He knows you've come to the North, Lyanna. Dragon and wolf. Same as your father is. The power of your blood threatens him. Never forget that." 


	71. BRIENNE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year to all!
> 
> For my Valyrian readers: Biarior Arlior Jēdari naejot mirre!

_Cockleswhent, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

**BRIENNE**

“In the name of Bran, first of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Six Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm,  
I, Brienne of Tarth, sentence you to die. Do you have any last words?”  
“Show us your cock, I want to see if you have yellow hair on your balls as well.”  
“Fuck your king. And fuck you.”

_Oathkeeper _ flew through the air twice, giving its deadly kiss to the neck of two prisoners, Dornish raiders who were captured  
the night before, after skirmish. Both men chose insults as their last words. No prayers, no pleading.  
It was always as that with those horsemen from the desert. They were ready to ask for mercy same as they were ready to give it.

Brienne never liked executing prisoners. Last man she killed in such manner, before coming to Reach, was Stannis Baratheon,  
long time ago far away from here. Reach changed that. Reach changed many things.  
She came here with thousand men, combined force of Crownlands soldiers and City Watch of King’s Landing.  
They came too late for Highgarden.  
Two thousand Dornishmen descended upon once seat of power of the Reach and have put it to torch after slaying most of the garrison.  
Highgarden was no longer castle of lords of the Reach, not since king stripped that title from once sellsword who proved to be traitor and turncloak. When House Hightower was named as Warden of the South, they remained in their tower castle in port of Oldtown.

The Hightower castle was a high and large tower with a beacon on top to guide ships into the port.  
Some claimed that this was the tallest building in Westeros, taller than Wall itself and tallest tower in the Known World.  
Others that on a clear day, the Wall could be seen from the top of this castle.  
Yet, the Rock upon which Casterly Rock stood has been measured at three times the height of both the Wall or the Hightower of Oldtown. 

_It was not only the height that made new lords of the Reach not to trade a high tower for a high garden… _  
Brienne mused upon seeing the burned seat of the family that was now only living in historical chronicles.  
Hightower was built on an island in the middle of the port and second largest city in Westeros.  
To take Hightower it would demand to take Oldtown as well. Highgarden was castle on the hilltop.  
Impressive castle, with three rings of white walls surrounding it, able to break any invader, when properly manned and prepared.  
Lannister army, aided by Randyll Tarly took it in year three-hundred and four after Aegon's Conquest and ended the line of House Tyrell.  
A year later, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater came to Highgarden as new lord of the Reach.  
He found castle very appropriate for all sorts of pleasures, from excessive feasts and dances to acts of debauchery that sometimes  
involved nearly score of women, from peasants to highborn ladies being called in lord’s bedchamber.  
And as it oft happens in such cases, paying too much heed to pleasures meant paying little or no heed to other matters.  
Bronn had ten years to bring Highgarden castle to what it once was, to repair its towers and walls that were damaged when  
Lannister host besieged and stormed the castle. He did very little of that. 

Year and nine moons have passed since Bronn was last seen at Highgarden.  
And soon it will be a year that he was stripped of all his titles, given to him by two kings.  
He was gone. King Bran, using his powers, saw him far in the north, in the Gift where he battled on the side of the wildlings against  
the Stark queen. That war was over for a few moons already and Brienne seeing Highgarden remembered once Master of Coin,  
wondering was he still alive or has some Northern blade finally ended the life path of that upstart sellsword.  
She had no time to think of what once was, there was war to fight.

For over two moons she has lead a cavalry host of about two thousand and few hundreds more, host assembled to battle with Dornish  
raiders who came across the Red Mountains in same number with only one aim – to sack, to plunder and to burn the lands of the Reach.  
And they did just that. Mercilessly. 

Uplands, Sun House, Three Towers were raided merely days after Dorne declared to be independent Princedom.  
Horn Hill somehow managed to defend itself.  
Reach was spared after that, yet upon learning of royal army massing for invasion of Dorne, raiders returned. In number that was suited more for a host than a raiding party. Arianne Martell sent two thousand horsemen, on their famous sand steeds, to lay waste on lands of House Hightower. They served their princess faithfully. Reach was burning where ever hoof of Dornish horse came.

Castles of Honeyholt and Brightwater Keep, farms, fields, orchards along the Honeywine river were either sacked or put to torch.  
Dornish cavalry moved as ghosts, once coming in whole number, once in hundreds, once in dozens scattered across the land.  
No matter how they would fell upon their prey, it would bring dread to the smallfolk. Dornish did not slaughter, not this time.  
They would drive the people before them to the keeps of their lords, to seek shelter and protection there and to slowly but surely drain their food and water supplies. True, lords had option not to offer food and water to the smallfolk that came to hide behind their walls, but that  
could only end poorly for the lords. 

After Highgarden from which they have taken sunspear banners and shields that Tyrells kept for many generations, banners and shields captured in old wars between Reach and Dorne, Martell cavalry went along the upper Mander river, sacked villages and farms around Cider Hall, not appearing to be more of three hundred of them, baiting Fossoway garrison to ride out and meet them. Fossoways did that in the end.  
Men under red apple banner came out, nearly five hundred of them, on horseback, knights in full armor and freeriders alike. A blunder by overconfident garrison commander whose cavalry after less than ten miles of pursuit was facing two thousand foes. Every fourth came back to Cider Hall who could only watch how lands around the castle are being put to torch and scores of smallfolk is coming to the castle gates,  
scared beyond their wits.

Brienne came with thousand and they were joined by three and ten hundred riders which came under Ser Humfrey Hightower, youngest brother of lord of the Reach, Baelor, also called the Brightsmile. Head of House Hightower took these Dornish raids a personal affront and he wished one of his own to be dealing with them in shortest time possible. Wishes are one thing and reality another. _Bandits of Martell bitch_, as Hightowers called the enemy, show no restraint upon learning that over two thousand men loyal to the king assembled at Highgarden and are coming upon them. They spread their lines along both banks of the river Cockleswhent, leaving trail of smoke behind them and fleeing smallfolk before them.  
Town of Ashford was attacked from two sides.  
Its whitewashed houses with thatched roofs were soon painted black and red-orange by smoke and fire…  
Next they were aimed for the triangular castle, which was not very well manned, quarter of a thousand watched the town beneath them disappearing in flames. Dornish would break the gates of Ashford Castle, but their scouts brought the word of large royal cavalry coming,  
so they retreated on the southern bank of the river, one closer to the Dornish Marches. They were now aimed towards Whitegrove castle  
many miles southwards, castle that was east of Highgarden, much closer to once seat of House Tyrell than it was to Ashford. 

It were those lands between Whitegrove, Ashford and Dornish Marches that saw first clashes of two cavalries.  
Cavalries whose leaders, it came on Brienne’s mind, had strange common bond with Kingsguard. She told that to Ser Humfrey.  
“Your greatuncle, Ser Gerold Hightower was knight of the Kingsguard. Same as Ser Arthur Dayne whose nephew leads Dornish raiders now.  
Both died at Tower of Joy, in Red Mountains. Fighting Northerners.” Hightower shrugged: “I know where he died, yet we’ve never learned why.  
What have best knights of Mad King’s white cloaks guarded in those dried rocks while entire Realm was in midst of rebellion…  
it always sounded as folly to me.”

What was not folly, were the weeks that followed, seventh moon passed, then eighth, fields, hills and woods of south and east of Reach  
became one large battlefield. Brienne hoped to meet the Dornish head on, yet soon she learned that Edric Dayne is far clever than that.  
He would part his men in half a dozen columns and sent them in all directions, making Brienne to act the same with her troops.  
Greener commanders, be it those which came with Humfrey Hightower or Crownlanders that rode with her, would fell in Dornish traps, losing riders, from few to dozens. Ser Humfrey followed the orders of his brother, lord of the Reach, and took no prisoners.  
He even punished those peasants and farmers who would give food and water to the Dornish.  
Even if that always took place under threat of death, youngest Hightower considered it treason and he would burn their homes.  
As their crops were already burned or livestock taken by the Dornish, they had no other but to seek refuge with the closest lords.  
Those already became irked with actions of Ser Humfrey Hightower whose cruel ways brought smallfolk of that part of the Reach  
between hammer and anvil.

“Humfrey took his house’s words _We Light the Way_ to the heart, what vipers do not burn, he of high tower will.” smaller lords were saying.  
Brienne tried to soften his stance, saying that people in whose villages or farms Dornish bandits came had choice between giving them what they ask or dying. He cared little of that, arguing that as men of the Reach are dying in hundreds in Dorne, so should smallfolk here,  
since they face the same foe.

That left smallfolk with no choice but to flee in the hills or woods upon hearing that mounted armed men were coming, no matter whose banner they flew. Every time men on horses would follow them to the hills or woods, it would end the same. Rape and murder of whole families.  
Dornish would kill all the men, then raped womenfolk, even girls that were barely grown and let them wander the countryside.  
Hightower cavalry would hang whole families after accusing them of treason and siding with the enemy.  
The more such actions lasted, less people stayed in lands between Cockleswhent and Dornish Marches.  
Dozens and scores of them, whole families were headed towards Highgarden and Dunstonbury to the west and Starpike in the south.  
Whitegrove castle became place from where royal cavalry went to patrol and to battle the mounted host of Arianne Martell.

Brienne came to Whitegrove a few times, to rest and eat freshly cooked food. She even took a bath on one occasion,  
yet all she knew of warfare told her that castles are not the place where Dornish will be defeated and chased back over the Red Mountains.  
Her mislike towards Hightower men grew more and more.  
They were eager on punishing the peasants and farmers, but not so much in seeking battle with men of Edric Dayne and Arron Qorgyle.  
Were they craven or cautious, she could not tell. What she knew was that large enemy host, even with all the losses still numbering well over ten and six hundred was roaming across the southwestern Reach for three moons. Truth be told, they were now checked and no more sacking of holdfasts took place, but all else was still under threat of scimitar and torch. There was bit more of Humfrey's men than her own, yet it seemed to her it was the thousand sent from King’s Landing that was doing most of the fighting with Dayne and Qorgyle raiders.  
Humfrey was no craven, but the more she observed him in the field of battle, the more she was certain that he is sparing his own men,  
acting cautiously and waiting for the enemy to come to him instead the very opposite.  
She kept her peace, relying on the men which came with her from Crownlands, three hundred of City Watch and knights and riders from  
Houses Blount, Pyle, Wendwater, Farring and Chelsted, which with their guides from the Reach roamed the land and kept the Dornish away  
from the still unsacked villages and farms, no matter how few of those remained.

On the three and twentieth day of ninth moon of twelfth year of rule of king she served, Ser Brienne of Tarth led a column of nearly eight hundred men west of Whitegrove. Night before, scouts came with news that Dornish have been spotted advancing north and east of the castle, as they were on the move towards Highgarden again. “Nonsense…” Ser Humfrey dismissed it right away “…Highgarden is now well manned and only a true army, with siege engines and twice as many numbers than Dayne and Qorgyle have could even consider threatening it.”  
Brienne pondered for only a heartbeat: “That may be true for Highgarden, but Dunstonbury, Dunstonbury is as poorly defended as Whitegrove was before we’ve arrived.” “Ser Brienne…” Humfrey said to her, between two bites of roasted hen “…that would mean Dornish are returning deeper into the Reach, where they can only hope of their utter defeat. One quarter of my men are between Whitegrove and Highgarden  
as I have received message that Dayne was planning attack on the Roseroad and burning bridge over Mander.  
There is no fear of those bandits ever threatening Dunstonbury or any keep west of here.”  
“Then, you will have no issue of me taking most of my soldiers and riding west.”  
"Not at all, yet I fear you’ll be only tiring your horses in vain.” he smirked.

Dunstonbury was once a castle of House Manderly. Many centuries ago, when they still lived along the Mander river in the Kingdom of the Reach. When they were forced to flee the Reach, a thousand years before Aegon Targaryen conquered Westeros, Dunstonbury passed to their rivals, House Peake. It was said that New Castle in White Harbor was built so that reflected Dunstonbury.  
Peakes lost that castle as well, siding with black dragons, the Blackfyres, against the red dragons, Targaryens who after emerging victorious punished House Peake by stripping them of Dunstonbury and of Whitegrove. Castles were passed to lesser lords who kept faith with the Iron Throne. War of the Five Kings took those lords away as well and House Tyrell took both castles under their sway.  
One who succeeded Tyrells cared little, if any, about both of these keeps, keeping stewards and barely enough household there to prevent  
those places from slow decay. Today, Brienne was certain that Dornish were marching at Dunstonbury.  
Leaving nearly two thousand royal troops behind them. 

These hills west of Mander were a patchwork of green made even more varied by the shadows of passing clouds.  
They were of every hue from new spring grass to deep forest pools. None of them offered a steep climb, this was not North and its thick forests.  
This was tame country of pastures and orchards. Or it was supposed to be.  
Brienne noticed how hills begun to change their clothes. When she came here, they were still vested in their deep and rich greens.  
That green now retreated before scarlet and gold. Essosi emperors of old, those she read about as a child, were clad in gowns of such colors.  
A fly that bit her neck and ended up squatted the very next moment, brought her back from the thoughts of her surroundings.  
“Smoke, Ser!” she heard the voice. Indeed, it was.  
She could barely see it, but there it was, raising lazily above the valley to the east of where she halted her horse. 

“Ser Godry, take half of the column and ride wide south and east, I want you to come from the other side of that valley. If foe still lingers there,  
we shall flank them." Godry of House Farring was a tall man of broad shoulders and of deep, booming voice.  
Brienne was told of him being boastful and condescending and found that reputation well earned. It annoyed her till she saw him deal with Hightower men in the same manner. Ser Godry the Giantslayer. She asked him once of how he earned his nickname and he did not miss the chance to brag how he rode North with Stannis Baratheon and met the wildlings beneath the Wall, in the battle where he slew a fleeing giant.  
“I put a lance in his back, Ser Brienne, and when he fell, I hacked of his head. A small head for such a creature it was.” 

Godry was man of Stannis Baratheon. How he got alive after Stannis’ defeat under the walls of Winterfell, she never asked.  
Was he there even or did he abandon that failed king, twice a kinslayer, before his host met its end under hooves of Bolton cavalry, Brienne needed not to know. What was odd about Ser Godry of House Farring was that he, unlike his forefathers, prayed to fire god, R’hllor.  
She heard him, one evening, as he went away from the campfire uttering words:  
“…The night is dark and cold and full of terrors, but yours is the power and glory and the light. R'hllor, fill us with your fire.”

It was a village that was burning, though to name it a hamlet would be closer to truth. Brienne galloped in, ahead of her men,  
galloped in the midst of flames, smoke and screams. Houses were being put to torch by soldiers who weren’t Dornish.  
They were Reachmen. Some two scores of them. As nearly four hundred mounted warriors came upon them from one side, followed soon  
by another such column coming from the other side of the valley, they halted what they were doing.  
She quickly learned what that was. Punishment. For siding with the enemy. No matter was that true or not.  
When she saw that was taking place beneath an oak tree, rage she had not felt for years took over her. 

One woman was already hanged, she was naked, her face beaten. On her belly someone carved with knife or dagger: _Viper whore_.  
Three other women, of which one girl that was yet to have five and ten namedays, were hurled beneath the tree, all naked, tied with ropes  
and waiting to be hanged. Three men, wearing chainmail shirts under the Hightower surcoat, were holding the youngest and Brienne realized  
they were going to carve the same letters on her as well. “Halt! Halt in the name of the king!” she yelled and jumped off her horse.  
She drew _Oathkeeper_ and marched straight towards the tree.  
“What in seven hells do you think you are doing?!” she shouted “Murderers! Murderers without honor!”  
“We are doing our lords, bidding, wench!” one holding he knife answered. Valyrian steel first cut off his hand, one in which blade smeared  
with blood of hanged woman was, making him shriek as an animal, but not for long as his head was cut off next.  
An officer came from among the Hightower men, they were all clasping their swords and spears now, but outnumbered nearly score to one  
no man dared to oppose. He protested: “I know who you are. And I’ll make sure that Ser Humfrey knows of how you have murdered  
one of his men. Murdered him for punishing whores that lay with Dornish.” 

Brienne gave him a stern look and he talked no more.  
“You, girl, tell me what happened here.” she said to the youngest of the women beneath the tree.  
Girl, covering herself with hands, sobbed loudly, but managed to say:  
“This morning Dornish came… killed our village elder… and raped us all… they raped me… m’lady… I was maiden...”  
She burst into tears and could not speak anymore. One of the villagers from the group that was forced to watch hanging spoke instead:  
“She’s my daughter, m’lady, they came, cursed Dornish scum, and raped her… then these men, men of the Reach chased them away and  
we thought they’ve saved us. No, they turned out to be worse than Dornish.”  
Hightower officer barked at that man: “Lies, filthy lies. You let vipers to fuck your women so they would not burn your houses.  
That is why you need to be cut down and them hanged, naked as whores they are!”  
Brienne looked around once again, she gave a long gaze to three women, bare and bruised, under the oak tree, she looked at the one  
hanging from its branch, her eyes went over burning houses and slain men whose corpses were piled up next to the well in the center of this small village. She looked at the leader of Hightower men again.

“Ser Godry, take twenty men and hang this man…” she pointed at the officer “…then those two that did the hanging of that poor woman  
and all that have bloodied their swords slaying people of this village.”  
Officer was bewildered at first, then as he saw tall man with purple-white shield that show two mounted knights, approaching with unsheathed sword, he begun to protest: “Ser Brienne, I have acted under orders of Ser Humfrey Hightower. You have no right to punish me.”  
“But I have, my lord. As a knight of Six Kingdoms I have every right to punish criminals and that is what you and your men are.  
As knight I am charged to be just and to defend the innocent. You will hang together with that filth that likes to carve letters into woman’s flesh.  
The rest of your men will be disarmed and then set free. You may return to your lord in Whitegrove. Take him away, Ser Godry.” 

Man was about to protest more, but mailed fist of knight from House Farring silenced him, nearly knocking him unconscious.  
Rest of Hightower men were filled with fear now. One who mustered most courage pleaded to Brienne:  
“Ser, how are we to return safely to Whitegrove without any weapon. Dornish are near. Should they meet us, we are doomed.”  
She nodded: “Yes, you are. You will learn first hand how smallfolk of this land fares with Dornish raiders. Yet, those comelier among you  
could offer themselves for safe passage. Some vipers bed men and women alike… seek your chance there. Now, begone from my sight.” 

By her order, thirty men of Ser Humfrey Hightower were disarmed, told to mount their horses and ride north and east, towards Whitegrove.  
Ten remained hanging on the oak tree from which their victim was first taken down.  
Officer was third to hang, right after two men who hanged the village woman. 

“Flee from this place as far as you can. Hightower men might return.” she told to the father of the young girl that was defiled by Dornish  
and nearly hanged by her own, by Reachmen. “Where can we go, m’lady?” he asked. “Do you know of Horn Hill castle?”  
He nodded: “I’ve seen it once, when I was young as that poor girl is…” he pointed at his daughter, who was dressed now but still shaking  
as a leaf. “Go there, keep to the hills and march straight southwards. It is not near, over eighty leagues, but their lord is just and he will  
give you shelter and protection. Flee there if you want to live.” “Seven blessings upon you, m’lady.” the man said.  
“I’ll need all seven at Dunstonbury… mayhaps I get to kill those who hurt your daughter.” Brienne said, more to herself. 

“Dornish scum is not goin' there, m’lady… not to Dunstonbury.” villager replied.  
“How do you know that?” she frowned. Man sighed: “I’ve heard them, laying down with my face in the mud, as they were taking  
my daughter's maidenhead, how one said to others that finer cunts are waiting for them at Starpike.”  
Her face turned grim right away: “Have you seen from where did these Dornish came? From east or west?”  
“From there…many came from there…” man pointed at the late afternoon sun “…and many rode to the east, only two dozen of them  
stayed to torture us.” “Fuck!” she cursed loudly.  
“Ser Godry!” Brienne called the tall knight who was overseeing the weapons of Hightower men being collected.  
“At your service, Lady Commander.” he said as he came at her side. “Ready men for quick depart… we ride to Starpike.”  
“To Starpike…?” he wondered “…what of Dunstonbury?”  
Brienne shook her head: “That was a ruse. A maneuver of long ride that failed to trick us. They are riding on castle of House Peake.”  
“Ser Brienne, that damn castle is in Dornish Marches… on the northern side of the Red Mountains… that means…”  
“Yes, Ser Godry, that means Edric Dayne is taking his men home. But not before he sacks another castle.”  
“If his entire host in on the move, they outnumber us two to one. We must send raven to Whitegrove.”  
“Then, we’re already dead. Ser Humfrey’s men have shown their worth in hanging women, but not so in the field of battle.  
I am tired of that poor excuse for a knight. We shall send raven, but to lord Tarly of Horn Hill. He has about half the number as we have.  
Add to that garrison of Starpike and odds are in our favor.  
Lord Dayne will return to his Martell princess without claiming one more holdfast in the Reach.”  
“As you order, Lady Commander.” Farring made a nod and started bellowing orders at the men to mount up. 

Within half and hour, two columns left the burning hamlet.  
One, on horse, counting three quarter of a thousand, went eastwards.  
Second, on foot, not even thirty of them, went south, on their long path to Horn Hill.


	72. JON

_White Harbor, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

**JON**

_Orange and Yellow,  
Bright colors in the meadow,  
Brightening like sunshine.  
Falling from the tall old trees,  
Are the bright, beautiful leaves,  
What a beautiful sign!_

Girl sang the cheerful tune hanging her clothes in the cobbled square with a stone merman fountain standing in the middle of it.  
Old Fishfoot. People of the city named the square after the statue. Mayhaps only old Wyman knew what was the true name of the square,  
being five and seventy years old. Or more. Or less. He did not know. Wyman was the oldest among the lords of the North.  
And shrewdest. That he was certain of.

Crisp golden leaves laid like a blanket on the square cobbles. Wind blowing from inland brought them last night. Flock of seagulls flew  
overhead from outer harbor towards New Castle. The sun hung low in the sky. Autumn came to White Harbor with regal ease almost.  
Light breeze touched the leaves and they danced in the air over Fishfoot Yard.

White Harbor in last three sennights was again living up to its name. Ships from Braavos have returned.  
First ship came two days after _Nymeria_ brought Princess Lyanna Targaryen to the seat of House Manderly. In following week twenty more came.  
"North that stands with White Wolf's daughter will not starve." that was plain and simple message.  
Braavosi ships in week that followed came at the mouth of Broken Branch and Weeping Water. River runner boats took the goods they brought upstream to Hornwood and Dreadfort castle, returning with timber, hides and other Northern merchandise. From White Harbor, river runners went up the White Knife, up to river's rapids and then Essosi goods continued by land to castles of House Cerwyn and House Tallhart  
and as far as Deepwood Motte on the other side of the North, hundreds of miles away.  
"North that stands with Young She-wolf will trade." 

That singing girl, dressed in woolen tunic was now smelling the sweet air that was all around her.  
Wind was light and move all around her slightly, playing with her brown hair.  
Day was cloudy as nature was planning a storm, yet this girl enjoyed it outside. The air was cool and crisp and he took a deep breath.  
Then he thought of air in the city of pyramids. Air of White Harbor was as a refreshing drink of cool water after hours in a desert.  
It was air of his home. 

Yet, Jon noticed something about himself. A change that took place in this nearly two years. In Meereen he felt more as Northerner.  
As Stark. Here, he never felt more as Targaryen. It was strange and he could not explain it. He could even put on the Stark gambeson and the cloak with grey fur, but dragon was there. Dragon who did not felt this land to be his home anymore. Only a memory of who he once was.  
Jon Snow. Bastard of Winterfell. Man who did not want anything. Man who died twice.  
Once when his men stabbed him. Second time when he stabbed his one true love and his unborn children, when he learned what he did.  
First time he died as body and as spirit. Second time he died in spirit alone. Both times he returned to life, but second time one that came back   
was no Snow. That was Targaryen. Targaryen with Stark blood. Man who knew what he wanted. To get his love and his children back.  
He got that. He was offered crown. He took it. And more than it was offered.  
He was Jon of House Targaryen and of House Stark, King of the Bay of Dragons.  
Father to four heirs of three thrones. Meereen, Winterfell, Dragonstone. He wanted them all. 

And so, Jon Targaryen, escorted by Freeflames led by Angus of House Croft, climbed up the broad stone way called Castle Stair that led to the New Castle. His guards walked before and behind him, giving only a short gaze at the statues of marble mermaids which all held a bowl in their arms. Bowls were filled with whale oil which was lit in the night time. He was about to see lord of White Harbor.  
Old Wyman invited him as he wanted to talk. About future, as his message stated. Jon knew of what future Manderly wrote.

"Mayhaps I should order a new map, Your Grace." lord Manderly stated as he saw Jon looking at the sheepskin map on the wall. North was painted on it and colors faded, yet that was not much of an issue as that what was on the map. Bolton, Umber, Mormont.. they were no longer. Save on this map. "Indeed you should." Jon replied. "I had one made that paints the North as it is now." said the obese lord in blue-green attire that clashed with Jon's black, red and grey. "And what does that map paint, my lord?" he asked. Wyman gestured with his hand: "I have it on my table." Jon nodded and walked towards the heptagonal table, even this piece of furniture spoke of Manderlys as followers of the Seven.  
It was map of the North, on a smaller piece of skin, there were no more sigils of long gone Houses, now only two sigils were painted.  
Stark direwolf in grey and white color. 

The latter went in rough half circle from Dreadfort that was now half ruin but under Hornwood banner over the lands of houses Manderly, Cerwyn, Tallhart and Glover ending with mountain clans. Last mark of the white direwolf was in the south, on Greywater Watch.  
Surrounded on three sides by white direwolf was Winterfell and lands belonging to Stark queen, including once lands of House Umber.  
North of the eastern end of that half circle was land of Elric Karstark, marked with grey direwolf though it was not wholly true.  
Jon never met the young lord of Karhold, he was merely a boy when Great War took place and little that he learned of him, told that Sansa's once lover was now at uneasy alliance with her, alliance brokered by the Red Keep. House Ryswell and House Dustin kept their faith with Winterfell though Barrowton was more loyal to Elric than to Sansa. _They're now united against my daughter taking the throne.  
If not for Lyanna, they'd be warring among themselves as they intended._

Jon had little trust in "three witches" as Arya called Eddara Tallhart, Jonelle Cerwyn and Erena Glover. They came with their lesser lords to White Harbor and had audience with Lyanna. He made sure that Lya receives each of the three alone and it was plain that this union of three ladies of great houses was not carved in stone. Each had her own interests. Erena Glover was not so burdened with knowledge of five thousand troops of Six Kingdoms making camp at Winterfell, she was far enough from them, yet not so far from the Bear Island that was now under Greyjoy banner. Lyanna knew that Ironborn will not be allowed to stay on Bear Island. Both mother and father loved the now dead House Mormont to let that happen. She gave assurances to lady Erena of negotiation that will take place between Winterfell and Pyke once she is a queen.  
Jonelle Cerwyn and Eddara Tallhart were at unease.  
Should that southern host attack from direction of Winterfell and Dustins and Ryswells from their side, they would stand little chance.  
"You have seen the dead burned by dragonflames at Winterfell, my lady. I wish I could have seen it. It must have been a sight to remember."  
Lyanna told Eddara and Jonelle both, though none of them saw when two dragons were unleashing their wrath on thousands of wights.  
They were in the crypts with rest of the children and womenfolk.  
"If this southern army was to meddle in Northern affairs, they will meet the same fate."  
"Princess, you should use the dragon and take Winterfell. Crown would be on your head overmorrow at the latest." all three women told her.  
"If I am to be Stark of Winterfell, then my beast is direwolf, not dragon..." Lyanna answered "...Northern crown must be taken in Northern way.  
Yet, if Sansa Stark or that Karstark usurper dare to use southerners to defend what is no longer theirs, dragon flies fast over the Narrow Sea. Bringing fire and blood to the enemies of the North. The just North." 

Lyanna herself asked why they should not use Drogon to conquer North. Jon was against it, same as Daenerys. "Should you make Northern lords to bend the knee to you without dragonflame, that will make your victory greater. You'll be the Stark queen they choose, not foreign conqueror." Jon told her. "Winterfell must not burn, _tala_, I want them to open their gates to you and kneel before daughter of Daenerys Targaryen..."  
Dany said to Lyanna. There was fiery glow in her eyes when she said that, it did not escape him.

"I see that fears of lady Cerwyn and lady Tallhart are not without reason..." he said looking at the Wyman's map "...should Roger Ryswell and Beron Dustin move against them, even if their keeps do not fall, still it could separate both Tohrren's Square and Castle Cerwyn from your lands, my lord Wyman. That would also cut off lands of House Glover and the mountain clans. We could lose all the houses in the western part of North that support Lyanna." "Aye, it is a threat we must not underestimate, Your Grace. Still, Ryswell is loyal to Queen Sansa while Beron Dustin prefers Elric Karstark. It will be hard for them to combine forces. Houses that are with us all fight for the same thing. For true queen."  
"For princess. All those marked with white direwolf on this map, fight for princess. Only in Winterfell she will be queen." Jon said.  
Then he pointed at the map again: "I see that both houses Flint are against us. Those of Widow's Watch and those of Flint's Finger." Wyman chuckled: "They're are indeed against each other. On the Queen's Council those of Finger voted for ousting of Sansa while those of Widow's Watch called all who voted so oathbreakers." "If called here to meet Lyanna, will they answer?" Jon asked. "Young Robin, lord of Widow's Watch, is no fool. His lands border with mine and those of Larence Hornwood. He is surrounded by Lyanna's supporters from three sides and fourth one is the Narrow Sea. And his house took lead from Lord of White Harbor. He will answer. As for those in Flint's Finger...  
they border with lands of lady Reed who has sworn to your daughter. They have no land border with those that favor Sansa or Karstark.  
And they have cast vote against her. They could come as well." "Invite them, my lord. Tell them to come here six days from today." Jon said. 

He returned to _Nymeria_. Lyanna chose to stay on the ship and not to take residence in the New Castle. Though Manderlys frowned upon it, girl made a strong case for it, saying that carrack was now royal flagship of the North and that it is proper for a Stark princess to reside on her.  
Jon advised Lya to stay on Arya's ship: "First it is for safety. All Arya's men are loyal to her same as Freeflames are loyal to you and me.  
We can guard this ship better than we could halls of Manderly castle where we cannot tell are there hidden foes or spies. Also, I want not for anyone here to see you as old Wyman's puppet queen. You will not sleep in his castle nor eat his food. You are a Targaryen princess and a Stark princess. Remember, zoklazaldrīzes buzdari iksis daor." "Yes, Papa. Dragonwolf is not a slave." his raven-haired daughter agreed.  
Jon was at White Harbor for over three weeks now. He missed his other daughter, _the fire of his life_, and his babe twins. "Till we return  
from the North, Cregan will already be riding horses and sword fighting while Little Dany could be holding court..." he japed with Arya. 

Daenerys was in Braavos, keeping both far and near of the White Harbor.  
Drogon was with her and it was only few hours of flight over the Narrow Sea for dragon large as he was now.  
Swift sail ships from Braavos would take messages between King and Queen of Bay of Dragons, they had no faith in ravens.  
Dany came on dragonback one night near Old Castle where Jon awaited her in an abandoned lighthouse.  
When lord Locke built larger and taller lighthouse tower, this one was forsaken, yet it was still far from weathered ruin.

"What king and queen we make..." she said, sitting naked on furs next to a burning hearth.  
Jon warmed up the once lightkeeper's chamber so that both were sweating even bare. "I missed you, Dany." he said kissing her neck.  
"I missed this..." she whispered in his ear "...we should be apart more oft... it makes you to ravish me as wolf and dragon that you are."  
He laughed: "I wonder who ravished who tonight... you wanton..." "Well, we still can walk, so..."  
She got up and went towards the window whose glass was still whole yet covered in dirt, she barely could see outside.  
"It is so peaceful here. You may not believe me, but I always understood why you love this land so much."  
"I was born in this land..." he shrugged. "It's not for that, Jon." she said. His eyes were as glued to her, flames in the hearth reflected  
on her naked body, silver tresses falling to the small of her back. _Gods, she is beautiful.._ "Then for what?"  
"It's this land. Vast and harsh and cold... and yet it has such beauty as few places in the Known World. Do you remember how I liked that waterfall...?" "I do... you wanted to stay a thousand years..." he smiled as memory came to him. "You do know that we made Lya and Rhae that day?" she asked. Jon frowned: "Well, now I do..." She shook her head: "Men... Yes, dear husband, it was that last time you made love to me  
in that old life when we've created a new life." She walked back to him and sat down, her legs were around his waist. He kissed her.  
"As I remember, Dany, I've told you of that witch not being a reliable source of information..." She chuckled: "Yes, you have."  
He sighed: "I feel unease every day for leaving our three children in Meereen. Cregan and Daenysanne are babes, but I wish Rhaella was here  
with me and Lyanna as well." Dany smiled: "That would make her very, very sad." Jon frowned again: "What? Why?"  
"Well, Your Grace, I have received word only yesterday from Bay of Dragons. Princess Rhaella Targaryen took rule over Meereen in our stead  
and she is ruling ably and wisely. Would it surprise you that she gave first level of Targaryen pyramid to an orphanage?  
It seems she said that our family does not use that pyramid anymore, so it would be pity not to use it for bettering of the city."  
Jon was both surprised and proud. "That sounds just as Rhae. Gods, Dany, girls are growing so quick. Growing into queens both."  
"They're Targaryens. What else they could be growing into?" "I'll order adornments for Rhaella at the best silversmith in White Harbor." Jon said.  
"Yes, do so." Dany nodded. "I hope for all our children to be wise and noble.. and beautiful as their mother is..." his face glowed contently.  
"I want one more..." she said in demanding tone. He looked at her. "_Aye, muh king_..." Daenerys aped Northern accent.  
"...time for us to sire one more dragon..." she said before pushing him on his back and lying on top of him.

Robin Flint, lord of Widow's Watch, stood at Merman's Court, awaiting audience with Princess Lyanna Stark Targaryen as she called herself in White Harbor. He was a young man, soon to have his seven and ten namedays. His older brother and namesake was slain with hundreds of other Northerners at Red Wedding. House Flint of Widow's Watch was neighbor to Hornwoods, Woolfields and Manderlys and now they were alone in their loyalty to Queen Sansa Stark. Robin came to this meeting in his family's colors, blue and yellow with sigil on his chest showing pair or eyes over rippled sea.  
Donnel Flint, lord of Flint's Finger, kept his distance from him, standing nine feet away. He was nearing his thirtieth year and unlike Robin, then a boy of five, he was at Winterfell when army of the dead came. Donnel approached Jon right after he came in the great hall of New Castle, making sure that his distant cousin from Widow's Watch see his cordial greeting with once King in the North. Jon greeted with Donnel, but then he came to younger Flint and spoke with him of his slain brother. Jon saw that Robin Flint when King Robert Baratheon came to Winterfell and all great lords of the North were invited to the castle of House Stark.

_It is not me these Flints will be trading words..._ Jon thought as he took his seat next to lord Manderly. Today Wyman's kinsman Warrick was present. He once was Arya's helmsman. When her two ships came to White Harbor, with Ironborn attack looming over the city, Warrick disembarked. He fought on the ramparts against the krakens, took few cuts by sword and axe, yet he was seen throwing the Ironborn over the walls of his city. "Queen, eh? I tell ya, w'en I saw t'at girl in Qarth... t'ere was sometin' about 'er. She told me t'at I wrong 'er by callin' 'er toddler.   
Can ya believe t'at?!" he said to Jon after he came to embrace both Arya and Lyanna. Warrick was all that men of the North were. Or once were.  
It were men as him that his uncle Eddard loved, not men as Boltons or Elric Karstark or his sister who lost her way.

Both Flints, Robin and Donnel turned towards the entrance in the Great Hall as they saw two ladies entering. A woman and a girl. Arya walked before Lyanna, she wore her dark-grey breeches and woolen tunic of same coating on whose left chest a white head of direwolf was embroidered. Around her waist was a black leather belt, ornate as it were fur, on which a curved Valyrian steel sword hung, forged in ancient times when   
Princes of Rhoyne still were friends with Valyrian colonies on the banks of great river. After her followed Lyanna.  
She was taller than her aunt now, in ankle cut black dress whose sleeves were grey from elbows down with rampant wolf stitched on both.  
Around her neck Lyanna had a direwolf pendant. Belt of red leather she donned around waist, fashioned to appear as dragon scales.  
At her side, a large white direwolf slowly paced in the great hall.

Robin Flint's eyes widened when he saw her. He heard of Targaryen girl's youth and that did not surprise him.  
What he did not expect her to be looking as a Stark.  
And having white wolf at her side, large almost as a donkey and giving menacing gaze at him same as he did at the other Flint.  
Girl came close to him and extended her hand: "Lord Robin, I am Lyanna Stark Targaryen. I thank you for travelling here to meet me."  
Robin looked at her, she was smiling and had the grayest eyes he ever saw. "Princess Lyanna... I thank you for calling me..."  
He could not part his eyes from hers. Even when he kissed her hand. Only when she nodded, did he made a slight bow and his gaze went away.  
After she greeted Donnel Flint, Lyanna invited both to sit with her next to dais where Wyman Manderly and her father were seated.  
Jon left Lyanna to do her meetings with Northern lords and ladies, great and small, alone. But not before sharing all he knew of that lord or lady.  
His daughter was young, still she was daughter of last Targaryens. Ruling was in deep in her blood.  
She only needed proper tutelage. 

"Lord Donnel, lord Robin, I thank you once more for coming here. I wished to meet both branches of House Flint, more so as neither  
has yet given their word of me as heir to the Northern throne and a queen to be." Lyanna said as politely as she could.  
Still her eyes went from one Flint to other and there was mark of mistrust in them, no matter how well hidden.  
"Princess, House Flint of Flint's Finger has voted for Sansa Stark to be ousted from the throne..." Donnel begun but Wyman Manderly cut in:  
"...and now you seem to have change of heart. Or is the self proclaimed Lord Protector, that jackal from Karhold, one who you keep faith with?"  
"Lord Wyman, there is nearly seven hundred miles between White Harbor and Flint's Finger. I came from shore of the Sunset Sea to shore of the Narrow Sea, for I wished to see the young princess, to see if Kingdom of the North had a queen which can sit on the direwolf throne.  
Once it were vacant." Donnel answered. "And have you seen that queen, my lord?" Lyanna asked. He nodded: "I have seen a Stark princess.  
Yet, Flint's Finger is twice closer to Barrowton than we are to White Harbor. Should House Dustin decide to attack us..."  
"Should they decide to do so, Dustins or anyone else, will rue that day..." Lyanna with even voice "...yet, you can count with such aid only if you declare for me, my lord." Old Wyman added: "Houses that stand with Princess Lyanna shall receive every aid they need. That is what alliance should truly be."

Lyanna looked at young lord of Widow's Watch: "Lord Robin, I was told that at the council you were for Sansa Stark to remain the queen."  
"I was, Princess." he said. "May I know why?" she asked next. "It was matter of loyalty." Lyanna nodded: "That speaks well of you, more than it does of now Queen in the North. Was she loyal to you?" Robin looked at her: "I trusted her to be so." "You do not anymore?" she asked.  
"Princess, Woolfields declared for you upon learning how Karstark was named Lord Protector. Till then they stood by Sansa."  
"Yes, they did. And now, one standing at the walls of your castle can see sails of ships coming to Ramsgate from Braavos. House Woolfield   
has made proper choice." Lyanna told him. "Widow's Watch is more cautious than Ramsgate. I wished to meet you first before..."  
"And now, as you have met me?"  
Robin Flint was left with no words. Raven-haired girl before him was young, younger than he was, yet stern and willful. And beautiful.

Jon looked at young lord. _Is he smitten by Lyanna... or just left in wonder how girl this young can partake in the game of ruling so well..._  
"Princess Lyanna..." he said looking at her "...Widow's Watch is yours. I find you true Stark of Winterfell. And true heir to throne of the North."  
She smiled at him: "Lord Robin, should you remain true to what you've just said, I swear to you that your loyalty will not be betrayed."  
Young Flint returned the smile: "My sword is yours, Young She-wolf."  
"That leaves you, lord Donnel." Wyman said.  
Flint from the shores of Blazewater Bay remained silent for a short while, then said:  
"Queen we have lost her way. I wish her not on the throne anymore. Nor I wish to stand with Elric Karstark, man who one day schemes to ruin Sansa only to rejoin her the next. North needs better, far better. We need you, Princess. You may be young, but I see a daughter of Jon Snow before me. Flint's Finger stands with Lyanna Stark Targaryen." 

When meeting with heads of two branches of Flint family was over, Lyanna came to him. Jon still find hard to believe how she, same as her twin, has changed in less than two years. Gone was that little girl which came for him to Antler River. With every passing day she was more and more   
a fair maiden. The way she acted with all around her, already seemed Lya to have more namedays than she truly did.  
_But she is still a child and once Northern throne is secured, she will return to Meereen to be a child.  
North can wait. For woman grown. For Queeen Lyanna Stark Targaryen. _

"Emagon nyke gaomagon sȳrī, kepa?" she asked him in High Valyrian, yet softly for no one else to hear. (_Have I done well, father?_ )  
"Emā. Aderī, kesā sagon ūbrie naejot memēbagon rȳ Vinterveli. Naejot gūrogon skoros iksis aōhon, Līāna."  
(_You have. Soon, you'll be ready to march on Winterfell. To take what is yours, Lyanna._)


	73. LORD VELARYON

_King's Landing, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

**LORD VELARYON**

Yara Greyjoy. She lived to her reputation. Same as Arianne Martell.  
King's host in eastern Dorne numbered over thirty thousand when invasion of rebellious princedom began.  
Three moons and half have passed since Red Keep decided to keep southernmost part of Westeros in Six Kingdoms by sword.  
Starfall, High Hermitage were abandoned by Dornish and taken in first sennight of the invasion. Blackmont resisted and fell under King's banner after two moons. Same happened in the east, Spotswood, Lemonwood and Salt Shore were taken undefended and vacant during first week of the war. So were Sunspear and Water Gardens. On the northern shore, Wyl, Tor and Ghost Hill have been returned to Six Kingdoms without a fight.  
True war in eastern Dorne was waged at Godsgrace on Greenblood river.  
That siege dragged same as that of Blackmont, for over two moons. Dornish withdrew to the lands between Scourge and Vaith, using those two rivers as moats given by nature, moats that royal army needed to cross for giving battle to nearly eight and ten thousand Dornish cavarly and spearmen that have massed there. Lucion Lannister and Russell Merryweahter commanded with six and twenty thousand after two moons  
of siege at Godsgrace. Desert, heat and sickness claimed even more lives than Dornish spears did. 

Royal victory at Vaith would mean defeat of the bulk of Arianne Martell's army and soon enough the end of the rebellion. Smaller part of  
Dornish forces in the west would not be able to withstand the might of still close to sixty thousand soldiers of the Realm. Vaith was the key.  
Garth Hightower would argue that Kingsgrave had that role, that taking the seat of House Manwoody would soon bring the Prince's Pass under  
sway of King's troops and with that the land way to Dorne open for bringing more men and more supplies.  
As weeks passed and both parts of royal host bogged down before single Dornish keep, rivalry between Garth the Greysteel and Lucion Lannister grew into open resentment. Each blamed other for not giving what he was expected to. Two knights argued in messages they sent between themselves, they did not shy away from trading insults. Lord Merryweather in that quarrel was barely acknowledged of being there which angered him. So much that he ordered cavalry march along the southern bank of the Vaith hoping to capture the castle that bore the same name.  
It was ill advised move that gave King's troops only few miles of new land and tens of dead knights and riders.

In first week of ninth moon Arianne Martell decided to use one advantage she had over her foes. Invasion in central Dorne failed.  
Hellholt, Hellgate Hall and Sandstone have either remained under sunspear banner or were taken and then abandoned by King's soldiers.  
She had reserves. House Qorgyle and Uller together could muster over seven thousand men and Princess of Dorne decided to use them.  
For that, she needed ships of Yara Greyjoy. There was five scores of those now in the waters of Princedom's southern shore.  
Arianne needed about forty ships. She got them.  
Some with kraken sails and some with black sails bearing no sigil, that came from the east with food and other goods for Dornish army.  
Monterys heard talks of such ships sailing close to Dornish shore, some under banners of one of Free Cities, but never calling in any port.  
He knew those must be ships from Meereen or Astapor, ships that came to Dorne under orders of Daenerys Targaryen.  
His true Queen, was aiding the rebellion. Or independence. Depending on one's stance.  
It were those vessels that together with part of Ironborn fleet have ferried seven thousand warriors from mouth of Brimstone river along the coast of Summer Sea to a bay some twenty miles west of Salt Shore. Seven thousand horse and foot disembarked and marched north and east only during night. At the dawn of fourth day, men of Sandstone and Hellholt came behind the back of royal army encamped on the southern bank of Vaith river, one under command of Russell Merryweather. Godsgrace was only three leagues away.  


Arianne Martell gambled making that move as Arbor war galleys came down from Starfall to the mouth of Brimstone river upon learning that enemy fleet is massing there, but Yara Greyjoy ordered rest of her ships, almost seventy vessels to sail straight on the enemy. Ser Horas Redwyne had to slow his advance and that gave enough time for ships ferrying Dornish troops to make enoguh distance between themselves and king's fleet. 

Ravens came to his ship, the _Oakenfist_, anchored at the mouth of Greenblood river one mile from castle of House Dalt, the Lemonwood.  
Bird came from Red Keep and soon after from Ser Horas demanding that royal galleys and fleet from Driftmark should sail most hastily westwards, close to Salt Shore, to break the transport ships with Dornish troops. Monterys knew what that meant.  
He would have to attack not only Ironborn ships but those of Daenerys Targaryen as well. He was not ready to do it.  
His ships would come to that bay right in the midst of disembarkation of troops and lay ruin on both ships and men they ferried.  
Bael Velaryon, his third cousin, captain of _Pride of Driftmark _ came aboard the flagship of King's fleet to discuss actions with Monterys.  
"Should we sail with first light, we are to reach the Salt Shore on fourth hour after noon." he said to him. "Yes, fourth hour, fifth at the latest." Bael agreed. "That fleet we're about to attack set sail from mouth of Brimstone two days ago, they are loaded with men and horses, I assume,  
moving slowly along the coast. We'll get them while disembarking... our trebuchets and scorpions will sunk most of them, if not all."  
Monterys told him, his voice was solemn and serious. "That is our role, is it not?" Bael asked.  
"Yes... that is our role. I've played many roles, cousin, but every mummer show comes to an end." he said pensively.  
"I don't quite understand, Monterys." came the answer. "Tell me, Bael, are we worthy of Corlys the Sea Snake?  
Of Alyn the Oakenfist? Of Velaryons of old?" "I still don't understand what you speak of, my lord."  
"The Old, the True, the Brave... this is what I am speaking of. Those are our words." he said to his cousin.  
"The Old, the True, the Brave." Bael repeated. "Old as Valyria, true to our oaths, brave in keeping them..." Monterys said in solemn voice  
"...and I intend to be true to my oaths and brave in keeping them. Embaranne sytilībagon lēda zaldrīzes. Hae īles pār gō se Vējes."  
Bael's eyes widened: "Seahorse belongs with dragon. As it was since before the Doom... what does that mean...?"  


"With the dawn of morrow's day, all our ships will raise banner with three-headed dragon. I trust all our captains have it, hidden since times of Robert's Rebellion." "If not, they will raise black and red..." Bael's eyes glowed "...about bloody time, cousin, about bloody time. And then?"  
"Then we sail for Meereen. We shall pledge our ships to Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen. And to the one who should have been Aegon, Sixth of his name." Bael sighed: "I am no craven, that you know very well, but what of our families on Driftmark? If not raven king then dwarf will surely throw them all in dungeons." "That is why you will take _Pride of Driftmark_ and _Lady Laena _ this very night and sail back to Driftmark,  
to take family Velaryon into safety, to Meereen." "Royal fleet could take notice of that..." he said cautiously.  
"I know. There's less ships of Driftmark here than it is those with king's banner. Not all is in numbers." Monterys said.  
"Cousin, why now? We know of Targaryens in Meereen for over a year now." Bael asked. "And ever since I have learned of them, Bael,  
my faith went to House Targaryen of Meereen." Bael nodded: "As it is only proper. We're Velaryons."  
"The Old, the True, the Brave... go now, captain, prepare our fleet for the morrow and then sail to our home."  
"I wish you good fortune, cousin." Bael made a bow before leaving captain's chambers of the _Oakenfist_.

Not long after, someone knocked on the door and he allowed entrance. Young scribe in dark-blue tunic with paled red cap came in the room.  
"What is it?" Monterys asked. "I know what your orders are, my lord. Last night it was revealed to me." scribe said.  
"You disapprove?" lord of Driftmark looked at him. "It matters not what I approve. What hastened you so?"  
"I wish not to wrong my one true ruler. One my loyalty lies with." Scribe made slight nod:  
"So, my time in Westeros has come to an unexpected end." "It was always meant to end so, my friend, question was only when."  
"He will know of this, my lord. Lord of Darkness. For many moons he was as asleep, but now his gaze is on the world again.  
Champions of light are nearing him, he knows of that. Many ruin he will cause before he falls. Many ruin, many death. He will know of this.  
He will warn those that still trust in him." Monterys looked at young man, who in truth was old priest of R'hllor from Braavos:  
"Will he warn them before sunrise?" "He might, my lord." Ezzelyno, glamoring the scribe, nodded. "So, a battle could be upon us this very night."  
"It could be, lord Monterys." priest said. "Then, I will have need of a scribe no more. See that you are on the deck of _Pride of Driftmark_ within one hour. They sail for my island. And then to mouth of another river. You have served me well. I have one more demand of you..."  
"I am here to serve, my lord." Ezzelyno bowed his head. "You shall light your fire once more, on my cousin's ship, before all captains  
of Driftmark ships, there I'll give them my orders for this night."

Cell had no window. Nor bed. Nor bucket for wastes. Floor was covered with straw and stank of piss.  
Few years before Andrew Estermont has shown him one of dark cells, he saw wall of pale red stone, stained with nitre.  
Doors were wooden, four inches thick studded with iron. Now he was in darkness. As he were blind.  
His only company was gaoler who would bring him food and water once a day.  
Though calling it food would be as calling billy goat a courser horse.  
Even rat who came once to his cell shunned it and disappeared inside one of the walls.  
Or inside the floor. He could not tell. Darkness was absolute.  
_They want me alive..._, he mused during those long hours when he was awake, _...for a while at least.._

A rattling sound of chains came from outside. Doors were being open, he got used to creaking sound. Then he saw light. A torch.  
He was sitting down, on that stinking straw and yet the light of that torch was barely two feet above his head.  
One who held it was of small figure, at one brief moment thought flashed in his mind how children gaolers work in the dungeons  
of Red Keep now. Then he knew that it was no child. It was a man. A half man. He spoke first, mouth dry:  
"Tyrion Lannister... Hand of the King... it is you who brought me food today...?!"  
Man who held the torch remained silent for a heartbeat, then he said:  
"Monterys Velaryon, Master of Ships. Well, that you were until the Battle of Greenblood's Mouth. Now, you're a traitor awaiting his sentence."  
"So, that is what you have named it... battle... three ships facing all royal galleys..." he smirked at the torch.  
"Your other ships scattered in all directions..." Tyrion noted.  
He coughed, smoke from the torch came too close, then replied: "No, they all sail in same direction... to the Bay of Dragons..."  
Tyrion sighed: "You admit treason then."  
"No, what I admit is keeping faith... with House Targaryen..." Monterys said, giving effort for his voice to sound defiant and proud.  
He could tell that Lannister is shaking head: "Your forefathers served Targaryen kings, that is true. For many generations.  
While you... you gave oath to King Bran, only to betray him for the Mad Queen. That is what she truly is.  
You betrayed the best king Westeros had since Jaehaerys the Wise for a woman who slaughtered this city. I pity you, my lord."  
Tyrion spoke slowly, as he were giving a speech.

"Best king... mayhaps for the vultures in Dorne... yes... he's feeding them well... King and you alike..."  
"Your treachery was revealed in Dorne, my lord, when instead of sinking enemy's ships you chose to turn cloak and send Velaryon fleet to serve Daenerys Targaryen. You allowed Dornish to send thousands behind our lines. That could give them victory at Vaith. Unfortunately for you and all enemies of the Realm, king's health has bettered in last weeks and now he again uses his sight. He saw your plotting. It only took one raven's flight to alert the royal fleet. And _Oakenfist_ could not stand against three galleys. That was either foolish or arrogant from your part.  
Your ship is at the bottom of the Summer Sea, same as most of your crew. Those captured were hung that same day.  
Yet, you... you deserve the black cells of Red Keep and a trial." "Why bother with trial... as I have admitted what you call treason..."  
"Trial will be there for people of King's Landing to see who is to blame that for moons now there's no trade with Essos,  
why Dornish rebellion is not yet crushed, who aids the Ironborn... Six Kingdoms will know all that is work of Daenerys Targaryen.  
A vengeful woman who now kills thousands slowly, just as she burned thousands with dragon fire twelve years ago."  
"...another mummer show..." Monterys sighed "...I prefer to meet the royal executioner today..."  
"Not without proper procedure, my lord. As law dictates." Tyrion responded dryly. "You were trialed in Red Keep once... right?"  
"I was. My father and my sister saw to that. My trial was family affair. Pity yours will not be present..."  
Monterys looked at him calmly, but with slight frown.  
"They managed to escape from Driftmark on two ships you've sent for them. They ought to be with the Dragon Queen now. I have to find new lords of Driftmark now. You're young man, six and twenty years and you've thrown all that your family has built since before Aegon's Conquest.  
Since before Doom of Valyria, Driftmark was home to Velaryons. Is she worth it? Daenerys Targaryen?"  
Monterys coughed again, before answering, was that smoke coming from the torch or was this black cell slowly taking away his health, he asked himself. "I hope she is... I've never met her..." Tyrion stepped closer and lord of Driftmark could now see his widened eyes:  
"You've never met her and you risk all for her?!" "To believe I need not to see. And I believe same what she does.  
That Westeros will be better without you and that broken wretch you have made a king."  
"You may loose your tongue before you lose your head, lord Monterys." Tyrion hissed.  
Velaryon chuckled: "I beg you, cut it off before trial begins, it will shorten the farce you're planning."  
"You are such a fool, lord Velaryon." Lannister said with sad voice.  
Monterys shrugged: "It may be I will die a fool, but you, lord Hand, you will die screaming."  



	74. THE PRINCESS AND THE QUEEN

_Meereen, Essos, year 317 After Conquest_

**THE PRINCESS AND THE QUEEN**

Besakh zo Raza, commander of Waspwillow Barracks of City Guard of Meereen rushed up the stairway of Great Pyramid.  
He descended from a family of Meereenese commoners, they were free men, they wore no collar nor did they placed collars on others.  
Besakh was nearly out of breath when he entered the throne room where silver-haired girl was standing beneath the stairs that led to the throne of Bay of Dragons with her advisers. "Meereen's Delight..." he said in Low Valyrian as he went down on one knee "...forgive me for coming here unannounced, but I have news to report you." He breathed heavily, great concern marked his face.  
"Commander Besakh, you need not to apologize, please stand up, my good lord. And I beg you, don't call me Meereen's Delight. It flatters me greatly, but still..." Besakh met with Rhaella only few times since her parents took the crown of Bay of Dragons and every time the manner in which this young princess comported made him wonder of her true age. "Princess Rhaella, a fleet of ships is coming our way. They were spotted two days ago passing Yunkish coast. They'll be before our city in three, four hours at the most." "How many ships, commander?"  
"I've counted near fifty, Princess. Looking from the apex of Loraq pyramid."  
"Join me, commander and you lord Azzak, we'll go to the apex of this pyramid. I have far-eye from Myr on the terrace."

Far-eye was kind of telescope consisting of a bronze tube with ground glass lenses at either end.  
The best made far-eyes come from Myr and are referred to as Myrish eyes.  
This one on the terrace of Great Pyramid of Meereen was mounted on three-legged frame.  
Rhaella, Azzak and Besakh take turns in looking through the telescope.  
"Yes, I see them. Coming from south and west, in tight formation... it seems they caught favorable wind. They'll be here in very short time." Azzak said. "Can you tell what is on their sails or masts? What banner do they wave?" Besakh asked. "No, I can't." aide to the Queen answered.  
Rhaella looked through the far-eye once again. "It... they're far away and sun is now behind them, I can't see clear but largest ships have... seahorse on sails?!" "Does that tells you something, Princess?" Azzak asked. "It does. House Velayron of Driftmark. Their lord serves the raven king." "Could they be foes of Meereen?" commander zo Raza asked. "They could be, yes..." she said "...Azzak send riders to all City Guard barracks, alert them all. Commander Besakh, I will ride with you to Waspwillow. We must ready the trebuchets and scorpions.  
An attack from the sea may happen." "Our navy is at anchor, Princess." Besakh told her.  
"There is not enough time for them to sail out... we'll defend the city from the walls." Rhaella ordered.  
"Princess, should they attack, your place is not at the walls." Azzak reminded her.  
"I am blood of Old Valyria and of First Men. My place is at the city walls and nowhere else."

Garrison of stone triangular fortress which bore the name Waspwillow Barracks sounded alarum and all guardsmen there were now at the ramparts. Large bolts were placed on scorpions, some tips were coated with tar and oil, those were to serve as flaming projectiles. Trebuchets were also ready, bare stone blocks and those that will be unleashed burning. Waspwillow was ready to take fight against the fleet that was coming. Rhaella, dressed in her City Guard attire was asked to put at least cuirass armor and she yielded. Together with Besakh zo Raza and Nakhmaz Pandi, leader of all City Guard, she was on the walls of the fort that overlooked the port and western part of Meereen. One could now see ships with naked eye, there was no doubt it was the fleet of House Velaryon. Rhaella turned towards the city, along with fortress the inner walls of the port and those guarding west Meereen were now crowded with guardsmen and scorpion ballistae they brought from other three barracks. Half a dozen large trebuchets and twice as many scorpions awaited the enemy at this triangular fortress. Ten more scorpions were mounted at port walls. Rhaella readied her goldenheart longbow and stood near a brazier where fire arrows were to be lit.  
"Princess, you should not..." Nakhmaz began to talk.  
What he got was a glint in dark lilac eyes that spoke more than any word. He bowed his head: "You are your father's daughter."  
"I thank you for that praise, lord Nakhmaz. Tell me and tell me truthfully, can we repel their attack?" "A larger fleet attacked this city four and ten years ago and failed." "City was defended by three dragons then..." Rhaella reminded him. "Princess, if worst comes, we coat the waters of port and mouth of Skahazadhan in oil and burn it. Their ships will have to pass over wall of fire before reaching the city." She nodded:  
"Do whatever is necessary. I will not lose Meereen while my father and mother are away."

"They're closing on us!" guardsmen shouted from the lookout. She could now see the vessels clearly. Sea green sails with silver seahorse.  
Seahorse figureheads on the prow. Men on decks. All ships of war. Rhaella took a deep breath and whispered to herself in High Valyrian:  
"Naejotkepa, iōragon lēda nyke. Targārien se Stārke, iōragon lēda aōha tala."  
(_Forefathers, stand with me. Targaryens and Starks, stand with your daughter._).  
Then she said as loud as she could in dialect of Low Valyrian spoken in this city:  
"Guardsmen of Meereen! I, Rhaella of House Targaryen, stand with you today! I have only this to say to you: men on those ships, if they have come here to seek battle, battle they shall find! And not many shall return home to tell the tale how they charged at our great city!  
Stand firm, people of Meereen!" "We stand with Meereen's Delight!" shouted one man manning the scorpion.  
"Meereen's Delight! Meereen's Delight!" shouts came from all sides. Then all went silent. It lasted long.  
Targaryen banner fluttered on the pole, some twenty feet above ground. _So this is how quiet before storm is like..._ she mused.

"Look! Look at their masts!" guardsmen on the lookout yelled. "Princess, their banners! It's their banners!" Nakhmaz pointed with his hand.  
Rhaella sighed upon seeing the mainmast of the nearest ship. A weathered piece of cloth waved from it, weathered but still easy to tell.  
Black banner with red dragon. Banner of House Targaryen. "They are lowering the boat!" lookout reported. Rhaella looked at Nakhmaz:  
"They wish to parlay?" He nodded: "They do. And, I might be wrong, Princess, but this fleet just might be all else but our enemy."  
"Could be, but faded dragon banner means nothing. I will hear them speak."  
She watched as boat with four oarsmen and one standing on the prow, dressed in sea green tunic and grey breeches.  
Man was unarmed. His hair was long and silver.  
As boat came its two lenghts from the fort, Nakhmaz yelled at them: "You've come close enough! State your affairs with city of Meereen!"  
"My name is Bael of House Velaryon of Driftmark. I have come to pledge the war fleet of House Velaryon to King and Queen of Bay of Dragons.  
And to ask protection for our families. We are runaways, refugees from Westeros." man standing on the boat's prow yelled back.  
Rhaella climbed up the rampart, for him to see her clear: "Bael of House Velaryon, I am Rhaella of House Targaryen,  
princess of Bay of Dragons. Come ashore and I shall receive you in this fort." "As Princess wishes, that is how it will be."

Bael Velayron was man who counted as much namedays as Papa and Muña, though she was never good at telling one's age.  
Rhaella received him in chambers of Waspwillow's commander, together with Besakh and Nakhmaz.  
She could tell he expected to meet King or Queen. Not the child princess.  
"Lord Bael Velaryon, I must say that manner of your coming in the waters of Bay of Dragons brought great unrest in the city. Would it not be wiser that you have in some way announced calling of entire fleet to port of Meereen earlier? One wrong move could have caused a true battle.  
Battle which you would have lost."  
"I offer my apologies to you, Princess Rhaella, and to city of Meereen. Yet, when you're running to save your very life... sometimes you act rashly." "House Velaryon is of Driftmark island, right?" she asked. "That is so, Princess, for centuries sworn to House Targaryen..."  
"I know the history of our two houses well, my lord. History. That what has been. What is... tells me that your house now keeps faith with Bran the Broken. Is it not?" "No, it is not so." he said. Rhaella lifted an eyebrow, same as her mother used to:  
"Oh... how holding the position of Master of Ships in the Small Council of that same king, is not keeping faith and loyal service?"  
Bael sighed: "It appears so, Princess, even I thought so myself. On our way here, a priest of red god told me everything.  
How my cousin Monterys served your royal mother for many moons." Rhaella looked at Bael, then she gave Azzak an inquisitive look.  
"It could be, Princess. I know that Queen Daenerys received word on how things are in Westeros every week almost.  
And once she did mention a priest of R'hllor, one that answers to Kinvara." he said in Meereenese Low Valyrian.  
She nodded, then looked back at Bael: "I don't see your cousin here. He should be here with you."  
"He is either dead or captured by broken king." Bael said with sadness.  
"My lord, you will bring that priest of yours to the Great Pyramid where he will meet the High Priestes of... red god, as you say it." she told him.  
"It will be done as you ask. Can I ask a small mercy of you?" "There are no small mercies, my lord. Mercy is mercy. Ask me freely." she smiled at Bael, for the first time. "We have families of whole Velaryon household aboard our ships. They haven't been ashore for nearly whole moon.  
May we disembark them..." "Lord Bael, that is no issue. They can come ashore, city can even accommodate them in one of the pyramids.  
But, before all that, city's healers must be certain you brought no sickness with you. Do you agree?" Bael nodded.  
Rhaella did the same: "Good. I am looking forward to see you and your priest in the Great Pyramid."  
"It will be so. If I may say, Princess, I hoped to talk with the Queen, but I see that blood of Dragonstone runs strong in your veins."  
"I thank you for the kind words, my lord." she replied, again with smile. He nodded once more and left the chamber.  
Rhaella then got up from the table and said to Azzak: "One rider to R'hllor temple, we need Kinvara to shed more light at all this.  
Four riders to assemble the city healers which will tend these Velaryon families before landing." "I will see to it right away." he answered.  
Rhaella was pensive and both men noticed that. "Is princess troubled with other issues?"  
"Should it be that Monterys Velaryon served our Queen, there is no other but for her to return. She must hear this first hand."  


Once pyramid of Yherizan, now vacant Targaryen pyramid of Meereen took in about three dozen of women and children from Driftmark.  
One floor was given to them, floor beneath the highest one where Rhaella lived for a few moons with her family, before mother and father became Queen and King. It was third day after Velaryon fleet came before the city.  
She came with escort and Azzak zo Ghazeen to see those who fled before raven king and his Hand, those who sent assassins after her when she was ten years old. At twelve, Rhaella Targaryen was true ruler, but still she was a child. Since Papa and Muña were away, she spent few hours every day playing with Cregan and Little Dany. She loved to be with her babe sister and brother. Once she took them to throne room to play on the throne itself. She missed Lyanna greatly, but Rhae accepted that more they grew, more they will walk on their own paths.  
Lya will come back, but one day she will leave her for good.  
Lady Valaena Velaryon greeted her before all those who have found shelter in black pyramid on the southern side of the city. She was wife of Bael and mother of his two children, Alarra and Laenora who were few years younger than Rhaella. Bael and Valaena fostered his nephew Alyn, son of his late brother Lucerys who was killed when Great Sept of Baelor was blown up by Cersei Lannister. Boy's mother, lady Crispiana of House Celtigar, died from grief shortly after. All this, lady Valaena said to her in less than an hour which Rhaella spent with womenfolk of Driftmark. When she asked of family of lord Monterys, Valaena was hesitant at first, then she said that young lord was still childless and that his wife, Ilera Lohar of Lys, asked to be left at her father's home and not journeying to Meereen. 

Rhaella parted with lady Valaena and went to the uppermost floor to see her once room. It was a clear day and not so hot, as given to be  
on the apex terrace. Now gone House Yherizan built this black pyramid in the center of southern Meereen, from here a splendid view was offered on the Great Pyramid, on the sea in the west and the river in the east.  
She went around the terrace when she saw a young boy on the outer wall gazing in the distance, towards east.  
"Should you slip, falling down for many feet awaits you." she said aloud.  
He turned around, surprised and stepped off the wall on the terrace: "I am sorry, I thought I was alone here."  
Boy was thin and tall, he could not be much older than her, his shoulder long hair was silver, skin pale and eyes dark purple, he surely was  
of Valyrian blood. "Are you perchance Alyn Velaryon?" she asked smiling. "I am. May I know who asks?" he answered politely.  
"My name is Rhaella. Rhaella Targaryen."  
He knelt before her in a heartbeat: "I am honored to meet you, Princess."  
"Please, raise, my lord..." she said "...what were you doing on that wall?"  
"Looking towards east and south. One of the guards told me that on a clear day as this, one can see as far as Red City."  
She chuckled: "Oh, that is not true. Yunkai mayhaps, but Astapor is too far away... I gather you like gazing at distance."  
His sea-blue tunic and grey-green trousers truly clashes with her red and black garments, Rhaella noted. "Why do you gather that, Princess?" "Velaryons are known men of the sea, of voyages and adventures. You're named after Alyn Oakenfist."  
"I would not know... I've sailed only across the Narrow Sea." he sighed. "Isn't that strange for your family?"  
"It is. My uncle and aunt are not willing to let me taste the sea as I should. He loved my late father and mother and he does all he can  
to keep me out of harm's way till I am man grown." "When will that be?" she asked, smile never left her face.  
"In less than two years. I am four and ten. Well, five and ten in six moons."  
"I'll be three and ten next year." she said, wanting him to know her age.  
"Not yet three and ten and you rule over this city as a queen. I can't even be a lieutenant on my uncle's ship." he said with tone of disappointment. "Mayhaps your uncle thinks that you're still too young..."  
"Corlys Velaryon did his first voyage to Pentos when he was six. At six and ten he was captain." he shrugged.  
"You know of Arya Stark?" Rhaella asked. "Sure I do. She-wolf of the sea. I'd like to hear her stories.  
Maester of Storm's End wrote to our maester that she came to Asshai by the Sunset Sea."  
"She is my aunt." Rhae said smiling. "Your aunt?!" he wondered.  
"My father's younger sister. Well, cousin in truth, but they're as brother and sister."  
"You don't look as a Stark... forgive me if I am being too familiar."  
"I don't see much Celtigar in you as well. All Velaryon..." "Fair enough."  
"Lord Alyn, when she comes here again, you'll meet my aunt. She can tell you of her ten years voyage. You can even ask her to take you aboard."  
"Not many people call me lord Alyn." "Then I will not, but you don't get to call me Princess either. I mislike formalities with those of my age."  
Now he smiled at her and gave a slight nod: "Agreed... princ... Rhaella." "Agreed, Alyn."  
They went down from the terrace, he to his family on the floor below, she with her escort back to the Great Pyramid.  
She turned around and saw Alyn Velaryon. He watched her leaving. She gave him a courteous nod and he returned the same.  


Daenerys came to Meereen six days after seven and forty ships from Driftmark sailed in the mouth of Skahazadhan.  
R'hllor priests in Braavos got message from Kinvara, she asked not how, using glass candles or visions in flames, message was  
she should come to Meereen. After half a day of flight on Drogon, she was on the terrace of the Great Pyramid.  
First she went to nursery, to see her little twins, Cregan and Daenysanne. She hugged and kissed them both while they happily babbled.  
"Don't be angry with Muña for not being with you this long..." she spoke softly to them "...Muña will make such world where no Targaryen  
will ever be hiding or fleeing or afraid or belittled. Muña will see you becoming king and queen. That I swear to you."

From the terrace she saw Rhaella coming on horseback, escorted by two scores of Freeflames.  
Drogon landing on apex of the pyramid was a sight which one could witness from whole of Meereen.  
Rhaella saw it and rushed to Great Pyramid.  
_I see myself from all those years ago in you, dōna tala, in your resolve and in your compassion both.  
You will be queen as well. Where and when, I don't know.  
But, House Targaryen will have another Queen Rhaella, not as my mother was, wife of a king, but queen in your own right._  
"Muña!!!" Rhaella shouted as she ran to embrace her. Dany clasped her arms around her silver-haired daughter. "Rhae, sweet daughter..."  
She kissed and kissed girl's head. "Welcome back, mama!" Rhae said not letting her go from embrace.  
_She is still my little girl, my sweet little girl..._

"Rhaella, forgive me and your father, we have stayed away from Meereen for too long..." she told her when they sat down in the shade of persimmon tree "...the rule here fell upon you and you're still so young. I want you to know how proud Jon and I are of you. So proud, Rhaella."  
"I am Princess of House Targaryen. That was my duty. I've done it the best I could, mama."  
"Rhae, when I had twelve namedays others ruled over me. You, you ruled over this vast city as wise and able monarch.  
Wait till father comes from the North... he will carry you on his shoulders, be sure of that."  
Dany saw how Rhaella's eyes were filled with tears of joy. She hugged her daughter once more before asking:  
"Now, tell me all how it came to pass that whole House Velaryon and their fleet have moved to Meereen?"  
"Mama, is it true that Velaryons were our secret allies for all this time?"  
Daenerys nodded: "Yes, their lord Monterys was on our side since he learned that Targaryens live."  
Rhaella nodded and smiled, her gaze went away. "What is it, tala?"  
"Nothing. I am glad they did not betray us. They were oldest allies of our house and we oft shared blood with them, right?"  
"Yes, but you know that very well, Rhaella." Her daughter nodded and nearly recited:  
"Mother of Aegon the Conqueror was sired by Velaryon father and Targaryen mother. Mother of Jaehaerys the Wise was Alyssa Velaryon,  
wife of Corlys Velaryon was Princess Rhaenys, wife of Aegon the Third was Daenaera Velaryon..."  
"You see, Rhae, you have given shelter to our oldest friends and nearly kinsmen. You have done good... Meereen's Delight."  
"I don't like that name much." girl said.  
"But that name fills my heart with such pride. And Jon... he will not let you go from embrace. You're our delight, Rhae. Same as Lya."  
"Has she taken the direwolf throne?" Rhaella asked.  
"Soon. And then, you will come to Winterfell. You're Stark princess same as she is. North will honor you the same."  
"I will go to the crypts there. To pay respects to grandmama Lyanna and to greatuncle Eddard. Many told me that I have his temper."  
"Rhae, I did not know him. But, I know that he was a man true to his word. And a man of great honor. When king Robert ordered  
my assassination, he resigned as his Hand. For many years he protected a Targaryen, your father, and such was Ned Stark's honor  
that he could not approve killing of another Targaryen when he was hiding one." 

Kinvara and Ezzelyno stood before her. Braavosi priest seemed to her as he has aged ten years since she last saw him using glass candles. Obsidian candles. Sorcery of Old Valyria. It left the trace on Ezzelyno, using the glass candles to converse with her or Kinvara, to pass on the information that Master of Ships wrote in his log, wrote in a manner that it seemed he was noting meaningless trifles and not decisions that were key for the fate of the Realm. Realm she swore to destroy.  
"Are you certain that lord Monterys is in the dungeons of Red Keep?" she asked them.  
"We are, Your Grace. Word of him being captured reached Driftmark before his cousin Bael came with two ships to take their families  
to safety of Meereen." priest said. "Yes, queen Daenerys..." Kinvara told her "...flames have shown it as well. They have him.  
It is no lie made by servants of the raven king, the evil one."  
"That means he will be executed for treason. They could even torture him for information." Dany said.  
"Your Grace, lord Monterys' family and I have escaped. He has no information that could be of use to the enemy." priest said.  
"They could torture him for revenge. He risked everything for House Targaryen. For me and my husband though he never even saw us."  
She felt anger overcoming her. She could not do much for Monterys Velaryon.  
He was chained beneath the Red Keep, in dark cells, even if she were to take Red Keep the very next moment, that still would not save him.  
Bran's gaolers would slit his throat before he could be freed. His family will receive all they need from House Targaryen. And more.

"What of Dorne?" she asked Ezzelyno. "Princess Arianne has sent more than seven thousand men to strike the rear of raven king's host."  
"Was that successful?" queen asked. "Yes, Your Grace, those troops that Ironborn and your ships have ferried to Salt Shore have cut off foes  
from their supply lines. Land where Scourge and Vaith meet to make Greenblood is now retaken by Dornish.  
To the west of where Greenblood sources, between two rivers is the most of Broken King's army, before them is Arianne Martell  
with her main force. Eastwards, stretching along the Greenblood river all the way to Sunspear and sea is the supply line of the enemy."  
"For a priest, you provide a good war report. The longer Dornish keep supply line of the enemy cut, closer to victory they are.  
Still, Bran's army is led by no fools. That war will soon come to its decisive days. And I will do all I can to see Dorne emerge victoriously."

Dany saw an odd mark on Kinvara's face. "You do not approve?"  
"Dorne is not the war that will decide anything. Dornish war is nothing but folly of that dwarf who once served you."  
"All right. What will decide?" she asked the High Priestess. "North. North is whence the evil one came, whence Three Eyed Raven came.  
And the body they now share. Old magic, magic made to bring ruin to the world of men was made in the North thousands of years ago.  
Lord of Darkness yearns to return to the North where old faith, one in trees that bleed, is strongest. There he will have his whole power.  
There he could find a new body. Whole body. Body that could lead the army of the living before they become army of the dead.  
He needs a body which has blood of kings. As Brynden Rivers was. As Bran Stark was. Three Eyed Raven once took a dragon.  
Then he took a wolf. What a prize would be for the evil one if he could claim one that is both..."  
She frowned at woman in red robe: "What are you saying?!"  
"Beware of the pale sun. And one with scaled fur. Evil one, one that brings night and terror will use their lust for power."

Over a week has passed since she has returned from Braavos to Meereen.  
As affairs of Bay of Dragons were in order, Daenerys pondered of brief return to northwestern end of Essos, to Braavosian Coastland, from where she would fly to White Harbor. _No matter what I do, I'll feel as a bad mother. Lya there among the people I've never trusted nor will I,  
Rhae here in this city that never ceases to challenge its rulers, my sweet twins Cregan and Little Dany growing every day, soon they will  
walk and talk... my place is here with them, but I must be close to Lyanna when she secures her queenship over North._  
Dany freed Rhaella of all her duties and chares. "I want you to enjoy yourself, Rhae, for as many days as you wish. You've more than earned it."  
Rhaella did as she was told. And she find a new companion. Alyn Velaryon. Daenerys listened how Rhae speaks, not without excitement,  
that Alyn has his own longbow made of goldenheart tree. His grandfather took it from a dead pirate, Summer Islander, when Velaryon warship smashed the Lysene pirate vessel at Stepstones. Rhae was now more at Archery Range than at Great Pyramid.  
Dany made sure that princess was never guarded with less than forty Freeflames.  
That much guards would always irk her daughter, but now she did not mind. Dany never saw Rhaella so joyful.  
She wished to meet the young Velaryon, but Rhae paid no heed to that. "Alyn... he is very shy, mama." girl said.

Daenerys finished her affairs earlier that afternoon. On the same day of her return to Meereen, she first went to Bael Velayron and his family, she met all the members of House Velaryon, including whole household and offered help of every kind to lord Bael, from more permanent housing to all that came to the city with him, his family and his sailors and soldiers alike, to the ship repairs.  
As House Velaryon was one of renown seafarers, she said to Bael that they are more than welcome in her service.  
Goods from Free Cities, that once were sold in Westeros, were now going eastwards, from Volantis to Qarth and inland with caravans.  
Dany said to Bael that she is more than willing to take whole Velaryon fleet to work for her as merchant ships.  
"I wish to renew our centuries old alliance and true friendship, lord Bael, do not look at my offer as handout for I would never insult House Velaryon as that. I want all the Known World to see that dragon and seahorse, children of Old Valyria, are together again."

She went up to the last floor of royal pyramid of Meereen, as she used to call the tallest building of the city, aiming for the nursery.  
Voices came to her from the terrace, voices and laughter. One was Rhaella's, other was voice of a boy.  
She stepped out and walked towards garden.  
"I am not lying, Rhae... I've heard stories of Yi Ti archers and their short arrows. I think old Sea Snake left some writings of it.  
Maester Mathis in his book _The Nine Voyages_ described almost all Corlys saw, but no word of Yi Ti archers."  
"Yes, for that was a well guarded secret. No one truly knows how they use those arrows. No one ever saw it who is not Yi Ti." Rhaella explained.  
Daenerys came closer, pacing as silent as she could. She sat on the stone bench, hidden by bushes of wild mint and dusk roses.  
"You're good with the bow, Rhaella, I'd say you are better than half of the archers on our ships." boy said.  
"Many hours of practice. I like archery. My sister, Lyanna, is good with sword. Better than many men at arms. My weapon is arrow."  
"Mine too. On the sea, you must do all you can to keep enemy away. Swordfight means that you have been boarded and that is never good."  
Rhaella smiled at him. "It's so strange." "What is?" "You and I, Alyn. I know you for ten days, but..."  
"...it seems as we know each other for many years. Yes, it is same for me..."  
Velaryon boy smiled at Rhaella, then he put his arms around her and kissed her.  
He blushed right after and she gave him a loving look.  
Then Rhae leaned towards him and kissed him back. They kissed two times more and she rubbed her nose against his with giggle.  
Kisses lasted bit longer than a blink of an eye, but both were now blushing and smiling at each other.  
Dany watched all this with eyes widened. She almost came out from her hiding, but that would only make things worse, she knew.  
"Rhaella... how beautiful you are. I like you so..." boy said. "I like you too, Alyn. And I have shown you that."  
"I am so happy that I have met you, Rhae. I only want to be with you now." "As do I with you... but, what now, Alyn?"  
He looked at her, not knowing what to answer. She chuckled: "Your face is so funny... I ask you what shall we do now. About us."  
"About us...?" "Lord Alyn Velaryon, we have kissed each other many times last few days. That means we like each other a lot, right?"  
"Yes, a lot. More than a lot." he nodded. "Then, you'll have no issue with arranging your uncle and my mother to meet on the matter."

Daenerys listened all this in bewilderment. "On the matter, Rhae?" she heard boy asking.  
"On the matter of our betrothal, Alyn. I don't kiss boys for amusement, my lord."  
"I never thought this was for amusement, Rhaella. I would never..." he countered.  
"I know you would not. You are honest and honorable. Still, I wish us to be committed to each other. That is what betrothals are for."  
Dany did not know what to think of this. Her silver-haired daughter was never so that she would be infatuated with any boy.  
Rhaella was far more serious than that, even if she was not yet truly a maiden. _This Velaryon boy must be a true young lord._  
"I want the same, Rhaella. For us to be promised to each other." "Good. Then we'll both act accordingly."  
"I will speak with my uncle right after I return to that black pyramid. Yet, I don't know will Queen Daenerys approve of me."  
Princess placed kiss on his cheek: "I approve of you, Alyn. So will my mother when she meets you."  
"And your father, King Jon? Will he approve of me?" "He will see you as are, Alyn. Same as I have."


	75. ELRIC

_Winterfell, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

**ELRIC**

“People are leaving Winter Town, Lord Protector.” Beren Tallhart reported.  
He uttered the last two words with tone which barely hid utter mislike.  
“War is over, Beren, four moons have passed since we renounced our right on Gift and Hardhome.  
Those that have fled before Ironborn raids are going home.  
Being beggar at the gates of Winterfell or fisherman of Stony Shore or shepherd in the Rills, well what puts more fish or mutton on your table?”  
“They are not going to their homes, lord Elric. They are leaving for Torrhen’ Square or Castle Cerywn, some even down the White Knife,  
to the villages along the river.” Elric’s eyes narrowed: “Why they go there? To be beggars at another castle gate?  
Or to ask handouts from timber merchants…”  
“To work, my lord. As many men from those castles fell in the war, they needed hands and they’ve got them, in shape of those who begged at our gates.” “So, that would mean your cousin Eddara and lady Cerwyn are picking fruits of their siding with dragon bastard. With that Lyanna girl.” Beren nodded: “And by what we have heard from White Harbor, both houses Flint have sided with her.  
Prospect of trading with Essos again lures lords of the North to Targaryen girl as light lures flies.”  
“So, she buys allegiance with Braavosi purple sails coming to our shores.”  
“Lord Protector, summer is over. As you know, it is not allowed to cut trees on the islands that shelter the port of Braavos for they serve as windbreaks. That makes firewood there to be pricey. For many years North has sold timber to Braavos in exchange for Essosi goods.  
Now, timber again goes there from White Harbor. Timber from lands of those who want to see Jon Snow’s daughter on Northern throne.  
Timber goes east while grains, fruits, spices and and many other things comes here. Our spies at Wyman Manderly’s city say that both  
inner and outer harbor are teeming with ships, most of Braavos but some Pentoshi as well.”  
Elric frowned at him: “Do you always talk with so many words?”  
“It was my duty as queen’s main adviser to provide her with as much information as I can.” Beren said with acted politeness.  
“Then we can be thankful to the sheep of Rills and Barrowlands. It seems they keep Lord Roger’s and Lord Beron’s faith.  
Last two great houses that stand with Winterfell.” “And House Karstark…”  
Elric sneered at young Tallhart: “House Karstark is house of Lord Protector of the North.”  
Beren nodded, aware that his comment did not fall well with Elric.  
“Would that be all, my lord?” “It would. Please inform Queen Sansa that I wish an audience for me and Ser Culler Tarwick before supper.”  
“Aye, my lord.” Beren said and left his chamber.

_What was that saying, Flint from here or Flint from there, Flint is cunt everywhere… So, little dragon bitch has got two more houses on her side.  
Or is she bastard’s bastard… mayhaps her dear aunt knows better. _

Elric Karstark was in Winterfell for almost two moons now.  
When he came to royal castle of the North, kingdom was asunder on the matter of should Sansa of House Stark remain their queen or not.  
Half of the houses was for her to stay on the throne, other to oust her.  
Then Wyman Manderly came with the name of young princess, born far away in the east.  
One that had Stark blood and Stark name, Stark father and lineage. It left him bewildered.  
It left all lords and ladies bewildered. Save Sansa. It did not escape him.  
Soon he learned who that girl was. Born out of fuckery between bastard of Winterfell and Dragon Queen.  
Then more words came to him from White Harbor and from Torrhen’s Square where Beren still had friends.  
Jon Snow was no bastard. But in truth Targaryen heir to the Iron Throne, while that throne still existed.  
Girl had a claim by her grandmother Lyanna Stark. Stronger claim than anyone in the North, save Sansa.  
Arya Stark renounced her place in line of succession and Jon Snow was King in the North once already and he gave that kingship away.  
To the mother of this girl Lyanna. And he was king in the east. In what once was Slaver’s Bay. Now Bay of Dragons.

_Dragons… Targaryens. Instead of fucking with that king in wheelchair in the south who took their Red Keep and their true kingdom,  
they came here. To the North. To take direwolf throne. Or did that fat fuck Wyman persuade them to it. It mattered not now.  
What mattered was how to repel this dragon onslaught._ Elric pondered on many moves. None seemed to be warrant of success.  
_To send someone to kill that girl would mean to bring Dragon Queen and her last dragon to burn you to ashes or Jon Snow to kill you  
or Arya Stark to kill you and serve you to your family for supper…_ he has heard stories of all of those who stood by princess Lyanna.  
_To assemble host of Winterfell, Karhold, Barrowton and Rills and march on White Harbor, that was taking a great risk as well.  
Even if girl’s mother would not come to burn Lyanna’s path to the throne with dragon fire, that host has to meet combined forces of Manderlys, Hornwoods, Tallharts, Cerwyns, Flints with Gloves and mountains clans coming to their aid an attacking from the rear.  
Yes, there was five thousand men that king Bran send to Winterfell, but using them would mean to have Northern crown defended from the Northerners with foreign army. That would make anyone wearing it a weak, puppet king.  
There must be a better way… _

He came to Queen’s Chamber with Culler Tarwick.  
Sansa awaited them there, clad in black ankle cut dress, with two opposing direwolf heads stitched on her high collar.  
Elric was in black breeches and gambeson as well and now sitting next to each other they seemed as ruling couple.  
They were such illusion many moons ago. Now they were bonded by common enemy.  
Elric knew Sansa wants him dead and she will have that once when threat of Targaryen girl is removed.  
He wished no better for Sansa as well. To him she was a waste as a queen. Growing old, barren and bitter.  
There was nothing she had to offer to the North. Or him.  
Best course of events would be if she were to dispose of that princess from the east and then he will make sure last Stark in Winterfell was gone.  
Surely she thought of the same only with switched roles.  
One who stood apart from their black attire was Ser Culler, his woollen tunic and breeches being dark-blue with overcoat that was half gold, half purple. Lord of his House, Garibald, served Sealord of Braavos once and from there the purple color made its way onto sigil of House Tarwick.

They sat at octagonal table, made of oak tree, same as four padded chairs around it. Table same as the room was not large. Fire in the hearth was burning and giving pleasant warmth. As it was past sunset, candles in the iron chandelier were burning and giving light to the room.  
Elric was not seated, unlike Sansa and Culler, he stood next to a small cabinet above which was a large map of the North. He smirked first at grey and black-red pieces of cloth that someone pinned on the map to mark the division of the Northern houses.  
Grey cloth was pinned to three holdfasts and Winterfell. All else was black-red.  
“Surrounded… that is how one would call this state on the map…” he said “…from mountain clans across Deepwood Motte, Torrhen’s Square, Greywater Watch, White Harbor to Hornwood castle and Dreadfort... all those great lords want princess Lyanna Stark Targaryen as their queen.”  
“She is not Stark!” Sansa said aloud.  
“Then you’re not Tully… Someone should inform your uncle at Riverrun and your cousin at the Eyrie about that.” Elric grinned at her.  
"You will show me respect, lord Elric.” Sansa hissed back.  
“I am not being disrespectful, Your Grace. I am reminding you that should your uncle Edmure Tully’s line be broken or the line of Sweetrobin Arryn, you would be next in line to inherit as their closest kin. Same goes for granddaughter of Lyanna Stark. As both your younger sister and son of Lyanna Stark have been so generous to remove themselves from the line of succession… that indeed makes girl Lyanna heir of Winterfell.  
Her blood is Stark. That you can’t deny.”  
“Girl is Targaryen, sired by two Targaryens of which one has Stark mother. For which North believed for years that she was raped by a Targaryen.”  
“Some still believe that. Which still does not make Jon Snow or his daughter any less Stark. It is a fool’s errand to try disputing her claim.”  
“So, I am to declare her my heir? One that will wear the crown once I am gone? Which is signing my own death warrant, lord Elric.  
All those who want that dragonspawn on the Northern throne would do everything to have me dead in shortest time possible  
so they could crown her, a girl of what? Twelve years?”  
“Yes…” Elric grinned “…princess Lyanna is not even a maiden yet.”  
“Princess… her mother is a mad tyrant, her father… I loved that man as a brother once… I wished him as king of all Westeros.  
But, he… all he ever wanted was to serve that madwoman.” “Your Grace, I was told by lord Tyrion, before departing for North,  
that Jon Snow was the one who killed Daenerys Stormborn.” Culler finally spoke.  
“He did. In a rare occasion of him acting by his wits. He regretted it the very next moment and then he lived north of the Wall for ten years.  
Till my sister Arya reunited him with Dragon Queen.” “How if she was dead?”  
“Ser Culler, mayhaps you do not wish to believe in sorcery and magic of this world, but that does not mean it does not exist.”  
Elric gestured with his hand in dismissal: “That matters not now. Their daughter is here in the North now and houses are flocking to her,  
more and more. We have lost Flints four days ago. Do you think that Beron Dustin will not waver? Or Roger Ryswell?  
They will. Men are feeble, words are wind.”

Sansa looked at him, was that look of despise or disgust or both he could not tell nor did he care. Then she said: “And how do you propose to meet that threat, threat of all Northern houses save Karstark turning back to me, their queen and supporting that dragon bastard? Battle?  
And pray do not tell me you plan to have her killed. I’ve learned from my sister Arya who likes to play aunt to this _princess _ that one such attempt was made by Bran and Tyrion and it failed miserably.”  
She looked at Culler but it was plain that knight from the Reach has no knowledge of what Sansa was talking of.

“No, queen Sansa, I am not proposing any sort violent means. Though choosing violence would please me greatly, to see that fat fuck Wyman dead and those three whores led by Erena Glover… sometimes one must think of other paths.”  
“Three whores…” Sansa smirked “…did you call them so when plotting together with Erena, Jonelle and Eddara on my ousting, _Lord Protector_ ?”

Elric did not answer, but kept on talking: “Other paths must be considered.  
Lords of the North are unsteady as proven a lot these past moons. Their minds might change again.  
When they are given words on this girl-queen…” “What words, lord Elric?” Ser Culler asked.  
“Words that fat Wyman could not give them, or would not. Words on who that girl truly is. Who is her mother, who is her father…”  
“They already know that, lord Elric.” Southern knight said.  
“I am certain Queen Sansa agrees they do not.”

Sansa sighed deeply before saying: “You want to tell the lords of the North how my brother and his woman acted on the matter of Northern independence… When she came here twelve years ago, when she asked of him to surrender the crown for her help against the Night King  
and the army of the dead… Yes, I see what you mean. A daughter of a woman who never wanted a free North and of a man who gave his crown away only for she asked him to.”  
“Aye, that is what many lords that declared for her do not know, how Daenerys Targaryen wanted to rule over us all those years ago and how she brought her army here at a price of our kingdom, how she would not help us without that. Many lords were mere children when that happened.  
They must know how her mother acted. And how her father cared little of Northern crown. He gave it away for a woman.” Elric said.  
“I gather you do not plan sending ravens to all our houses with that story.”  
“No, Your Grace, I propose an assembly of all Northern lords, great and small, here at Winterfell where you and that girl will both address them.  
It is your only chance. Chance to for North to see that daughter of Jon Snow has no place in the line of succession, that she is not fit to sit on direwolf throne. And she is unfit not for her Targaryen blood or for she was sired in aunt nephew fuckery. She is unfit for her parents care not of the North, they want to reclaim whole of Westeros. We must prove to the Northern lords that Lyanna Targaryen as queen means the end of Kingdom of the North. And before that, her rule will be rule of a puppet girl queen, puppet of Wyman Manderly.”

"That is a great gamble, lord Elric..." Ser Culler said "...it might just as well end with all your lords and ladies overthrowing Queen Sansa in favor of Targaryen girl." "I know it's a gamble, Ser. But better to gamble than to sit and watch how one after another houses great and small go over to little dragon bitch. Her Braavosi fleet ferries goods from Essos at lower price than sellsails which our queen has hired and they now can only lay anchor at Karhold which as we all agree is not true port. And is over six hundred miles from Winterfell. This assembly is our only chance."

Sansa rose up from her chair: "I agree. I will not cause a civil war in my kingdom. For ten years I have done nothing but bettering of the North.  
In any given way. Yes, I have not won the war with the wildlings as kraken scum has ruined our shores, making us fight on many sides at once. Yes, many in the North, yourself included _Lord Protector_ here wanted me gone afterwards. An act of schemery and treachery.  
Still, far greater treachery is done by White Harbor who want to impose a Targaryen as Northern queen. That I will not allow.  
Mad Queen's spawn will not take my crown nor my throne. Let there be assembly. Of whole North. On which only two shall speak.  
Me, their rightful Queen and a girl usurper, a puppet of her own mother and Wyman Manderly.  
Only this Lyanna and me will have a saying. Let the North see who is true queen and who a weeping child."

She walked to the map, gave it a long look, then she took the small piece of black-red cloth that was pinned at the White Harbor and tear it apart. "Lord Elric, tell Beren Tallhart that Queen commands him to go to White Harbor with first light tomorrow.  
He is to offer an assembly of all Northern houses at which Targaryen princess and Star queen will present their case.  
Assembly is to take place two sennights from the day they accept it. If they accept it."  


He nodded and left the room, but lingered on the other side of the door.  
"Your Grace, do you truly see wisdom in arranging this assembly." he heard Tarwick asking.  
"No, but I have no better option, Ser. What I know of Northern lords is that they are wavery as grass in the wind.  
All these houses that have rallied behind dragonspawn have done it for many different reasons, Manderly hopes to rule the North using that girl as puppet, those three bitches hate me, others have sold their loyalty for Essosi grain... that is not firm alliance, if I get only some of them to question their oath given to this child... then calling this assembly was not wrong. Ser Culler, doubt not, I plan to humiliate this twelve year old child,  
she will cry before all the North. And rue the day she came here, after my throne."  
"Your Grace, should you find it fitting, my men are at your disposal as King Bran intended. You will have that Targaryen girl  
and all that support her chained in dungeons. If ordered so, even Lord Protector will not be exempt of that."  
_Well, well, Ser Culler, I thank you for shedding your mask.  
One thing is certain, Ser, you will not leave North alive, _ Elric mused upon hearing those words.

Beren Tallhart stood at the great hall of New Castle in White Harbor. He was at great unease.  
Since he disembarked from the river runner that ferried him down the White Knife river, he felt eyes stabbing him. He was among enemies now.  
And he was the enemy, all he met made that clear, from the guards at Seal Gate to the knights and ladies of Merman's Court.  
He was man of Sansa Stark, man who served the failed queen and turned against his own family, House Tallhart. Traitor to his own.  
_Good for me that I am an envoy, otherwise I'd be thrown from the walls of the Wolf's Den with my arms and legs bound,_ he mused.

"Lord Beren of House Tallhart..." came a young voice from behind him.  
He turned around and nearly jumped off as he was not even two feet away from a large white direwolf.  
Animal gazed at him with look that spoke of killing.  
"You need not to fear of Ghost. He hurts only those he finds threat to me... though by the manner at which he looks at you...  
are you a threat, my lord?" Beren's eyes shifted from huge wolf to a young girl that stood by Ghost's side.  
Black trousers, sleeveless grey woolen surcoat over white shirt. White direwolf embroidered on surcoat, across the chest.  
Raven-black hair fashioned in single braid and grey eyes that pierced him.

"Lady... Princess Lyanna, I am here in the name..."  
"...of Sansa Stark, Queen in the North. Well, what does my _royal aunt_ wishes of me, I wonder." girl said with stern voice.  
"Her Grace proposes an assembly of all the noble houses of Kingdom of the North, great and small, to take place at Winterfell ten days from today, should you accept it." "And what will be the purpose of this assembly?" she asked, voice equally stern, eyes cold and stabbing.  
_She is young, but this girl is fierce... and more Stark by looks than my queen is... I see why North is flocking to her..._ Beren was again in his thoughts. "I am waiting your answer, lord Beren."  
"Yes... apologies, Princess... Queen Sansa wants to present her case before all the noblemen, case of her remaining the queen. Without named heir. She also wishes for you to attend and present your case of being heir to the Northern throne and..."  
"You will cease talking right there, my lord. I have no need to defend my right to the Northern throne.  
My great-grandfather was lord Rickard Stark, my grandmother was Lyanna Stark, my father is her son, he was King in the North.  
I am the heir to the direwolf throne and I need not to prove that to anyone, least of all to a woman who has lost the North."

Beren was left with no words for a while and girl before him frowned.  
"Princess..." he spoke cautiously "...Queen Sansa does not question your place in the line of succession. What she wants is that both of you  
should come before all the Northern houses and declare how do you foresee the future of our kingdom."  
Girl chuckled: "Queen Sansa is left with three great houses that support her. I have ten great lords or ladies and the mountain clans.  
Tell me, lord Beren, who is to profit from such gathering? Me or your queen? Is this her last, desperate attempt to turn the tide?  
I'd think of her better if she had courage to meet my North on the field of battle."  
"Queen Sansa wishes to resolve this without swords being drawn." Beren said.  
"If only she was woman of peace when she went to claim the lands of Free Folk."  
"Princess, I have to bring your answer to Her Grace..." Tallhart said, voice marked with impatience.  
"You do not get to rush me, my lord..." girl replied with tone of voice that sent shivers down his spine "...I will take this offer in consideration.  
And give you my answer till noon of morrow's day." 


	76. ARYA

_Winterfell, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

**ARYA**

It was a dark, primal place. About three acres of old forest that was not touched by a man for thousands of years though large, gloomy castle  
grew around it. This place was robbed of light even by day. Multitude of trees made a dense canopy over old earth and moss.  
Tall sentinels, great oaks, ironwood and ash, elms and chestnuts, all guarded by soldier pines.  
In the very middle of this wood stood the heart tree, as some pale giant.  
Tree of white bark and red leaves with face carved on its trunk towering over a pool of black water. Air smelled of moist and decay.

_This is Winterfell. This is the North._ she thought as main iron gate closed behind her.  
Godswood was surrounded by walls, one could enter it as she did or by using the smaller wooden gates.  
A sigh, unwilling, escaped her. It was this place where she killed the Night King.  
It was godswood where she saw both of her brothers upon returning to Winterfell.  
It was here when she learned that her most loved brother is in truth her cousin.  
It was here where she made an oath never to speak of it to anyone.

It seemed as all that was in another life.  
Castle she did not feel as home anymore. She was away for too long.  
Home is not made of walls or roof or rooms, it is made by people you love, people you know. People with whom you share memories.  
Winterfell did not have that for her. Not anymore. It was another castle, far away in the south that felt as home now.  
There was a man with whom she shared memories and love. Winterfell was past of dried ink. Storm’s End was present and future. 

What was that line she oft heard from a queen in the east, _to go north, you must go south. To reach the west, you must go east. _  
It made little sense to her when she heard it first. Now, as she stood in the place where she lived as a girl while thinking of place  
on the other side of the continent, it came to her mind that mayhaps she truly had to go north to come south.  
Last great journey of Arya Stark. Last howl of wandering wolf.

“Last time you were here, you said that you would never do anything to harm me. And that you would never side with my enemies…”

Her sister’s voice, accusing, came from behind. Queen Sansa of House Stark was coming to her in slow pace.  
Regal as ever, she wore black dress and leather jerkin with silver head of direwolf pinned at her left chest. Auburn hair fell over her shoulders.  
Queen’s face spoke both of strength and defiance. That was Sansa.

“And yet, here you are. You rode in the castle of your family under banner of white direwolf, bringing an Essosi child which wants to sit  
on my throne. Why, Arya?” She looked at her sister with eyes that held nothing but love: “For I want only what is best for you, Sansa.  
And what is best for you is not to be queen anymore. Leave the throne and the crown before it claims your life…”  
“Is that it? I will be killed if I do not remove myself before dragonspawn which tricked most of the North of being a wolf maiden…  
are you saying me that?”

Arya sighed: “Jon would never allow anything to happen to you. Nor would his daughter, one you call dragonspawn.  
As for the rest of the Northern lords, no matter if they gave support to you or to Lyanna, that is different matter.  
Some would not frown on your removal being done with tip of a sword.”  
“I know that all too well, Arya, but I must choose my battles. And first battle is with this child that Wyman Manderly wants to crown.  
Then I will deal with others.”  
“Deal with others? As you have dealt with Elric Karstark… who betrayed you and you have still named him… Lord Protector. What a jape.”  
“That was my small yield to Bran.” came the answer.  
“To Bran? Or to Tyrion Lannister? I’ve seen tents of their host before Winter Town. What purpose do they serve, Sansa?”  
“They were sent North to help me keep peace. And as you well know, neither Bran nor Tyrion want a Targaryen ruling in Winterfell.”  
Arya chuckled: “So much of the free North…”  
“And with this child North will be free? Child that will do her mother’s bidding. Or Wyman’s bidding…  
I have ruled North for ten good years, Arya, while you were roaming the seas and Jon was hiding beyond the Wall.  
I was left alone here with people who were not our family. I was a good queen…”  
“And then you weren’t…” Arya said.

Sansa was about to speak when footsteps were heard.  
Dark haired man walked towards them. He was dressed in black breeches and overcoat of same color under which was dark-red tunic.  
On leather belt around his waist, a Valyrian steel hung with pommel in shape of wolf’s head.  
Arya smiled at him, while Sansa gazed with eyes wide. Man was their cousin.  
Though for both he was brother, they knew him as such their whole lives.  
Jon Snow. Aegon Targaryen. Jon Targaryen, king of the Bay of Dragons.

“Your Grace…” he said to Sansa after a long look of silence, his voice trembled a bit.  
Red haired woman looked at him, one could tell she was taken aback with this encounter which was first since that day more  
than twelve years ago in port of King’s Landing when he embarked the ship which took him back to the Wall.  
That man who bid farewell to his family on stone pier was only a shadow of who he once was, broken by guilt and remorse,  
having lost will to live. Man who stood before her now was someone Sansa had yet to know.  
“Jon…” she said “...I did not know you came to Winterfell.”  
“I was with the rear of my daughter’s column. She agreed with this assembly, on her own will.”  
Sansa nodded: “I saw her ride in. She takes after you.”  
“She takes after Starks. And she is now in the crypts, paying respects to our dead. You have not welcomed her. Lyanna is your blood, Sansa.”  
Jon said. Sansa remained silent, his words were scolding her.

“Why, Jon? Why? After all these years you have come back to Winterfell. Not as a brother, but as one who wants to strip me of my queenship."  
"I am not your enemy, Sansa. You can remain Queen in the North. Declare Lyanna your heir and when she is woman grown,  
you abdicate in her favor. Spare yourself of this assembly. Lords of the North no longer want you as their queen."  
"So, this is your offer to me? You have come here to take my crown and put it on your child’s head.  
On the head of daughter of Daenerys Targaryen.”  
“You utter her name as it were a curse.” he said.  
“She burned a city whole, Jon. She would kill you. She would kill me and Arya… she was mad, Jon… mad tyrant…”  
“Is that what you say to yourself to feel better? I have stabbed her, Sansa. For what she did to King’s Landing. For what she wanted  
to do in the rest of the world. I stabbed her for you and for Arya… I stabbed a woman that was pregnant with my children…  
And what did that woman do when she was brought back to life as I was?  
She gave birth to my children and raised them for ten years, not teaching them to hate Starks, she gave my mother’s name to one of the girls.  
She did not kill Arya when they met two years ago. She did not kill me when I came to Meereen. No. She took us as her family.”  
Sansa shook her head: “So, she took you back even if you have killed her. What woman would to that, Jon? One that lusts for revenge.  
She will use you and your children, even Arya, to get that revenge. That is why her daughter is here, she uses that child to steal my crown.  
What better way of vengeance…”  
“It was not Daenerys who made you broke the oath, oath you gave before this very tree, Sansa.  
It was not her that made you broke the peace with the Free Folk to get more land to be conquering queen.  
It was not her that turned most of the Northern lords against you. All that was your own doing. And undoing.”

Sansa smirked at him, eyeing him with disillusion: “She uses you. She uses you same as she did when you gave up the crown for her.  
And you’re too dumb to see that. And you, Arya, somehow she managed to lure you in her schemes as well.  
She uses both of you and the child you sired with her to get sway over North.”  
“Child or dragonspawn, Sansa?” Jon asked “Your hatred for Daenerys has blinded you so that you hate my children as well,  
your nieces and nephew. Only children with Stark blood in all of the world. How foul and sad is that…”  
“I cannot see them as my blood, Jon. They are her children. Targaryens.”  
“I am Targaryen as well, Sansa.”  
“You are a Stark. You were raised as a Stark. Your place was here, in Winterfell. Not in Meereen. Not with her, not with that madwo…”  
“You will not insult my wife, mother of my children and my queen. When speaking of her, you will give her respect she deserves.”  
“You gave her what she deserved twelve years ago…” Sansa hissed.

Jon’s eyes widened and there was a silence between the three.  
To Arya it seemed as it lasts forever. Jon swallowed before speaking:  
“Aye, Sansa, I gave her what I thought then she deserved. But, that was wrong. I know it was wrong the moment I did it. She was not mad.  
She was not evil. She was hurt, she was betrayed, bitter and alone. Did you know that Varys tried to poison her?  
To remove her so he could put me on the Iron Throne.  
How did he know? You told Tyrion. He told Varys. You swore to keep it a secret. You broke that oath.  
Not to help me, Sansa, you knew that I do not want to rule over Seven Kingdoms. You did it to hurt Daenerys. Not because you saw her as tyrant.  
You saw that she will not give you the independent North. So you decided it is best for you if she would fail. You got what you wanted.  
Twelve years ago, Sansa, you got all that you wanted. Mayhaps that made you believe that you will always have that luck, to get what you want.  
Well, you did not get your New North, did you? What you got is over seven thousand dead Northerners.  
What you got is North torn asunder. That was not my daughter's doing. That was you.”

Sansa was surprised with him, Arya could tell. She remembered Jon Snow, man of few words who had no wit for ruling.  
Jon Targaryen was different man.

“Your love for her has blinded you, Jon. That is why you bent the knee to her and surrender the North. You weren’t able to see her  
for what she was. A conqueror, same as Aegon. Conqueror who came to rule over everyone. But I saw who she truly was.  
And I acted. I feel no guilt or remorse. I was not me who made her unleash dragon wrath on King’s Landing.  
That was your beloved, that was Daenerys Targaryen. That was fire and blood.”  
“You seem to forget something, Sansa… you forget that I am fire and blood too.”  
“Once you were a Stark. Once you were of the North.” Sansa said.  
“I was never Stark, Sansa. Only by blood. Same as my children. You are Stark by name. And by nothing else.  
True Stark would never break pacts that were hundreds, thousands years old only to get more land.  
You made enemies from the Free Folk, only ten years after we’ve bled together against Ramsay, against the White Walkers. And for what?  
For a folly of having more land, making Hardhome as new large port... You were smarter once, Sansa.”

She gave him a stern look: “You were not here, Jon. You were sent to the Wall and then you left the Night’s Watch and disappeared among the wildlings. You, same as Arya, were not here when I took the crown and worked hard to make North live again, to thrive as it never did before.  
Both of you ran off, west of Westeros and north of the North... and now, after all these years, here you are.  
Once King in the North, trying to sit a little girl on the throne of House Stark only for that pleases your aunt-wife. I will not give up my crown, Jon. Not to you, not to your daughter that is also your cousin, not to anyone. I bear no ill will for the girl, but she has no place here.  
Take her back to Essos. Where she belongs. Where you belong, Jon.  
Starks were ruling Winterfell when your father’s ancestors were burning Essos together with other dragonlords.”

Arya shook her head, looking at her older sister and at her older brother. Rift between them was wider than Sunset Sea.  
She tried to say something, but Jon spoke faster: “Aye, I will return to Essos. You will lose your crown. And Stark will rule in Winterfell.”  
"We shall see, _Aegon_, we shall see." 

After noon of that day, Arya was looking at the Northern throne, a wooden chair ornate with direwolf heads. Behind it was the main hearth  
of Great Hall. Before it were assembled all noble houses of her kingdom, great and small, numbering near five scores of people.  
She stood at the back, removing herself as far as she could from what will take place here.  
The lords and ladies of Kingdom of the North awaited her, some seated at the long tables, some standing.  
Roger Ryswell, lord of the Rills, Beron Dustin of Barrow Hall and their sworn lesser lords have taken seats closest to the throne.  
Arya saw Erena Glover looking at them with disdain, she seemed as she was ready to spit on them.  
Erena had only eight and ten namedays, yet she seemed to Arya as bitter old maid.  
To Erena’s side, Eddara Tallhart, was seated and her eyes were glued at her cousin Beren.  
_If kinslaying were not an unforgivable sin and gaze could kill, poor Beren would already be slain..._ Arya mused.  
There was Jonelle Cerwyn, third of this company of ladies of great houses.  
_Witches, bitches, weasels..._ were names given to them by allies and foes alike.  
Lord Larence Hornwood was seated across the three, with his wife Wylla who was whispering something to her grandsire Wyman,  
lord of White Harbor. Mountain clans, Wulls, Norreys, Burleys, Harclays and Knotts, oddly have taken seats next to Manderlys.  
It was unlike them as they usual choice of sitting was on the far side of the hall.  
Arya looked from one end of the hall to another, though it seemed as she was not looking anywhere.  
Many came to greet her and shake her hand, those who declared for her niece, but did not come to White Harbor and those who stood by Sansa. _Am i now the only thing these lords are not divided on?_

Forrester, Condon, Stout, Ironsmith, Whitehill, Mollen, Lightfoot, Lake, Overton, Waterman, Holt... all lesser lords of the North  
have answered the call for this assembly. Now they were gazing at each other as sworn enemies.  
All of crannogmen were present as well. Meera Reed came with her lord, Lonnel Fenn and they were sitting not far from mountain clans.  
Further down the aisle were other houses from the Neck, Arya struggled to remember what sigil stood for what family. Blackmyre, Boggs, Cray, Greengood, Quagg. Only one she could tell right away was pale violet shield with three black water lilies on it, shield of House Fenn.  


Last time Great Hall of Winterfell was this crowded was when feast of victory over the Night King and his army of the dead was held.  
Feast she shunned and was in the courtyard, shooting arrows.  
Today, this was no celebration. Men in the hall whispered, murmured, talked, shouted, some even cursed as they passed next to each other.  
Today, all highborn of the North were to listen. Listen to queen and listen to princess.  
Sansa proposed this assembly. _To what end_, Arya wondered, most of the kingdom rallied to her niece, abandoning her sister.  
Yet, Arya knew that Sansa was savvy in the game of thrones as no Stark of their generation was.  
Surely she hoped to gain something by this, by facing the young girl who was chosen queen of most Northern houses.  
Lyanna accepted. After counseling with her father and lord Wyman.  
Arya, keeping the word she gave to Sansa last time she was in Winterfell, gave no advice to Lyanna.  
She loved her niece greatly, but she loved her sister as well. The two were now enemies and Arya gave word to Sansa she would never side  
with her enemies. Nor she would aid her against Lyanna. Arya came with Jon, Lyanna and their escort to Winterfell.  
From all corners of the North, lords and ladies were flocking to the keep of House Stark.  
Both sides, those who still supported Sansa and those who declared for Lyanna, saw this gathering as one last toil before whole kingdom descends into civil war. No blades or bludgeons of any sort were allowed in the hall.  
On all doors guards stood, made of queen's soldiers, Wyman's men and Freeflames.  
All who wanted to enter were searched and weapon, when founded upon a lord or lady, was taken from them.  
To make sure that those who came to the assembly cut each other with words alone. 

Beren Tallhart clapped his hands three times, pausing before each clap.  
"My lords, my ladies, Her Grace, Sansa of House Stark, First of her name, Queen in the North!" he exclaimed loudly.  
Sansa came from behind the throne, through the door that was close to the hearth. That passage did not exist when she and Arya were  
growing up, its making was ordered by the Queen in the North, for her to have the shortest way between her chambers and Great Hall.  
She was dressed differently than in godswood. Floor-length dress of dark grey color, sleeves embroidered with fish scales  
that intertwined with the red leaves of weirwood. On her brow rested the Northern crow.  
Next to the throne stood Elric Karstark, leaning on a cane, clad in dark brown with white sunburst beneath the collar of his surcoat.  
He gazed around the hall, as hawk gazes at prey. When his eyes met Arya's, she turned away, not hiding disgust with him.  
Upon taking seat on the throne, queen made a slight nod to all present and then leaned back, she waited. 

"Lords and ladies of the North, princess Lyanna, of House Stark and House Targaryen!", came from the opposing end of the hall,  
one of Manderly men shouted. Her niece walked in the hall, in slow, dignified pace. Raven hair fell freely across her back, unbraided.  
She donned a floor length black velvet dress with running direwolf stitched in silver over the chest. Over her shoulders she put a white fur.  
At her side was Hallis Hornwood with whom she walked arm in arm. Young lord wore black breeches and shirt over which he put orange gambeson with brown moose rampant embroidered on the left chest. When they came before the throne, he bowed to Lyanna and went to sit next to his father. Jon came after them, he was dressed the same as in godswood. When she saw Arya, he went to stand next to her. 

Sansa smirked at that, which had not escape the dark-haired girl. "Your Grace..." Lyanna made a slight nod, her eyes narrowed.  
"Princess..." came the reply through almost closed teeth. Two cousins once removed looked at each other, a woman and a girl,  
in silence for a while, assessing each other. Then Sansa averted her eyes from Lyanna and said to the gathering:  
"Lords and ladies of the Kingdom of the North, I have called this assembly and I am greatly pleased to see that you have answered in such numbers. I, your rightful Queen, have called you to Winterfell for I wanted you to learn of web of schemes that some among you have been weaving for moons now. Schemes with aim to supplant me as your ruler with a child, born and raised far away from here. Child that has some of Stark blood, but is in truth a Targaryen, a whole Targaryen, whose mother is no other but Daenerys Stormborn, proven enemy of the North and House Stark.  
Woman who agreed to come to our aid against the White Walkers only upon coercing our once king to renounce his crown so she could rule over us, rule as tyrant she were." "Aye!" shouted lord Ryswell, joined by Beron Dustin and Elric Karstark who tapped his cane on the stone floor.  
"I wish to know...no... I demand to hear from all those lords who want to place this child usurper to Stark throne is their love for the North so weak they care only of their gain, no matter how small, that they mind not of putting the crown on the head of a girl which is years away from being woman grown, girl born in incest, girl that may have taint of Targaryen madness in her blood. Her mother burned down King's Landing for she was angry when some of her friends died. Would a sane woman do that? My father, Eddard Stark, was beheaded before my very eyes and the smallfolk of King's Landing cheered. If anyone had a reason to see that city burning, it was me. Yet, I would never do such a crime as Dragon Queen did in the capital of then Seven Kingdoms. For I, with all my flaws, am a woman sane. Can any of you vouch that for this girl?  
Answer me... lord Manderly... or should I ask you, lord Hornwood? It appears you have already found a man for this Essosi princess."  
"Answer! Answer!" yelled Ryswell, Dustin and their lesser lords, followed by banging their hands on the tables.  
Great Hall was again booming with sounds of quarrel, some voices demanding answer came even from those that did not support Sansa.

"I will answer." A reply came, then once more, as a shout: "I will answer!!"  
Arya saw Lyanna placing hand on her chest, turned towards the assembly, her back to the throne.  
Those closest to her went silent right away, soon the rest of the hall followed.  
"I, Lyanna Stark Targaryen, daughter of Jon and Daenerys, will answer to what you ask, Queen Sansa.  
Lords who declared for me, do not speak for me. Same as those few who still stand behind you, do not serve as your mouth."  
Now all those seated around Wyman Manderly clapped their hands and shouted in approval.  
"Young She-wolf!" was heard on the far side of the hall. That did not fell well with Sansa.

"Indeed you are right, Queen Sansa, I am only a girl, not even a maiden yet, years away from being a woman grown.  
My mother and father are both Targaryen. My father is half Stark.  
His mother was your aunt, Queen Sansa, his mother was lady Lyanna Stark, the She-wolf. My mother named me after her.  
That sworn enemy of Starks and North, gave her daughter name Lyanna. My babe brother is named Cregan.  
That is how much Daenerys Stormborn hates Starks of Winterfell..."  
Arya knew most of lesser lords have never saw or heard Lyanna speak and now they gazed at her, this girl that was as fierce as her namesake from House Mormont whose voice once rang in this same hall many years ago, voice of girl as young as this Lyanna was.  
"...Queen Sansa said that my mother is madwoman. That she has a taint. And that I as her daughter might have that taint as well.  
What taint do you have, Queen Sansa, as you have started a war against Free Folk, the same men my father made allies of.  
Was that the same taint your aunt Lysa suffered of? Aunt that almost killed you out of jealousy. I see that you take after her when speaking of me. You have lost the war. And seven thousand Northerners. You have lost the North as they now stand with me, with daughter of Jon Snow."

Lyanna paused and locked eyes with the red-haired woman sitting on the throne.  
"I am a child, yes. But not a foolish child. I being of twelve namedays would never bring such ruin to the North as you have.  
And now, you have southern army, sent to you by Red Keep. Why? To use them against any lord that obeys you no more.  
To wage war against houses that have declared for me? Is that why five thousand Southrons are encamped before Winterfell?  
Will you defend your rule with hired swords?  
I am a child now. My mother is Daenerys Targaryen, true, but my father is Jon Snow. He loved the North. I love the North as well.  
I will not break oaths given before old gods and trample over old pacts, forged in the days of Kings of Winter. For I love ways of the North.  
I love a Northerner as well, in few years I will be a Northern bride. And I will bear the Stark name. Same as unlike you I bear the Stark looks.  
I am blood of the dragon, that I do not deny. But I am also blood of the wolf. I am Stark of Winterfell.  
And I will bear Stark heirs, Queen Sansa... unlike you."

Hearing Lyanna's last words, queen's face reddened and she rose from the throne, walked to the dark-haired girl and slapped her hard, which made Great Hall to echo with sigh of surprise. Lyanna's head swerved and there was blood on her lip, Arya and Jon rushed to her that same moment, Hallis jumped of his seat towards his bride to be, but she just smirked at Sansa, though her eyes watered.  
Then she slapped her back, but as her hand did not reach Sansa's cheek it struck her nose with all the fury.  
"No one strikes the Queen!" Elric Karstark yelled and made two paces towards Lyanna, but Jon was soon before him and he backed.  
Both were bleeding now, woman and the girl. "Seven hells, Sansa!" Arya shouted as she, Jon and Hallis were now between them.  
Jon's eyes were burning with rage as he looked at his sister with auburn hair. 

"This is your queen..." Eddara Tallhart hissed at her cousin Beren "...only a craven would strike a child."  
"She has insulted Her Grace!" Elric said loudly. "Her Grace has said nothing but insults to Princess Lyanna!" Erena Glover yelled at him.  
"We have seen enough!" Wyman Manderly rose from the table, defying his age and his weight and stepped in the middle of the hall.  
"Princess Lyanna came here under banner of truce. Queen disrespected her and even bloodied princess's face... You have dishonored yourself, Queen Sansa." Northern monarch was again seated on the throne, murdering lord of White Harbor with her gaze. Blood dripped from her nose,  
yet she nearly yelled at him: "She disrespected me! She insulted me! You have trained this... usurper well, lord Wyman, trained her to utter someone else's words. Is this what merman wants? To have sway over whole of North through child queen? You've even found a man for her.  
Another child. Your great-grandson. Old man craves to rule a whole kingdom by child puppets. That I will not allow. Never!  
Never will dragonspawn sit on this throne! Never!"  
Jon, upon hearing word _dragonspawn_ looked at Sansa with condemning gaze and shook his head. They were only strangers now.  
Wyman shrugged: "What better proof we need that Queen Sansa has sunk to the same darkness her aunt Lysa did.  
She harbors such hatred for her own kin. Step down, Your Grace. Abdicate, save both yourself and the North."  
"Abdicate!" shouted lady Tallhart, followed by lady Cerwyn and lady Glover. "Abdicate!" came from both Flints, from mountain clans,  
from crannogmen, from all the lesser lords sworn to Deepwood Motte, Torrhen's Square, White Harbor, Hornwood.  
Even some of those lesser lords that have come to the assembly as supporters of the Queen were now nodding in agreement.  
Great Hall was now echoing with only one word. Abdicate. 

"Traitors! Traitors!" Roger Ryswell shouted at them as he was now standing in the aisle.  
Beron Dustin was much less keen on supporting Sansa and he remained on his seat, trading looks with Elric.  
Lord of Karhold came to the queen and tried to whisper to her ear, but she could not hear it for tumult in the hall.  
He had to spoke aloud and Arya heard Elric saying: "We must leave... leave Winterfell. It is not safe here..."  
"I am not leaving my castle!" Sansa replied. "Do you want to keep your castle or your crown? Stay and by nightfall you'll be made to abdicate.  
Leave with me, my men and men of Ser Culler. We march to Barrowton... Do not stay here or you will kneel before this girl."  
Sansa remained speechless, while hall around her was filled with shouts that demanded her to give away her queenship.  
Then she nodded and both soon vanished through the door behind the throne. Lords Dustin and Ryswell left the hall as well.  
"The Queen fled!" exclaimed Erena Glover and laughed with joy.  


Hall went silent as lords and ladies saw a vacant throne, their queen gone from the room.  
"She fled! Sansa fled!" Jonelle Cerwyn repeated loudly.  
"Queen that flees is no queen." old Wyman said dryly, then he looked at Lyanna who stood there, with calm and resolve.  
Lord of White Harbor pointed at her with his finger as it were sword:  
"The Queen in the North!" and bowed deeply as for many years he could not kneel.  
"The Queen in the North!" said Hallis Hornwood and knelt before Lyanna, followed by his father and his mother.  
Soon, all in the Great Hall were kneeling down.  
All uttered same words: "The Queen in the North! The Queen in the North! The Queen in the North!" 

Lyanna's face spoke of how she felt, girl was taken with all that took place at this assembly. Her lip was still bleeding.  
Her eyes met with Jon's. It was as she asked him _what now_ with no words.  
He smiled at her and with his look he pointed at the throne.  
Lyanna made a nod and walked to the wooden chair, she placed her hand at the direwolf ornate.  
Then she turned to the lords and ladies in the hall and sat on the throne of Kingdom of the North.  
"Young She-wolf!" "The Queen in the North!" "Long may she reign!" 

_So, this is how rule of Lyanna Stark Targaryen, First of her name, begins... _ Arya Stark mused with smile.  
_I wish you all the luck and all the blessings of all the gods there are, wolf child._


	77. BRONN

_Vaith, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

**BRONN**

It took him some time to wake up... his eyes were opening lazily. There was little light, but he saw a heavy canvas above him. Tent.  
He was in a tent. He could not tell whose tent was it. Air inside was hot and heavy and his eyes began to close again.  
He shook his head and looked left and right.  
Two women were lying at each side of him, naked as on their nameday, of dusky skin and dark haired.  
One had to be over five and thirty, other was young, he guessed year or two shy from twenty namedays.  
_Did I fuck mother and daughter last night?! No... that would be queer even for me... Sisters? Cousins?  
Ah... who the fuck cares... I savored in Dornish minj. Warm, soft and wanton women... not as those bony wildling spearwives...  
Life is good in the south,_ he mused as his fingers trailed between older woman's legs.  


He played with her folds and that make her to wake up with soft moan... Woman smiled at him...  
"Ser Bronn..." she sighed when he pressed her bud harder "...if you want me to ride you, I will. Your wish is my command. And hers..."  
He looked at the naked girl who was blissfully asleep: "Is she your kin?"  
"Half-cousin or something like that... my uncle's bastard daughter. I don't truly know."  
"Aye... this is Dorne..." he said before kissing woman's ample breasts.  
"My lord... at noon you should be in Princess Arianne's tent..." she said between sounds of pleasure. "How do you know that?"  
"Two of us were her gift to you, Ser. For your service against that lord Russell..."  
Bronn laughed: "Russell fucking Merryweather. He's more of a cunt that you and she both are."  
He slapped the naked behind of the girl lying next to him and she was now awake too, gazing at him with eyes of lust.  
"You sit on my cock..." he said to the woman before telling the girl: "...and you, you'll sit on my face. I'll break fast with young pussy today."

He came to main tent of the Dornish host whose camp was stretching for over a league on all sides.  
Princedom mustered nearly nine and ten thousands here. Commoners were camping in the open, but the knights had thrown up tents.  
And tents of the high lords of Dorne were in truth pavilions as large as houses. Bronn saw banners of Santagars, Dalts, Jordaynes,  
golden hand of Allyrions, Toland's green dragon... all the might of eastern Dorne was here.  
Knights greeted him as he walked past same as their squires. Place teemed with mounted lances and mounted archers, freeriders.  
And the foot. Dornish fabled spearmen. As far as eye could see. Their spirit same as their banners was flying high.  
This was a camp of an army that had victory within grasp.  
Men from House Uller and House Qorgyle were for over a moon as wedge between main of king's host and its supply lines.  
Supplies were still coming but tenfold less than before Arianne decided to ship her free troops to the lands of Godsgrace.  
Lack of food and water made men of Lucion Lannister and Russell Merryweather mostly to defend what they have already taken.  
They dared not to march in force against the Dornish.  
Ser Lucion was a man passed his thirtieth nameday while lord Russell was younger, merely counting twenty years.

Bronn lay down with his mother on few occasions, during his ten years as Lord Paramount of the Reach.  
Lady Taena Merryweather was from Free City of Myr. Thirty years old when first bedded Bronn, she was an olive skinned woman  
of dark eyes and ripe lips, of full breasts and long legs. Her thick black hair always gave appearance as she has just come from bed.  
_She walked as sin and smelled as sin... _ Bronn remembered.  
Once when drunk Taena told him that she shared bed with Cersei Lannister. It surprised him, though not greatly.  
In cocks, Cersei was partial to one of her brother while in cunts she was less choosing.  
Taena Merryweather was sort of woman Cersei would take as her bedmaid, in looks striking opposite to once Lannister queen.

Her lord husband, Orton Merryweather was an uncomely man. He was of orange-red hair with large, lumpy nose.  
His grandsire, lord Owen Merryweather served as Hand to Mad King Aerys Targaryen, Second of his name.  
Owen failed to quench Robert's Rebellion and was banished to Essos, Orton met his wife there.  
King Robert restored House Merryweather to their titles and gave them back part of their lands, making possible for Orton to return.  
As he was nowhere near virile to meet the appetites of this Myrish beauty, she found ways to satisfy her lust with other men and sometimes women. Orton had doubts of his Lord Paramount bedding his wife and young Russell was mocked by the other young lords for that.  
Both hated Bronn though his opinion on the matter was that it would be more fair of them to hate their wife and mother for being a harlot. 

As Bronn now was leading a company of sellswords and freeriders that delivered blows to young lord Merryweather and he knew it was former lord of Highgarden that was doing it. There was a bounty on Bronn's head now, both by Red Keep and lord Russell who promised  
to match it. It amused Bronn somewhat, but he was in Dorne now. Some of his unlikely allies would gladly deliver him to Bran and Tyrion.  
His lust for Dornish women, lowborn and highborn alike, already made him few enemies.  
Teora Toland, short, plump and shy young woman, daughter of lady Nymella of Ghost Hill, also succumb to him.  
Her clumsiness in acts of carnal lust amused him as welcome change to skilled whores and camp followers.  
Yet, Bronn's eyes were at lady Sylva Santagar, the she-leopard. She was few years younger than Arianne Martell, her childhood friend.  
Sylva was already widowed. Her father married Sylva off to isle of Greenstone, to Ser Eldon Estermont who was fifty years her senior.  
Upon his death and death of her father, Ser Symon Santagar, she came back to Spottswood with her son Nymor who was heir to both houses.  
Sylva was expected to marry again and being true Dornish beauty, she caught Bronn's eye. She liked him as well.  
House Santagar were landed knights but prospect of castle on the shore of Summer Sea was very appealing to Bronn. 

He was not the only one who desired Spotted Sylva, as she was known among her friends, there was one more contender.  
Ser Andrey Dalt of Lemonwood, called Drey by his friends. He was brother and heir of Ser Deziel Dalt.  
Widow Estermont was a good match for heir of Lemonwood whose lands would be joined with those of Spottswood.  
Dalts in their musing of times to come, saw Nymor Estermont back on Greenstone, Sylva wed with Drey whom she knew from childhood,  
and fruit of their marriage, as Sylva was still in childbearing years, be it son or daughter betrothed with one of the children of Deziel Dalt.  
An upstart sellsword bedding lady Santagar was last thing Dalts needed. Andrey Dalt was close with Princess Arianne Martell and Sylva herself,  
ever since they were bare children enjoying pools in Water Gardens. Bronn thus far won little favor among Dornish highborn. 

Tent of Arianne Martell was one of such large pavilions, divided in three parts by curtains, one where she dined,  
one where she received her lords and commanders and one where she slept and bathed.  
As he entered, Bronn saw a man of pale blond hair who looked at him with blue eyes, so dark they seemed purple.  
"My lord..." man said politely when voice of his princess cut him from the other side of the curtain:  
"Edric, you need not to address Bronn so. He is no lord, not anymore. His once king... our once king stripped him of all his titles."  
Man frowned before saying: "Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, I assume?" When Bronn nodded, he presented himself: "Edric of House Dayne."  
"Aha... the bane of the Reach. I should not be pleased to meet the one who sacked my keep, but I am."  
"It is not your keep anymore..." Arianne said, still being in the other part of her large tent.  
"I didn't know you have returned from the Reach, lord Edric." "I've crossed the Prince's Pass eight days ago with my men."  
"Well, Ser Breakwind will now sleep better with your raiders gone." "It was a good campaign, yet it had to come to an end.  
We stayed in the foe's land for moons and as time passed, it was harder to find food for men and horses, harder to find campsites close to water. And both Baelor Hightower and raven king mustered a mounted host to battle us all over Reach. Not that it did them any good.  
I've paid my respects to Starpike before riding up the Prince's Pass..." Edric chuckled "...there she caught up with us."  
"Who?" "Tall woman of yellow hair. I'm certain you know her well, Ser Bronn." "Brienne of Tarth?!" "The same."  
"She is commander of Kingsguard... why was she battling you across the Reach?" he wondered. "King's orders, it seems."  
Bronn smirked: "That speaks only one thing, Bran and Tyrion want her not in King's Landing. Mayhaps they hoped she'll meet the wrong end of Dornish spear." "Mayhaps... Ser Brienne is able commander, not as Humfrey Hightower. Arron Qorgyle had not agree with me on that,  
now he is at Sandstone, lacking left leg below knee. Should it fester..." "I don't see his brother Gulian shedding too many tears..."  
Bronn laughed upon hearing these words from Arianne. "...but Brienne of Tarth is not why I called you. It is the king she serves."  
"Princess...?" he asked. "You've been on his Small Council for years, you witnessed his powers. It seems he uses them again.  
Ravens fly from King's Landing every day to Blackmont and to Godsgrace, broken king informs his men of what takes place in our camps."  
"That he can. He can see us talking of him right now. He can't see in the future, not clear. That I know."

"How do you know?" Edric asked.  
"He did not see my betrayal before it happened. Nor he saw one of Monterys Velaryon." Bronn answered.  
"Mhm... if he did, he'd put you in dungeons or kill you before treason was done." Dayne said.  
"Since Velaryon betrayed him, Bran's gaze is more on Dorne. He watches where our men are, where they go. Then ravens come..."  
Arianne said behind the curtain "...and lord Russell and Ser Lucion know where to meet us. I want to break them, now when they are  
lacking food and water. I cannot do that if they know in advance where Dornish spear will pierce them."  
Bronn nodded: "For all we know, that fucking cripple could be watching us right now."  
"That is why..." voice of hidden princess said "...someone will be coming from Lys. Someone learned in higher mysteries.  
Our common friend will bring her to my southern coast. And you, Lord Sellsword, will be one to meet that someone ashore  
and escort that someone part of the way. Lord Edric will escort for the other part."  
Two men were silent for a while and Martell princess laughed: "I know... you surely ask where on the coast and what part of the way.  
Well, I do not know that myself yet. And thus, that thing in the Red Keep will not know either."  
"Princess, what orders do you have for me later?" Edric asked.  
"You're eager to rejoin with your men at Kingsgrave, my lord, I know. First we must finish with Bran's army in the east.  
Then twenty thousand Dornishmen will march west to join with our brothers there and end the insolence of Garth Hightower.  
I will be at your side when you ride into Starfall, freed from Reach scum."  
"As you order, my princess." Dayne said and made a slight bow even knowing that she cannot see him.  
"Thank you for coming here, Edric, you may leave now. Ser Bronn, you will stay. I have more orders for you."

Lord of Starfall left and Bronn was standing alone now, staring at the thick curtain of gold and red coating, colors of House Nymeros Martell.  
"You may come behind the curtain, Ser." Arianne said. Bronn did as he was told and paused in his steps right away.  
Princess of Dorne was in her bronze bath, soaking herself with water, but also with wine as there was a bottle and cup on a stand next to bath.  
She gave him a brief gaze and then rose from the bath, showing her whole nakedness to him. Arianne stepped out and make no effort to cover herself. "One could say that you have never seen a naked woman before, Lord Sellsword. Or that you're undressing with your eyes what needs not to be undressed." Bronn was lost for a while, Arianne was woman nearing her fortieth nameday, but her shapes were still those of a young girl, lush and curvaceous. He stroke her with his eyes, from dark nipples to curly triangle of body hair between her lovely thighs.  
"I've never seen such beauty... not ever."  
"No... and yet, I was told that many years ago when you came unannounced and uninvited to Water Gardens, you said to my cousin  
Tyene Sand that she was the most beautiful woman in the world." Bronn chuckled, his gaze still glued to naked princess before him:  
"She cut me with poisoned blade and gave me antidote only after I said her that."  
"Tyene was my favorite cousin. We grew up together. Shared all together. We nearly lost our maidenheads to a same young man.  
Alas, he spent himself too soon..."  
Bronn frowned at her words and at sight of her walking before him still stark naked. She poured cup of wine and pass it to him.  
"You don't approve me as this? It is much hotter here, deep inland and when alone I prefer to be in nothing more than my skin..."  
Her eyes went to his breeches and she smirked: "It appears you do approve. Or some parts of you do."  
"Oh... I approve. If you weren't princess, I'd already have you in my arms." "Yet, I am princess and you only get to look."  
Bronn grunted, his eyes glowing with lust. "You should learn not to crave for what you cannot have. Me. And some other Dornish noblewomen."  
"I wasn't aware that I crave for noblewomen..." Arianne leaned on the bath, her legs apart: "You do. When you look at highborn pussy,  
as you do now, what do you see? Woman's beauty or her castle?" "Seven hells..." he said.  
"That is where you could end, my lord, if you do not tread carefully with certain lady."  
"I'll take my chances. That lady favors me, Princess." "Have you bedded her yet?" she asked. "I have not, but I plan to."  
"At least you're honest..." Arianne said as she walked by him, moving her backside in most tempting way.  
She sat at the table and began to read some scroll. "It will be a costly bedding should it come to one, my lord. You may leave now." 

Castle of Salt Shore changed hands few times since Invasion of Dorne began.  
First House Gargalen abandoned it, stripping their holdfast of everything that had any value. King's host took over.  
When Ullers and Qorglyes came by sea behind the army of the Realm, royal garrison withdrew from Salt Shore, seeing the might of Dornish landing. For a while, castle was vacant as men that Arriane had ferried from Brimstone river were not aimed at Gargalen keep but Godsgrace.  
Some hundred men were sent by Tremond Gargalen to place his banner, a red cockatrice with black snake in its beak, on the Salt Shore towers anew. Their sway over it did not last long as Russell Merryweather ordered his knights and light horse to retake castle which they did.  
It made little difference for the course of war as Salt Shore was of no value now, when Dornish were keeping hold from coast to Godsgrace.  
It was only a matter of time when king's men will run from Gargalen's home once again.

It was second week since he had that talk with bare Martell princess and Bronn was now standing on the coast of Summer Sea, two leagues  
from Salt Shore. One boat already landed and he saw a known face. Meldred Merlyn was mayhaps the only Ironborn he did not detest.  
"Son of a whore... broken king's men didn't kill you, them Dornish fuckers didn't kill you... you've browned by sun. This war agrees with you..."  
"Aye..." he said to Ironborn captain "...it agrees with me. I let younger men to fight while I eat, drink and whore...  
Speaking of whore, where's that queen of yours?"  
"Careful, Bronn... don't insult Queen Yara to my face. I don't like you that much." Meldred warned him. "All right. Where is Lady Reaper?"  
"On that ship. She will not be coming ashore. One we ferried from Lys is keeping her company."  
"And who is that passenger from Lys?" Bronn wondered. "Priestess of red god. Comely girl. I'd say she's from Yi Ti."  
"So, is he now trying to convert your queen to that R'hllor or is your queen converting her from cocksucking to cuntlicking?"  
"Bronn... I will not warn you for the third time." Once sellsword nodded, grinning at the Ironborn.

A hour more has passed till young woman in red robe set foot on the sandy shore of Dorne. She was of small stature, dark-haired.  
Her eyes, shape of her face and tone of her skin gave away that she was of Yi-Ti.  
She had flame tattooed on her chin which meant she once was slave in R'hllor temple in Volantis.  
"I am Rila of great temple in Lys, priestess of Lord of Light. Are you to take me to princess of Dorne?"  
Bronn nodded: "I am. Part of the way, that is. Then true Dornish will escort you further."  
"You are a sellsword then..." she said, with tone that was between disapproval and disappointment.  
"Not any sellsword..." Meldred grinned "...this is Ser Bronn of the Blackwater. Well he was that once."  
"You're not anymore?" Rila asked. "King Bran misliked some of my actions." "He is no king. He is Lord of Darkness."  
"He is a crippled young man. That what he is." Bronn said with smirk. Priestess looked at him and then placed her hand on his cheek:  
"That is true. Same as you are in love with a woman who once bedded man old enough to be her grandsire."  
Bronn's eyes widened. "Lord of Light sees everything, Ser. Truth and deceptions alike."  
Meldred shrugged before shaking hands with him: "Good fortune to you, Lord Sellsword."  
"Same to you, Meldred... should you see Earl Harlaw, curse his mother to his face for me."  
"I sure hope I am not going to meet him any time soon, Bronn... he is with Drowned God now."  
"That cocksucker got himself killed?" Bronn asked with smile. "An arrow from one of Redwyne ships. Straight to his open mouth."  
He laughed: "He was always jabbering. No wonder there."

"Rila... is that a Yi Ti name?" he asked the young priestess as they rode from the coast inland. This was a part of Dorne where Red Dunes  
were ending, giving room to low, bare hills. Salt Shore was south and east, their column of score and ten men was aimed towards Vaith.  
"It can be..." she responded. Priestess was not much of a travelling companion. She preferred to ride in silence. Bronn cared not.  
Rila was not type of woman he would lust over. And, he concluded, she must be into women, same as that Ironborn queen.  
_They were licking each other while I had to wait for over an hour... fair chance is that she will lick Arianne Martell next._  
Image of naked Dornish ruler flashed in his mind. When thinking of fucking her, it was always rough, as beasts do it.

He was gentle with Sylva Santagar. One thing she shared with Arianne was color of her skin. All else was different.  
Sylva was tall, lean, lacking curves her princess and friend had. Bronn liked her and whenever thinking how she was made to lay down  
with seventy years old man, it angered him. Sylva and him became lovers three days after his talk with Martell princess.  
Heir of Spottswood enjoyed making love to him. He while pleasuring her thought about her castle on the sea shore.  
It was rather ruined now, Sylva burned most of it when retreating inland and later Ironborn unleashed their shipborne trebuchets at keep of  
House Santagar on half a dozen occasions. It will be rebuilt, once he is married to lady Sylva. He did not love her, not even lusted for her that much.  
She was a chance for the future. One not including sleeping in tents or bleeding in mud. Spottswood was no Highgarden.  
But it was a castle. In warm Dorne. What else he could need... 

Horse was killed under him three hours later. Ambush as they were passing through a desert ravine.  
Arrows came from both sides, killing all around him. Ambushed where no king's men were supposed to be.  
It was a well chosen spot, a narrow pass with no place to hide from the archers that claimed lives of his escort one after another.  
It seemed him and priestess were not aimed, she galloped on her horse to the other side of ravine unstopped.  
He managed to mount another horse, one whose rider was struck down with four arrows and was too galloping to the northern end of this pass.  
Arrow came to his left hip first. Then another in right upper arm. Third grazed his face, yet is was enough to unhorse him.  
"Fuck!" he cursed falling down.

He crawled to the large rock, seeking shelter behind it. It was all over and he heard footsteps of the enemy, they came out from their hiding  
and sounds told him they were finishing off his men that were still alive. Some went without word, others begged for mercy before  
receiving spear. Bronn saw three men coming towards him, he only saw their boots. He was still lying on the ground, half leaned on the rock.  
A loud curse escaped him when he saw who was standing above him. "I hope... Red Keep pays you well..."  
"Red Keep..." man laughed "...this has nothing to do with the war, once Ser." "Are...you...mad?" Bronn spoke, strength leaving him.  
_...poison... no surprise there..._ "You knew what Dornishman is able when one takes his woman. And you've done it still."  
Ser Andrey Dalt of Lemonwood placed tip of his sword under Bronn's chin: "I could kill you right now. But I will not. Poison will end you.  
Not so fast, but it will." "You ambushed... you ambushed me over a woman... insane fuck... you killed that red priestess too..."  
"She is on her way to Vaith right now. We've let her ride out from here and it will appear we've saved her from king's men. Only her."  
Bronn shook his head, his gaze was blurring now... "Sons of whores, the lot of you..."  
"None of this would happen had you kept putting your cock in lowborn girls... But no, you wanted Sylva. She is mine.  
Fear not, I'll tell her you died for free Dorne." "Fuck you and fuck Dorne!"  
Those were the last words once knight of the Blackwater managed to say aloud before world darkened around him. 


	78. TYRION

_King’s Landing, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

**TYRION**

"Ser Brienne is returning from the Reach, my lord. She and her men will be at the fork of Kingsroad and Roseroad this afternoon." Ryman Peckledon reported. "Lady Commander of the Kingsguard is coming to the capital... good. I am looking forward to her report."  
"My lord, Dornish raiders have run back to their lairs..." "Run? Cleverly retreated more likely. "  
"I can't tell, my lord..." "Regardless, Reach will no longer be burned and sacked by Dornish. Ser Baelor will spare us of his complaints.  
Though his brother Humfrey is rather angered by Ser Brienne." "Why is that, lord Tyrion?" Ryman asked.  
"She executed some of his men, rightfully so, yet he took is a slight to his name. A duel even was mentioned..."  
"Humfrey Hightower wants a duel with Brienne of Tarth?" page wondered.  
"Indeed he does. He will not get it, not while war still lasts. Later, there will be one less highborn idiot in the Reach."  
"Yes, my lord, there are not many men who could defeat Ser Brienne in single combat." "Most of those who could are dead now." Tyrion said.

_What would Jamie think of here and now... _ Tyrion mused when page left the chamber. _He'd be amused with the Dornish war, that is certain. _  
_A campaign that now lasts for almost five moons, bogged on the rocky slopes of Red Mountains and on the sandy banks of river.  
End is not in sight, the more time passes the more balances shift in Dorne's favor. _  
Six Kingdoms thus far managed to wage war against its southernmost, rebelled part.  
Redwyne fleet from the west and ships of Crownlands combined with some vessels of Vale and Stormlands managed to supply the royal host.  
That was not the issue. Issue were overextended lines of supply in Dorne itself. All that was unloaded from the ships at mouth of Greenblood river needed to go inland for many miles, it took days for supply trains to reach those for which supplies were intended.  
Arianne Martell did not offer battle. She did not came ahead of her entire army, banners waving high, spears shining in the sun, thousands meeting thousands on the single battlefield... no, that was not the Dornish way.  
They skirmished, they ambushed, they lured you further and further into their barren hills and sand dunes where they'd finish off any enemy. Large rebel camp was in the upper flow of Vaith river, close to the castle that bore the same name. His kinsman, Lucion Lannister still held sway over Godsgrace and small portion of land between Vaith and Scourge. Ser Lucion dared not march on rebels as it would bring only them retreating further inland, to Red Dunes. As taking of middle Dorne has failed, Martell princess had reserves.  
Tyrion same as king's commanders on the field expected that she will add those thousands to her army on the Vaith, that making her forces  
in numbers nearly even with royal troops in eastern Dorne.

Red Keep hoped Arianne will seek that one, deciding battle. That did not happen. She used her Ironborn allies and ferried over seven thousand men eastwards and now they were holding land from Godsgrace to Salt Shore, five and ten hundreds of them crossed to northern bank  
of Greenblood and were now harrying supply lines down the river, as east as Shandystone.  
Both Lucion Lannister and Russell Merryweather have halted their advance, being now between one larger and one smaller enemy host.

In the west, Ser Garth Hightower besieged Kingsgrave. Or at least that was what he thought he was doing.  
His army outnumbered Dornish two to one. He secured the flow of Torentine, from Blackmont to river's mouth at Starfall.  
First drawn plan of invasion of Dorne intented for Garth Greysteel to march his troops to Skyreach, cutting off the Red Mountains from central Dorne, joining with the troops that were sent to take Hellholt and Hellgate Hall and then, numbering nearly thirty thousand, that army would advance to the east, towards Greenblood, trapping nine and ten thousands of Arianne Martell's men between two royal hosts, sixty thousand strong combined. Red Keep had to forgo that plan as flow of Brimstone river was taken but it could not be kept.

Untaken Dorne now stretched from Vaith and Scourge to the Red Mountains.  
Instead having Princedom's army caught in pincers, it were Dornish who had eastern part or king's forces half surrounded.  
Greysteel now turned his gaze to Kingsgrave castle. His intent was to get sway over both ends of the Prince's Pass.  
_Clever notion, indeed..._ Tyrion thought as it would not only open the land way to Dorne, it would make lord Gendry Baratheon to finally show his true colors. He gave next to nothing to war effort, some ships and he sent less than five thousand to _guard_ both Prince's Pass and Boneway  
from the Dornish. _Poor excuse for not taking part in quenching of rebellion_.  
With Garth Hightower on the southern end of the pass, Gendry would be left with no excuses.  
His forces, no matter how small number of men at arms Stormlands now had, would march into Dorne through that pass.  
Or, lord of Storm's End would be declared craven and traitor of the Realm.  
Thus far, Kingsgrave has proven to be as hard to conquer as Blackmont was. It was many miles inland, away from the Torentine and supplying the king's men was much more tasking than sending boats up the river. Mountains were swarming with rebels, reports that Tyrion received said.  
Once again it was proven that Dornish rebellions are not rebellions of this or that lord, but uprisings of all the people of Princedom.  
Garth went for Kingsgrave first, leaving the Skyreach to the south, seat of House Fowler, in rebel hands that left his flanks exposed to their attacks. Turning to Skyreach first would have same outcome, with Kingsgrave troubling him. To attack both strongholds at once would be folly. Greysteel hoped that upon hearing how Kingsgrave has fallen, enemy will flee from Skyreach. Kingsgrave has not yet fallen. 

Realm had numbers on the sea as well. Fleet of House Redwyne had twice as many true warships than Iron Islands, but that meant nothing as Yara Greyjoy chose to sail far into the Sunset Sea and swooping on the coast. Lemonwood, Salt Shore, Spottswood came under night attacks of Yara's fleet, even mouth of Torentine, albeit guarded by Arbor galleys was not spared though such raid proved to be costly as Ironborn lost every third ship which came before Starfall. Eastern shores were more oft attacked by krakens, that coast was guarded by two scores of ships  
of royal fleet and the bulk of fleet of House Velaryon. When lord Monterys did his last act of treachery, whole Velaryon fleet sailed to Essos,  
forty king's ships were left to guard Dornish coast from Salt Shore to Spottswood. A near impossible task.  
Redwyne fleet was expected to patrol the coast from Starfall to Salt Shore.  
It was done seldom, as both Horas Redwyne and Garth Hightower preferred that fleet between Whispering Sound and mouth of Torentine.  
To protect Arbor island and Oldtown and keep Reach troops from Starfall to Blackmont supplied.  
_All of Dorne wars as one while Six Kingdoms fight as six kingdoms. That is our flaw..._Tyrion was aware of this and powerless to change that.  
Both Yara Greyjoy and Arianne Martell were pleased with reluctance of Arbor fleet as that gave chance for Ironborn longships, but also bannerless ships from Essos to supply the rebellion. Tyrion knew who send those vessels. It was her. Daenerys Targaryen.  
_I have judged you wrongly, Mother of Dragons, I expected your revenge to be with fire and blood.  
But no, you descended upon us with aiding rebellions and ruining of trade with Free Cities.  
Instead of burning us swiftly, you are choking the life out of Six Kingdoms slowly._

Two days have passed since he received truly troubling news from the North.  
A neighboring kingdom, one that would never have been independent if he had anything to say of it, was in turmoil.  
King's sister, Sansa Stark, has left Winterfell and found refuge in Barrowton.  
Daughter of king's cousin was declared as new Queen in the North. _Her daughter. And his._  
_Once Dorne is dealt with_, Tyrion pondered, _ the Realm will have to consider actions against the North._  
It was unfathomable almost, a thought of Targaryen ruling in Winterfell. Or was that just another ploy of Dragon Queen.  
Any move against Stark Targaryen child queen would bring Drogon over the Red Keep again.  
And every account that spoke of her last surviving beast, said that it must be twice as large than it was twelve years ago.  
Most of those stories came from sailors and others who wandered in once Slaver's Bay.  
Any act of Six Kingdoms against her daughter would give reason to Queen of Bay of Dragons to attack with whole power.  
_I must speak of this with king Bran, Targaryens must not have a foothold in Westeros... _  
_Sansa has lost support of Northern highborn for her own stupidity._  
_If not for that folly of New North she would still have support and liking of her lords._

"Ser Brienne, welcome back to the capital." he greeted the tall knight as she entered inner yard of the Red Keep. "Lord Hand..." she replied.  
It was a dry answer, from which he could not tell is she pleased to see him or not.  
_It was Tywin Lannister's another son she loved. She only suffers me._  
"I am pleased that you have returned from the Reach. It was a proper decision to send you there with your men. Dornish have retreated."  
Brienne remained silent for a while. Then she said: "I have seen Riverlands five and ten years ago, what War of the Five Kings did those lands.  
I lie you not when saying that Reach has suffered the same. By Dornish raiders and by cruelty of Hightowers. Wounds there will take years to heal." He sighed knowing that her words were true.  
His mind fleeted to first years of Bran's reign. Even with Bronn as lord of Highgarden or despite him, Reach flourished.  
All he knew of ruling and politics spoke against it, but those first years made him hope, believe even, that kingship of broken Stark boy could be the finest era Westeros has seen since Wise King Jaehaerys Targaryen. Two, three, five, seven... years were passing by and hope turned into a firm belief. It lulled him into thinking that Realm has bettered with Bran the Broken. Now, last living child of lord of Casterly Rock had hard time accepting that it was all a make-belief, a false image that melted down before his very eyes, melted with sack of Gulltown, with Dornish horsemen burning the Three Towers, with King's Landing... 

"My lord, riding here I have seen scores of people leaving the city... some with carts, some only with clothes on their backs...  
men alone and families whole... I saw them where Roseroad meets Kingsroad, few took the road west, to Reach, but all the rest went south, to Stormlands. It is as capital was struck by some plague..." Brienne looked at him "...it is not, I hope. No word of it came to Whitegrove..."  
"There is no plague, Ser, I assure you of that. City folk that lived by the trade with Essos are leaving... from harbor hands to merchants...  
lives of thousands were tied with ships coming from across the Narrow Sea. And thousands of other lives were linked with them.  
They can't live in King's Landing no more, not without dying of hunger." "Why Stormlands? Why they run there?" she asked.  
"Lord Baratheon seems to have reached an accord with Myr. Their ships are calling in the ports of Stormlands... Tarth as well.  
Those leaving the capital do it in hope there will be work for them there. Fool's hope, I'd say." "Then, why City Watch allows them..."  
She did not utter the end of her question, answer came to her... "They're allowed to leave as that removes the threat of riots in the capital."  
Tyrion shrugged: "It does, yes. Though we're letting them flee as this city is no place for them anymore. Harbor hand will starve to death here.  
So will spice or silk seller. Iron Bank has made nearly all merchants from the Free Cities to shun us. Those who do not are more leeches than traders. Their cargo comes off the ships as thrice the true value of their goods and they buy our goods as less than half of its price."  
"I am not learned in matters of trade or coin, my lord, but how long can Realm withstand that?" Brienne wondered.  
"It is a slow death, Ser Brienne, this lasts for more than nine moons, but it will not last for nine more. Mayhaps five or six at the longest."  
"And then?" "Then, we shall have chaos. People robbing and killing people for food. Not land or gold, for food. From Riverrun to Oldtown. Chaos." "Is there nothing we can do? Negotiate with the Iron Bank?" Tyrion smirked: "We can't. Our dealings with them are closed.  
Closed by Daenerys Targaryen. She paid the crown's debt to Iron Bank. And in return got this. Slow choking of Six Kingdoms."

Brienne's face, still covered in dirt from her long ride to the capital, changed. "You did not know?" he asked.  
She shook her head. "Well, it was not shouted out in the squares of King's Landing, Ser Brienne."  
"So, this is her revenge for you trying to kill her and her children." Lady Commander of Kingsguard said with solemn voice.  
"King willed it." he replied. "And yet, that same king told Sam to do all he can to prevent that killing."  
"His Grace was ill then, that reluctance was caused by illness. Order to have Daenerys' children killed along with her was vile. I don't deny that.  
Yet, it was best thing for the Realm. For Westeros. One of her daughters has already been placed to Northern throne."  
Brienne frowned: "And...queen Sansa...?" "She fled Winterfell. There are lords, precious few, in the North that still stand with her."  
She looked at him: "Lord Tyrion, do you truly believe that all this would come to pass if you had not tried to kill the daughters of Dragon Queen?  
We went after her first. And now we face her wrath. Hers and one of Jon Snow. You tried to kill his children too.  
I am not sure how can we defend the Six Kingdoms from Targaryens of Meereen."  
"Some as Monterys Velaryon decided it was wiser to join them. Now he is in black cell and Andrew Estermont is preparing his trial."  
She sighed: "His betrayal... he seemed so loyal to King Bran..." "He was. Till he learned of her living in the east. So much treachery in so many ways. Bronn, Samwell, Monterys... even Davos. Well, Bronn betrayed the king for himself. All others did it for Daenerys Targaryen. Or Jon Snow. Or both. Small Council filled with traitors. What Mad King was delusional of, truly happened to King Bran. Irony, isn't it?"  
"Can we repel this assault of House Targaryen against the Six Kingdoms?"  
"I don't know. They caused this Northern split and they aid the Dornish rebellion."  
"What does king say of all this?" she asked. "I have to speak to His Grace. We have Targaryen child queen in Winterfell.  
If Daenerys wants to conquer the Six Kingdoms, we need powers of Bran the Broken to stop her."  
"As commander of white cloaks I stand with His Grace against all the enemies of the Realm."  
"I admire your loyalty, Ser Brienne. I don't mock you saying this. You're one of King's truest subjects."  
"I am sworn sword of Kingsguard. All I do is in service of the King." 

Tyrion's talk with the king lasted not even half an hour.  
Bran was looking pale, his skin was ashen almost, but he was full of vigor.  
He listened to Hand's reports of Dornish war and told him what he saw using greensight. When learning of Bronn's fate, Tyrion felt some sadness. That sellsword was his companion for most of the time in last twenty years. A jealous Dornish lord was his judge and executioner.  
_It was all about cock in the end for Ser Bronn of the Blackwater..._ he smiled at the thought. What he heard from the king next did not make him smile:  
"Ser Brienne will go North. She swore to protect Sansa Stark from any peril. Sansa is again in grave danger. I command her to go North.  
She is to ride to Seagard on the west coast of Riverlands. There she is to hire a ship to take her along the Flint's Cliffs and Cape Kraken to shore of the Rills. That is the only way to reach Barrowton. The Neck and Moat Cailin are held by those who support the Targaryen child queen.  
Land way North is closed." "What are the orders for Ser Brienne, Your Grace?" Tyrion asked.

"She will use the host of Culler Tarwick in retaking Winterfell. And she is to kill the dragonspawn. That is what her king demands of her."  
Tyrion raised eyebrows: "Your Grace, capturing that girl would be wiser. We would have something to bargain with Daenerys Stormborn."  
Bran looked at him as Tyrion were a fool: "One does not bargain with dragons. Only good Targaryen is the one who does not draw breath.  
Ser Brienne is expected to kill that half-breed child and her father too. I want Jon Snow dead. As he was supposed to be five and ten years ago.  
Are my commands clear, Lord Hand?" "Perfectly clear, Your Grace." Tyrion said. 

As he walked down the corridor toward his chambers, a voice sounded in his head. It was not _Varys_. It was doubt.  
Something he last time felt when he saw a young queen burning defeated father and son. Doubt began to creep in the mind of Lannister Imp.


	79. DAENERYS

_Meereen, Essos, year 317 After Conquest_

**DAENERYS**

Her eyes wandered across the map of the Narrow Sea. Pentos on the eastern coast. In the west Massey's Hook, Stonedance, Sharp Point, the Gullet. Driftmark. Dragonstone. _Dragonstone... and Driftmark..._

She smiled contently at thought of Alyn Velaryon holding hands with her silver-haired treasure in terrace garden of the Great Pyramid.  
Daenerys was at first surprised with Rhaella becoming so fond of young lord from Driftmark in such a short time.  
And then surprise gave room to approval.  
She and Jon both were determined that their daughters, soon to be maidens, will not be wed to the men they do not love.  
Lyanna, though at first misliking Hallis, became his friend and later his beloved. Betrothals were to happen when Northern throne is secured.  
Her other daughter, silent, calm and serious Rhaella surprised her. Her liking of young Alyn was profound and it was returned.  
It was love of a girl and a boy who were coming out of childhood into youth. Still, Rhaella and Alyn wanted to be promised to each other.  
Daenerys liked the notion of that betrothal. It would bring House Targaryen and House Velaryon close together once again.  
Driftmark was always valuable ally of Dragonstone and her ancestral island was more and more on Dany's mind.  
_Jon wants it. I want it. Driftmark is close to Dragonstone. When Velaryons return to their island home, us Targaryens will return to ours._

Lord Bael Velaryon seek and was given audience with the Queen of Bay of Dragons. He came with Alyn and she did not receive them in the throne room, but in her solar. Head of his house, now as Monterys was locked in the dungeon of the Red Keep, saw good prospects in marrying his nephew with young princess. Forging alliance through matrimony was far better than he hoped for when his ships sailed in the port of Meereen. Man and boy came before her in dark-brown breeches and shirt over which they wore sleeveless sea green overcoat.  
Their cloaks were of sea green color as well, though unneeded in Meereenese weather. She saw it as sign of respect.  
Lords of Driftmark donned their full attire. She met them the same, in her red and black floor-length gown with long, trumpet sleeves.  
"Blood is indeed thicker than water, lord Bael. And hotter. My daughter and your nephew proved that before my very eyes.  
Proved how children of Valyria even after all these centuries are driven to one another. Still, I am a mother and I wish the best for my daughter.  
Even more when that daughter is young as Rhaella is now. Nyke jaelarys īlon pendagon keskydoso." (_I hope we think the same._)  
"Gaomi, ñuha dāria. Rōvēgrie kirimves ziry teptan nyke naejot gīmigon hen skorkydoso Dārilaros Rhaella se Alyn jaelagon naejot sagon dīnagon skori hen jēdri." (_We do, my queen. Great joy it gave me to learn how princess Rhaella and Alyn want to be wed when of age._)  
Dany nodded with smile. Bael's High Valyrian had only slight accent and was more archaic than hers.  
He was a comely man, same as his nephew and both had features of men of Freehold. Boy dared not to look at Daenerys.

"Āeksio Alyn, gaomagon ao zūgagon nyke?" (_Lord Alyn, do you fear me?_ ) she asked him smiling.  
"Aōha Dārōñe, nyke... Nyke zūgagon daor. Nyke māstan naejot epagon..."  
(_Your Grace, I... I fear you not. I came to ask..._)  
"..ñuha tala Rhaella ondos isse dīnilūks..." (_...my daughter Rhaella's hand in marriage..._)  
Alyn blushed and nodded barely looking at her. She liked his shyness.  
_He is not bold nor arrogant. I do not want Rhaella to be with a crude man. This boy has no such trait._  
"Ao hae Dārilaros Rhaella rōvēgrī, paktot?" Dany asked him next. (_You like Princess Rhaella greatly, right?_)  
"Nyke jorrāelagon zirȳla, Aōha Dārōñe. Nyke jorrāelagon zirȳla rōvēgrī." he said with certainty in his voice.  
(_I love her, Your Grace. I love her greatly._)  
"Iksan biare naejot rȳbagon ziry, ñuha ābrītsos āeksio. (_I am glad to hear it, my young lord._)  
Princess feels the same for you. And on that we can build good future for both our houses.  
I know lord Bael agrees with me." Daenerys said with approving gaze.  
"I do, Your Grace. Alyn is as son to me. He was not more than a babe when he lost his father and his mother. I did my best to raise him into noble and honest man." "You have, my lord. My daughter, albeit young, is wise enough not to open her heart to anyone. Lord Alyn won her liking in very short time. And, I trust he will gain my favor as well. And of King Jon who is still absent from Meereen."  
She could see boy's face glowing with joy.  
"Mēre tubis, āeksio Alyn, umbagon nyke Dārilaros najeot tepagon ilaros hen Driftmark se Zaldrīzesdōron."  
(_One day, lord Alyn, I expect of Princess and you to give heirs to Driftmark and Dragonstone._)  
"We had to flee Driftmark, Your Grace." boy said with sigh.  
"And once I had to flee Dragonstone when only a babe. But, we can take back what is ours. And we will."  
"Our swords and our sails are with you, Queen Daenerys." Bael Velaryon said aloud.  


Eraz lo Hazkar and Poshassa Zali awaited her in the throne room.  
City councilors from ranks of once masters and once slaves. Together. That meant something of common interest troubles them.  
"Lord Eraz, lady Poshassa..." she addressed them in Meereenese Low Valyrian. They bowed: "Your Radiance."  
"I am listening." Daenerys said. They looked at her, remaining silent. "Say your minds, respected councilors."  
"Your Radiance..." Eraz said "...Council of Citizens has noted the absence of our king for weeks now.  
As well as yours and it was a great relief when you have returned. Not for Princess Rhaella ruling in your stead, no.  
Princess was given name Meereen's Delight for good reason and she will be great queen one day.  
What made our people uneasy is the memory of how once before you have left us and went west, to Sunset Kingdoms.  
Meereen wishes not that to happen again. It were Targaryen king and queen who ended bloodshed in our city.  
It was Targaryen princess who ruled wisely and ably and stood at ramparts when we thought foe's fleet is upon us."  
Poshassa added: "Bay of Dragons is not worthy of its name without dragon queen and dragon king.  
We have come here, Your Radiance, with one question.  
Is House Targaryen leaving Meereen to fight for rule over Westeros again, as it happened twelve years ago?"  
Daenerys made a nod, then answered: "Rumors are never friend of good ruling. All rumors do is to feed fears and doubts.  
As they have now. House Targaryen was given trust by people of Meereen and Bay of Dragons. We shall not fail that trust.  
King Jon and Princess Lyanna have gone to the northern kingdom in Westeros to solve matters of claim to its throne. It will soon be resolved and king shall return to Meereen. As you well know, the lawmaking for Bay of Dragons is still not finished, not wholly, and King Jon and I intend to proclaim new laws for Bay of Dragons together, before this year ends. My lord, my lady, there is no need for councilors or citizens to be uneasy. You have your king and queen and once we are gone, there are four heirs of House Targaryen that can continue our rule. One of which has proven already as fit to rule, even at so young age. Daenerys Targaryen remains with Meereen, Yunkai and Astapor. Jon Targaryen as well."  
Eraz and Poshassa bowed again. "Well, as you have already here, it is a good occasion to discuss the draft of taxing rules for the city."  


Later that day, Daenerys was in her solar, her eyes again on the map. This one was of the Known World.  
Though they came heeding rumors, two councilors have addressed same issues that were on her mind as well for past weeks.  
Two years ago, before Jon came to Essos, before House Targaryen was reborn here in Meereen, Dany wished not to know or think of Westeros.  
She would act the same to this day had it not been for those in Red Keep who wanted her and her family dead. Westeros was once again in her thoughts. And actions. Dorne and Iron Islands were offered alliance. They accepted and now they were warring against Broken King and his Hand, warring and winning. North followed. Though failure of Stark queen against the Free Folk was not Dany's doing, she had no issue of backing those among the Northern lords who wanted to replace that queen with new ruler of Stark blood, who was no other but her daughter Lyanna. That shifted her gaze to the North, her and Jon's alike. Most of all for Lya had to be there as Northern lords, people which Daenerys never trusted, would not rally around Stark princess they have never seen. That asked from both Jon and her to be near Lyanna, Jon right at her side while Dany close but away from sight, same as Drogon. All that demanded them leaving Meereen, a barely tamed beast of a city.  


"Even a family of dragonriders cannot play game of thrones on two continents in the same time...", she said to Jon in that lighthouse near Old Castle. They had only one dragon now and though he was the largest living thing in the skies of Known World, Drogon was not the means with which she was to win victories. _Jon and I got Meereen without dragonflame, Lyanna will get North without it, I will help Dorne to win their freedom without it... and yet, should the need arise, Drogon is large enough to lay waste anywhere in Westeros or Essos and nothing made by man could stop him._. It was not lack of power that troubled her. It was lack of Targaryens grown. Jon and her being with and near to Lya, meant leaving Rhaella, Cregan and Little Dany alone. She feared not of their safety. They were guarded by Dothraki handmaidens and bloodriders, by the Unsullied who were her personal guard and by Freeflames. She hated how three of her children had to stay behind. Babe twins and Rhae.  
She was as much Stark as Lyanna was, but her Valyrian features would never got her loyalty of Northern lords and Dany knew it, same as Jon.  
They never said that to her, but Rhae was clever enough to see that herself. She seemed all right with Lyanna being one to go for direwolf throne and when need demanded it, Rhaella sat on the throne of Meereen showing that many hours she spent reading and learning on art of rule were not in vain. When she first heard that Rhaella is called Meereen's Delight, Daenerys began to think that mayhaps there is enough wisdom and strength in House Targaryen to be ruling in both Essos and Westeros. But the new generation of dragons was still too young to be true players of such cruel game. _Jon and I still have few years to prepare them for Winterfell, for Meereen. And for Dragonstone._  
Ever since she saw Rhae sharing kiss with young Velaryon, Daenerys began to imagine her sitting on the Dragonstone throne.  
_What better place for Targaryen princess of Valyrian features, future wife of lord from Driftmark._

Unlike her ancestors, Dany was never so obsessed with purity of blood and same as Jon she would never have Cregan and Daenysanne as man and wife. Jaehaerys had Alysanne as sister-wife and they were example of good wedlock, based on love and sharing, that lasted for many years.  
Her mother, Rhaella, was sister-wife to her father and he gave her many years of misery.  
Her twin babes will not live in incest cursed by all the gods.  
Still, Dany knew that Drogon will outlive her and Jon for decades to come and Targaryen blood must not be watered down. Rhaella having man of Valyrian blood was good enough. Rhae's children one day can marry those of her brother and sisters, keeping blood of the dragon strong and still far away from abomination of sibling marriages. Keeping blood strong enough to ride the dragon which will then be large as Balerion the Black Dread.

After noon hours of the next day brought Kinvara to the Great Pyramid, for the first time since Daenerys returned from Braavos.  
Priestess stood in throne room, grave as ever. "Have you felt it... there across the sea?" Kinvara asked. "Felt what?"  
"His gaze. Gaze of the evil one. His thousand eyes or three are upon world again, he's awaken now. It gives him great unrest that champions of Lord of Light have come to the land of the wolf as he cannot see or hear you or King Jon or Princess Lyanna. But, he can see and hear all others in the North. He could try to take over their minds. He will not suffer blood of the dragon in Winterfell for long. Time of reckoning nears. Lord of Darkness will make his move. You must make yours." Dany felt unease, dread even hearing these words:  
"Can he turn North against Lyanna? She has nearly all the lords on her side... If his powers are so that he can control one's mind."  
"I am not learned in the sorcery of forest demons, one that gave birth to the raven of three eyes and to the king of night." Kinvara answered.  
"I have seen what Night King can do. I do not know what powers Three Eyed Raven wields. Save that he can see what once was and what is now."  
"Yes. He saw the truth of your brother and wolf maiden. That broke you. It is how he acts. He could do the same again."  
Dany frowned: "Against Lyanna? Or Jon?" Kinvara's eyes replied instead of words. Then she said:  
"Against your family and your allies. He watches the desert princess now and sends word of her plans to his army. A new priestess of Lord of Light is in Dorne now, she will try to shield Arianne Martell from the raven's eyes. Yet evil one is powerful, very powerful. It is you who must act, Queen Daenerys. You must see south before seeing north." "What are you saying? That I should go to Dorne?"  
"You must ruin his army. Thousand eyes or thee are strong only if tens of thousands hands serve them. Take the hands from the Lord of Darkness." Dany sighed: "You want me to fly Drogon to Dorne and burn the army of Bran the Broken..."  
"Lord of Light gave you power that your ancestors have forfeit. And you're hesitant to use it. Why is that?"  
"You know very well why." Daenerys replied, anger sounded in her voice.  
"King's Landing... That is why Drogon burns only goats for twelve years?" Kinvara rebutted. "You were not there... I have..."  
"You have made one mistake. One. And for that mistake you will let the world in hands of vilest being ever to exist?"  
"Mistake? I have burned babes in the arms of their mothers! I was vile! Me!" Dany yelled.  
"Children die in the arms of their mothers in Westeros as you stand here. And will die for many moons more. Should you not act."  
"The Realm will fall apart anyway, without me burning it away." she told Kinvara.  
"It will. One day. And how can you tell that what comes after it will be good? For your family and whole of the world?"  
"What do you want me to do? Say it!" Dany hissed at priestess, this talk disturbed her greatly.  
"A swordsman who never draws his sword is no swordsman. You're the dragon queen. Be the dragon queen.  
Lord of Light needs his champions. And you, Daenerys Stormborn, you're his strongest champion."  
Dany looked at High Priestess of R'hllor, but it was King's Landing burning in red, orange and green flames before her eyes.  
"I will speak of this no more." finally she said to Kinvara "I will unleash Drogon on anyone who threats my family. I have no family in Dorne."  
Woman in red robes nodded: "As my queen wishes." She bowed and began walking away. Then she turned and said:  
"Long is the shadow of Summerhall." Dany's eyes widened: "What?!" "Soon you will know." priestess smiled and left the room.  


Summerhall. Castle in Dornish Marches. Summer residence of House Targaryen. Built by King Daeron, Second of his name, known for his liking of Dorne and the Dornish. During reign of Targaryen kings, the heir to the Iron Throne was known as the Prince of Dragonstone, while younger son could have been titled the Prince of Summerhall. Castle was ruin for nearly sixty years now. Ever since that day when King Aegon the Fifth, summoned his closest kin and friends there to celebrate the coming birth of his first great-grandchild. Rhaegar Targaryen, son of Aerys and Rhaella. Indeed, Rhaegar was born that day. One life came to the world in Summerhall, but many have perished. King Aegon, his son, Prince Duncan who was named after Aegon's friend since king was only a boy and squired for hedge knight named Duncan the Tall. Fire. Fire consumed them and the castle. Amidst all that, her brother was born. Her brother, Jon's father, grandfather to her four children. After the tragedy at Summerhall, Dany's grandsire Jaehaerys, Second of his name, became the king. What caused the summer residence of House Targaryen to be destroyed in fire, was never confirmed with certainty. Survivors held their tongues. Rumors and guessing all spoke the same - fire sorcery. Aegon the Unlikely, as king was known, in last years of his rule became obsessed with restoring dragons to Seven Kingdoms and he gave great efforts and great funds in search of lost knowledge of dragon breeding, going as far as Shadow, the Asshai. A maester who wrote chronicles of the house of dragon kings left a smeared page with only readable fragments which spoke of seven eggs in honor of Seven, of wildfire and pyromancers. If that were true, then King Aegon's attempt to hatch the eggs went horribly wrong. _Instead of breeding dragons, he burned away his son and himself_, Dany mused that night resting in her bed. 

Thought of having more dragons was in her mind as well. And now, reflecting on Summerhall, it surfaced again.  
_Someone must ride Drogon when I am gone, when Jon is gone. One dragon for gods know how many Targaryens when all my children will have children of their own._ _One is not enough... there must be more. _  
_Or I fear that children of my grandchildren might be fighting each other over Drogon._  
She did not have such thoughts when Lya and Rhae were little girls. Now, with House Targaryen being true house again, with two twins becoming maidens and other two that in five and ten years will be man and woman grown, Dany was that night lost in thoughts of how one dragon, no matter how large, will not be enough for all Targaryens in this world.  
_My family has oft proven to be its own greatest bane. I cannot have that to happen again._ Dany tried to chase away the thoughts of finding dragon eggs somewhere in the world or finding untamed, wild dragons, those young enough to be bonded with rider. With all what took place in Meereen, in Dorne, in North, there was no room for pondering of where to seek more dragons. Still, thought was always there, deep in vaults of her mind. Hidden even from Jon. He was dragonrider before he knew he was Targaryen.  
Dany oft hated herself for not wondering then how someone whose blood is of Stark lord and lowborn woman can ride Rhaegal. She knew precious little of dragonlore. Same as him. Only when she learned that her one true love was sired by her oldest brother it all made sense. Her bond with Drogon, Rhaegal and Viserion was one of mother and children. Jon's was nowhere near that strong with Rhaegal, had the green dragon lived longer Jon would be bonded with him as Targaryens of old were bonded with their mounts. And yet, that sort of bond was but a shadow of love she had for her three dragons. Losing first Viserion, then Rhaegal brought her closer to that what she did to capital of the Realm her ancestors forged. Notion of flying Drogon to the battlefields of Westeros was not easy for her. Daenerys Stormborn in the end was most afraid of Daenerys Stormborn. Afraid of letting her pain and rage to take her on murdering path again. 

A sennight has passed since Kinvara's visit and she was dedicated to the final works on new laws for Bay of Dragons, three times did Council of Citizens met on the matter and following session was to be on taxes. Dany wanted for Meereen to see that their queen is with the city and will stay with the city. Rhaella was at her side, not as aide or cupbearer but as Princess of Meereen and she partook in discussion. Queen was filled with pride upon seeing how her daughter grasps the meaning of proper tax laws and how councilors take words of twelve year old girl with whole respect. _If only your father were here, dōna tala, to see future Targaryen queen._ Jon loved all their children equally, but Rhaella was his weakness. Dany smiled at thought of their reunion and she hoped it will come to pass soon, that Northern throne will be taken and Sansa dealt with once and for all. Then Lya and Jon will return, leaving North in hand of regent, lord Larence Hornwood who will rule till new queen is of age. 

When session was over and councilors have left the Great Pyramid, Rhaella and she went to their residence on the highest floor.  
Cooled lime juice was served on the terrace for them as refreshment. Girl was unusually silent and Dany, ever observing mother noticed that:  
"What is it?" Rhaella just shrugged. "Well...? Speak."  
"I am angry with Alyn, Muña." she said with disillusioned tone. "Oh... why is that?"  
"I don't like when I am being made fool of. And he tried to make fool of me." Girl had a Stark glint in her eyes.  
_She is truly angry. Jon's temper..._ "Tell me more..." Dany said to her daughter.  
"He told me a story of princess Elaena Targaryen. Do you know of her, mama?"  
"Well, I know that she was the youngest child of King Aegon Targaryen, Third of his name, one they called the Dragonbane."  
"That is right, Muña. His wife was Queen Daenaera Velaryon. And Elaena had only one true love of her life. Alyn Velaryon, the Oakenfist.  
He was her cousin. She gave birth to two bastard children sired by him, twins Jon and Jeyne Waters." Rhaella added.  
"Is that what Alyn told you?" Daenerys asked. "Yes, he gave the whole account."  
"Rhae, he is named after Alyn Oakenfist, surely he is proud to be named after such a man.  
And he wanted to tell how his namesake same as him had a Targaryen princess whom he loved. You need not to be angry for that.  
Even with that tale he is saying how much he loves you. Or he is trying to tell you that."  
"It is not that, mama. He said something that cannot be true." "What did he say, Rhae, tell me already."  
"Princess Elaena as every Targaryen babe of those days was given a dragon egg." "That is true, Rhaella."  
"An egg of silver and gold color. Alyn claims that Elaena brought that egg to Driftmark and that it remained there all this time.  
He says it was a token of love between her and Alyn. Egg did not hatch and it was preserved by Velaryons for over hundred years.  
Passing on from generation to generation. Alyn's father was last to have it. He claims he has it now. He lies to me, mama. Why?  
I love him already, he needs not to impress me with tales of dragon eggs, for I am a Targaryen.  
Next he will be saying there are direwolves on Driftmark to please my Stark side as well." 

Daenerys' eyes narrowed and she was left with no word for a while.  
"Muña? Have you been listening to me?" silver-haired girl said, frowning.  
She smiled at her daughter and then spoke in regal tone, in language of the Freehold:  
"Rhaella, kostilus ivestragon āeksio Alyn naejot maghagon bona zaldrīzes drōmon kesīr.  
Ivestragon zirȳla bona Dāria naejot ūndegon ziry rōvēgrī jaelagon.  
lo ziry pirtir naejot ao se konīr iksis daor drōmon konīr kessa sagon daor dīnilūks.  
Kesan tepagon ao daor naejot mēre qilōni dares naejot ánghowa ao sīr".  
(_Rhaella, please tell lord Alyn to bring that dragon egg here. Tell him that queen greatly wants to see it.  
If he lied to you and there is no egg, there will be no marriage. I will give you not to one who dares to mock you so._)


	80. JON

_Winterfell, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

**JON**

Raven-haired girl stood before a stone statue. It was one of young woman, carved so that her right hand rested on the shoulder while left gracefully extended with palm open upwards. "I have come to you, grandmama..." girl said "...I have seen this place in my dreams.  
I have heard your voice. Your strength lives in me now... I hope it does for I need it."  
Girl looked to her left and to her right, her eyes went over many statues of men, some standing, some seated, all regal with stern faces.  
"Kings of Winter, lords of Winterfell... I am dragon's daughter. But I am also wolf's daughter. Your blood runs in my veins. I will take the direwolf throne. I will do all I can not to dishonor myself, my house and my land. That I promise to you."  
She turned again to the woman's statue: "I promise that to you, lady Lyanna Stark, my grandmama. I wish you were here with me, with Papa...  
I wish you could have met Rhaella, Cregan and Daenysanne. Your dragonwolf grandchildren, same as I am. You were so young when you have died. I hope I'll grow to be as beautiful as you were. Willful I already am. I am Lyanna too."  
Girl stepped up and kissed the extended hand of the statue, then bowed.

Jon watched all that from the shadow, hidden behind the pillar, his eyes watered.  
His daughter spoke to the spirits of long dead kings, to the spirit of his mother. Future of the North made a promise to the past of the North.  
Lyanna turned right, aiming towards the entrance of the crypts, her small steps echoed between the pillars. She was deep in her thoughts.  
Her father came out and stood next to the torch placed on the wall, passage was well lit by torches, candles and braziers.  
"Tala..." he said _daughter_ in High Valyrian, language of dragonlords rang in the place of the last rest of direwolf family.  
"Papa..." girl's eyes widened and smile was on her face right away "...I didn't know you were here."  
"You had to speak to our forefathers alone... to your grandmother alone." Jon smiled, but sigh escaped him.  
"It saddens you, this place.. father?" Lyanna asked. "Last time I was here it was with your mother. I told her something... the truth.  
Mayhaps I should not have, not the way I did it... I was a different man then. A fool, most of the time."  
"You were not a fool, Papa. You were brave and noble and honest." Lyanna countered, frowning. Jon smiled.  
"One can be brave and noble and honest, tala, and still be a fool. What one must be is brave and noble and honest and smart."  
"I know. You taught me that. And I learn well from you, father. And I will learn from you for many years to come."  
Lya placed her arms around him, placing her head on Jon's chest. He was her shield and her comfort.  
Jon kissed her head: "And I will teach you all I know, Lyanna Stark Targaryen. My queen to be." They were silent for a heartbeat.  
"So, are you ready to meet you aunt?" he asked. "She... is not my aunt. My aunt is Arya Stark of Winterfell."  
Grey eyes were glowing with defiance and disgust. There was no love lost between his daughter and Sansa.  
"We must go to the Great Hall. All the lords have assembled there. Most of them have declared for you, tala, but fool yourself not.  
If they were to see weakness in you, they'll all run back to Sansa. I know them all too well. They respect only strength and stern hand."  
Lyanna, still embracing him, nodded: "I am ready, Papa. I will not fail you. They call me the young she-wolf. That I shall be."

Fortnight has passed since that talk in the crypts. That same day, Lyanna defeated Sansa before all the assembled Northern lords, mayhaps it was more true that Sansa defeated herself, not being able to rein her impulses, driven by hatred towards anyone or anything that had to do with Daenerys Targaryen. She slapped a girl of twelve before the eyes of the North, her niece, thus breaking the truce and raising hand on her kin. All but few houses rose their voice against her and she had no other but to flee Winterfell. Few houses remained with her, bonded not so by honor as by promises of influence or mere mislike of the North where House Hornwood and House Manderly will have king consort and possible sway in the court. Sansa left the capital and found refuge and new stronghold in Barrowton, with House Dustin whose lord was more loyal to Elric Karstark than to fleeing queen. Ryswells of the Rills were last great house truly loyal to Ned Stark's oldest daughter.

Haste way of queen's departure left many of her household behind, one could say trapped among their enemies.  
Upon seeing her ride out of Winterfell castle with lord of Karhold and personal escort, guards on the walls, be it Sansa's men or those of House Karstark were first to leave their posts. They have soon hurried southwards, on horse, on carts or wagons or on foot. Passing through Winter Town they have encountered scores of men of Hornwood and White Harbor, as well as those of Torrhen's Square and Cerwyn who were encamped in the woods near the castle awaiting orders of their lords or ladies. Houses supporting Lyanna sent nearly a thousand of their men at arms to be near Winterfell should the need arise. Now, one host was retreating from Winterfell, other was coming in the castle. What troubled Jon the most was the camp with five thousand soldiers of the Realm barely a mile from the castle of House Stark. Bran sent them North to help Sansa. They made no move upon her leaving Winterfell, no attempt to charge on the castle and capture all the lords and ladies that demanded of Sansa to abdicate. Instead they broke their camp and marched south, towards lands of House Dustin as well. _One may see that as strange... _Jon thought_...but no matter their numbers, five thousand men cannot gamble in being left deep in enemy land with no way to get supplies or reinforcements. Drogon would finish them off in three or four overpass flights at the most, but I still, same as Dany, don't want Lyanna to become queen on dragon wings. They must see her more as Stark than Targaryen. Her future rule, years from now depends on it._  
Southrons left, though Jon was certain they will return to do what they were sent North for, to fight in Sansa's name.  
_Red Keep does not send few thousand men to make camp, eat, drink and taste local whores_, Jon concluded. 

Even men close to Sansa were left behind. Beren Tallhart was one such, same as Beth Cassel.  
Both were brought before Lyanna, she was seated on the throne with Jon, Arya, Hallis and Larence Hornwood at her side.  
They bowed, unwillingly, before the young girl that was now sitting where only days ago a queen they served sat.  
"One kneels before the Queen in the North, not bows." Larence Hornwood said in stern voice, shooting them with his eyes.  
"Aye..." Hallis added "...or do you not see Queen Lyanna as true queen, lord Beren?"  
Lyanna made a gesture with her hand: "It is all right, my lords Hornwood, I am certain that lord Tallhart and lady Cassel meant no disrespect.  
I want to hear from them what are their wishes, now as once queen has abandoned them same as she has abandoned Winterfell."  
Beren and Beth looked at dark-haired girl without a word. "Have you no wishes?" she asked with smile.  
"Princess..." Beren began to talk. "Lyanna is our queen. You will address her properly..." Hallis hissed at him. Lyanna nodded at him with smile.  
She liked how her future husband was this protective of her. Then she said to Sansa's adviser:  
"I am indeed Princess of Bay of Dragons, so I will pretend Beren Tallhart thought of that when he used that title. Right, my lord?"  
He nodded, though it was plain how fright came over him, and continued: "...I wish to join with queen Sansa at Barrowton. I am her adviser.  
My place is with her." Larence shook his head: "You were adviser to the Queen in the North, not personal aide of Sansa Stark. Queen in the North is here before you and all you want is to scurry back under the skirt of _lady_ Sansa. You do not have even that much decency to offer your services to Queen Lyanna. You're a shame for House Tallhart." "A man can serve only one living queen, lord Larence." Beren answered.  
"I respect your sincerity, lord Beren. For that you are allowed to take one horse and provisions to last you one day. You may ride to Barrowton." Lyanna said to him. Her voice was dry and distant. "Yet, what will become of you once Barrowton bends the knee... You may leave, my lord."  
Beren bowed and began to walk away slowly. Larence smirked as she was saying: "A word of advice, adviser. I wouldn't go near Torrhen's Square,  
your kinswoman Eddara could prove not so lenient as our queen is."  
When Beren was gone from the hall, Lyanna turned to woman of curly, auburn hair: "Lady Beth..."  
"Your Grace..." words came out, but uneasy "...I have come to ask you to grant me the leave of going to Barrowton as well."  
"My lady, I do not know you, but I was told Winterfell was your home since you were born, home of your family for generations.  
Cassels were living and dying for and with Starks for centuries. Your sigil has white wolf heads, ten of them, right?" Beth nodded as young girl said whole truth. "Have you not seen my banner, lady Beth? White wolf it is. Is it not white direwolf there, lying next to hearth?  
Has some other blood taken Winterfell and not blood of Starks? Is it not Arya Stark one who stands next to me, one you have grown up with?  
Is it not King in the North standing here as well? The White Wolf? My sire... You may leave, lady Beth, but unlike Beren Tallhart, you will betray House Stark. It was not Sansa that your ancestors were sworn to. They were sworn to ancestors of my grandmother, my father, my aunt. They were sworn to Winterfell. Winterfell stands before you. And you ask to abandon it. You may leave, as I said, but take a good look of this place for you will never be allowed to return." Beth Cassel looked at young girl with eyes wide.  
"Seven hells, Beth, as if you do not know me or Jon..." Arya said shaking her head. Jon looked at the woman for a heartbeat: "Your loyalty to Sansa is admirable, my lady. I know that you were friends since little children. But, you will leave your family, your own children with no home should you go to Barrowton. No one here asks of you to betray Sansa. We ask of you to acknowledge that North has new queen in the name of House Cassel."  
Beth nodded then looking at young girl on the throne said: "By bending my knee to you I would betray my queen and my friend. That I cannot do." Lyanna gave her a cold stare: "That is fair. As it is fair of me to tell you to leave this castle before sun is down.  
Begone, lady Beth. I wish you good fortune in days to come." Woman nodded and hastily left the Great Hall.

"You are a true Queen in the North, Your Grace." Larence's voice was full of approval "There is no other way to deal with Sansa's men but harsh."  
Lyanna looked at him: "I did not want her to leave. This is her home." "Mercy is noble thing, Lyanna, but it is better not to have likes of Beth Cassel here." Hallis told her. She nodded, but trace of unease was still on her face as she turned to Jon. Oft he and his Stark looking daughter talked to each other with no words, with gazes only and this was one such time. He could tell she did not want to send Beth away and now her eyes were asking him _was there another way?_ Jon slightly shook his head, only for her to see, telling her _there was no other way_. Then he spoke: "As lord Hallis has said, to be merciful is to be noble ruler, yet now is of utmost importance for your rule in Winterfell to solidify. That can't be done with those who are loyal to Sansa. Not to the North or this throne, but to Sansa personally. To her or to that... Elric Karstark..."  
"King Jon is right. We must make whole new court, one that will serve during regency and when you come here to take the crown." Larence said.  
"As for Elric Karstark..." lord of Hornwood added "...seldom is such born in the North, man with no honor or loyalty. A jackal, indeed."  
Lyanna nodded: "Lord Larence, speak to those who make household of Winterfell. Those who decide to stay and serve in the new court have nothing to fear. But, let them know that should any of them, man or woman, be later proven as spy or traitor, they will receive no mercy.  
Only noose. I can't be more clear than that." "As you order. I'll see it done right away." he said and left the hall.  
Jon, Arya and Hallis remained with young queen who said: "Papa, I wish to speak with those who represent Winter Town.  
I'll summon them here tomorrow." "That will not be possible, Lya." Arya told her. "Why not?"  
"No one speaks for them. No one ever asked them to name one who'll speak for them."  
"Tala, less than ten years has Winter Town been a proper town, before it would came to life during winter and was nearly abandoned in summer time." Jon explained her. "How many people lives in Winter Town?" Lyanna asked. "Fifteen thousand, give or take." Jon said with Arya nodding.  
"My king, princess Arya... that was how many folk lived there when you were still living here..." came from Hallis "...now is near twice that many.  
And many who escaped from war still linger there." Lyanna frowned: "Thirty thousand of town folk, thirty thousand Northerners for whom no one speaks. How can that be?" "This is not Bay of Dragons, towns or cities here don't have councils." Arya told her. "Mayhaps it is time to remedy that." Jon said. "It is. Hallis, inquire among the town folk whom they respect the most and I shall summon those here." Lyanna commanded.  
"It will be done." Hornwood boy replied. 

Jon was pleased thus far with how things were between his daughter and heir of Hornwood and White Harbor. Apart from great affection they felt for each other, some would not call it love between girl and boy this young, though was nothing else but love, Lyanna and Hallis worked well together. Both in White Harbor and in Winterfell they have shown themselves in public together, as young royal couple to be. White Harbor approved and cheered them. Winterfell was about to see their future queen and king. He was afraid for his daughter. True, Lyanna was a dragonwolf, she had many traits of Arya, many traits of his mother Lyanna, she was fiery as her mother, yet still she was young, Jon hoped she will celebrate her three and ten nameday in Meereen with her family, not here in Winterfell. _This will be her home, her court, her throne in four or five years from now, but she must live the remainder of her childhood with her sisters and brother, with Dany and with me, in the warm sun of Essos. She is still too young to face the petty and spiteful lords of the North, their shifting alliances and small minds. They have turned on Sansa only after she has lost the war she started, had it gone otherwise, they would sing praises to her, name their daughters after her and raise statues of her in the courtyards of their keeps. Aye, such are the lords of the North. With such people will my daughter have to deal when she comes here as grown woman and queen._

What brought great joy to him was the skill Lyanna has shown in matters of ruling. Jon knew that Rhaella was devoted scholar of governing and politics, his heart was filled when Daenerys told him how she rules Meereen in their stead, he knew Rhaella has all that is needed for future great queen, still it made him so happy to learn that _fire of his life_ is already grown into good ruler. Lyanna was not into reading and studying as her twin was, yet she watched and learned, from her mother, from him, from the long and oft tiresome sessions of Council of Citizens where she served as his aide. Rhae learned from books and scrolls, Lya from events and people around her, Jon pondered. _Can it be that Dany and I have sired and raised two Targaryen queens...?! And there is one more princess and prince that we shall bring up... House Targaryen of Meereen somehow has more promising future than Targaryens of King's Landing had in the last decade of their rule..._ Jon smiled at the thought as he strolled across the courtyard, memories caught him at nearly every step. Of Robb and him crossing the wooden swords, of Bran shooting arrows, of little Rickon, of his father's smile, of Hodor and maester Luwin. Another time in another Winterfell. Simpler place in simpler days... Sound of clanging came from above, from the ramparts, only then he noticed that all those in courtyard and on the walls look in the same way. He smiled and shook his head upon seeing Arya Stark and Lyanna Stark Targaryen sparing on the walls, with swords and shields they have taken from the guards. To Jon it was well known sight, all others watched it in awe, not minding him at all. "That girl is better with sword than any of these fuckers on the walls." man carrying half a pig on his shoulder said passing by on his way to the kitchens. Some of the women in the yard even clapped their hands, enjoying the sight.

"My lord..." voice came to Jon and he turned his head left with frown. "Forgive me... Your Grace..." It was a man of white trimmed beard, only his mustache still had slight trace of gold. His hair, now all but gone was of same shade. His robes were black and large chain made of uneven links hang around his neck. "Maester Wolkan..." Jon said it with dry voice "...I have been in Winterfell for two weeks now and no sight of you.  
One could be forgiven for believing you have locked yourself away from the new ruler of the North."  
Maester politely shook his head: "I wished not to impose myself, Your Grace, my presence is not crucial for young Queen Lyanna."  
"Humble words for a man who placed crown on the head of her predecessor..." Jon said "...I mislike when someone disrespects my family, maester. You not presenting yourself was such an act." "My lord, I assure you..."  
"Of what, maester? That your allegiance is with Winterfell no matter who holds power in it? That I know well. I have found you here when we have taken this castle from Ramsay Bolton. You have served him well. Before that you served his father Roose, one Ramsay killed. And after that you have served House Stark for four and ten years. Most of that time you've been maester to my sister Sansa. And yet, now as she has fled her own home, you chose to hide from young Stark queen. Why?" Wolkan waited for a heartbeat.  
Then he said: "I feared that being loyal servant of Queen Sansa I too will be banished from Winterfell."  
"No one was banished from Winterfell, maester. Those who have left, have done so on their own accord." Jon said angrily.  
"I beg your forgiveness, my king, I should not have listened to rumors." "No, you should not have." Jon told him and was about to leave.  
"Your Grace, I've come to you for another matter." Wolkan said. "Go ahead..." dark haired Targaryen told him.  
"A raven came from Seagard carrying message for the Queen. Maester there surely did not know that Queen is no longer in..."  
He did not finish the sentence, seeing how close he was to disrespect new queen again: "...a message, my king."  
Wolkan reached in his robe for a small parchment, then gave it to Jon. He took it and read it in one breath, then nodded. "This indeed is a message for the Queen. Give it to her. Thus you will have a chance to present yourself. So, maester, you must climb to the ramparts. Queen Lyanna is that girl who spars with Arya Stark. If perchance you do not know." 

Jon smirked as he looked how Wolkan climbs the steps leading on the walls.  
Blunder. Blunder made by maester of House Mallister of Seagard gave him information of great value. Lord of Seagard, Patrek Mallister,  
who as a young man has fought at the side of Robb Stark in the Whispering Wood, must have ordered his maester to send raven with  
message to Sansa. Message saying of a passenger who came from King's Landing and hired boat to sail north, to Rills.  
Jon knew that passenger well.

"Brienne of Tarth is coming to North? Is she not the Commander of Kingsguard to Three Eyed Raven?" Arya wondered.  
She never called the king in Red Keep with her brother's name. To her, Bran was long dead and empty shell where once  
his soul resided meant nothing to her. "She is." Jon confirmed "He would never order her to journey North without clear purpose."  
"What purpose is that, Papa?" Lyanna asked.  
They were sitting in Queen's Chamber, the three of them. Lyanna was given the message, but she knew little of Ser Brienne of Tarth.  
"Raven king has sent her to Sansa. To fight for her. Against you, my daughter. It is a sad affair. Evil king uses honorable knight for foul goals."  
"Is she a threat to us, father?" "Well, tala, those five thousand men will rally around her and then march back on Winterfell. North honors her too.  
She fought here against the..." Arya cut him: "...the very same she is serving now, that is what Kinvara believes. And Brienne mayhaps believes that she is again honoring the oath she gave to my mother many years ago." "What oath, Arya?" her niece asked. "Oath of protecting both Sansa and me. Now, as it appears, she will break that oath if she were to command the raven's five thousand against Winterfell. For I shall protect my niece,  
no matter from whom. Even Sansa." Jon was quiet. And as absent.  
"Papa...?" Lyanna touched his arm. "We must send message to Meereen. Right away." 


	81. ARIANNE

_Vaith, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

**ARIANNE**

Year three hundred seventeenth. Eleventh day of eleventh moon.  
Rider came from the west, cowered in sweat and dirt, same as sand steed beneath him. Man was bringing news of the war. He nearly fell on his knees when he dismounted. Guards before the pavilion of princess were soon upon him, taking away his curved sword and dagger and only then raising the man on his feet. "I must... deliver message to Princess Arianne..." man said, breathing heavily from exhaustion.  
"Who are you?" serjeant of the guards asked. "Ferris Sand of Skyreach... Lord Fowler sent me here. He is two days behind me with his men."  
"Lord Fowler is coming here with his men?!" "Has he abandoned Skyreach?" came from another guard.  
Man shook his head as he gasped for air: "Skyreach... Skyreach has fallen." 

Ferris was seated before his Princess, next to her stood lord of Starfall and Daeron Vaith, lord of the Red Dunes, dressed in yellow and orange, with three standing black leopards on his chest. Tremond Gargalen was also there, his eyes narrow and as glued to the man from Skyreach.  
"Where is Old Hawk now?" Arianne asked.  
"At Sweetspring Oasis, Princess, men of Skyreach, same as those of houses Yronwoods, Jordaynes and Drinkwater are regrouping there,  
they'll join with this host at Vaith in three or four days, they'll be marching hard to reach here."  
"That is not what I expect of them!" Arianne said loudly "If they retreat from the Read Mountains it's as they have opened the gates of Dorne for Greysteel and his army..." Tremond barked at the messenger: "How in the seven fucks did Skyreach fall? How? Blackmont resisted for over two moons, Kingsgrave nearly the same... did hawk's nest breed traitors of Dornish cause? Never in thousand years that came to pass. Not with House Fowler." "From what lord Franklyn Fowler writes me, there was a treason in Skyreach." Arianne said. She dismissed the messenger very next moment, remaining in the tent lords Dayne, Vaith and Gargalen. 

"What does it say?" Edric Dayne asked. She sighed before answering him: "Old Hawk writes me that Garth Greysteel came with no more than four thousand before Skyreach, as he was to probe the castle defenses, one cannot take seat of Fowlers with so few men. And yet, soon they were inside the castle, coming through an old, long ago walled in passage... pouring into his keep in hundreds. After they have taken the castle, another ten thousand enemy soldiers came. Lord Fowler had no other but to flee south, road up the Prince's Pass, road to Kingsgrave was taken by the enemy." She crushed the paper scroll in her hand and threw it across the tent. Then she sat down, shaking her head. "My lords, as Skyreach is now in the hands of raven's men, state of our battlefields has taken for the worse. Much worse. We have seven thousand of Uller and Qorgyle men between Godsgrace and Salt Shore, then we have five and twenty thousand enemies led by Lannister and Merryweather between Vaith and Scourge facing our host of nine and ten thousands... lord Fowler is coming here with five and a half thousand men, followed by twice as many enemies.  
At Kingsgrave, now cut off from rest of Dorne we have... how many lord Edric? Five thousand? Fewer?"  
"Close to six, Princess. But king's army, even with those four and ten thousand that are chasing after lord Frankyln, still has same as much from mouth of Torentine to Kingsgrave, facing Manwoodys, Blackmonts and my men. With Skyreach taken... we can count with Greysteel moving most of his army eastwards, aiming here... fifty thousand enemy we could be facing, coming from east and west on us. And even with men coming with Old Hawk and with seven thousand of those behind the lines of Lucion Lannister and Russell Merryweather... we have about two and thirty thousands... Odds favor not us meeting the foe in open battle." Daeron of House Vaith asked: "Would it be wise to send word to those at Kingsgrave to abandon the castle and go south and east, cross the Blueblood river and reach us here from the north, from Weirstack holdfast."  
"No my lord..." Tremond told him "...we would get some five thousand spears more, but we would lose the sway over Prince's Pass entirely.  
And letting the foe take that pass means he'd bring more men from Stormlands..."  
"Gendry Baratheon did not join the raven king in this invasion..." lord Vaith reminded him.  
"No, he did not. He used us on the other side of the pass as excuse. Should it become clear that Red Keep is gaining upper hand in this war, that young lord will have no heart to refuse his king any longer. The very next day we lose the Prince's Pass, the Realm will send thousands of troops more." Daeron, a comely man of dark hair and trimmed beard, nodded. Land way to Dorne must not be open. No matter the cost.  
"There is another grave issue, my lords..." Edric Dayne spoke "...people, we have tens of thousands of women, children, old folk from here to Dunwell in the west, from mouth of Brimstone in the south to Tor on the northern shore. Garth Greysteel will show them no mercy.  
And all that smallfolk has nowhere to flee now. Enemy comes from both sides."

Arianne was filled with rage. _Five moons. Five fucking moons has Dorne been keeping this invasion at bay, it nearly failed, their supply lines overstretched, their provisions dwindling, as Six Kingdoms were nearing lack of food... and now this._ A strong craving came to her to shout loud profanities, to curse till her voice cracks. She could not. She was Arianne of House Nymeros Martell. Princess of Dorne. Spear beneath the sun.  
What was that her grandmother, who ruled over this land before her father did, used to say as message to their foes...  
_in vain you feed your sons and raise them to carry sword, Dorne does only on our own accord... _  
She will keep calm, no matter how hard that was. Notion that Skyreach may have fallen as traitor was found within the castle walls.  
_No one and nothing is safe. If spies were at Fowler's holdfast, than they could be anywhere. _

As she pondered of hundred and more ways to punish the traitors of Dorne, someone entered her large tent.  
A young woman in dark red robes. Rila of Lys, priestess of the red god. All present looked her way, surprised that guards let her to enter.  
All but Arianne. Priestess was not in her camp for long, but Dornish ruler learned of her enough.  
Rila was comely woman by any standard, with dark silky hair and supple frame and eyes which glow as polished amber in sunlight.  
Her chin, tattooed with mark of fire, was first to caught anyone's gaze. When Rila told Arianne that oranges are her favorite food, she replied:  
"I do hope that was not the single and most important trait by which you were chosen to come to Dorne."  
"No, Princess Arianne, I was sent here as I believe, to my very core, in salvation through flame. Salvation from darkness."

Arianne learned that Rila was abandoned already at birth and when she was barely four namedays old, girl was sold as slave, leaving her native Yi Ti for a life of servitude. What Rila saw as act of mercy from R'hllor, was her being sold to the Red Priests of Lys. Her hardships and servitude had not ceased, but redoubled among priests of Lord of Light, but there was now purpose to that suffering as she believed now. Rila took dutifully to her new faith, proving herself as quick learner of the chants and teachings of the R'hllor. This didn't go escape the Red Priests in the temple, neither, however, did her beautiful appearance, and these qualities were put to use in the temple. 

Rila proved a capable student of even the more advanced teachings, having little difficulties learning to read the holy books and write prayers.  
Seeing that her potential went well beyond that of the average slave, Rila's training was shifted so that she would become a true Red Priestess.  
Life in the great temple in Lys proved to be both a wonderful and trying experience for young girl from Yi-Ti.  
Many chances did she have to show her innate talents - time and time again she proved her skills in oration before congregations both massive and intimate. Even the advanced arts of glamouring proved little challenge for the priestess to be, though she lacked the true depth of skill that eldest priests possessed. Truly, it was only in interpreting the future in the flames where her talents were known to lack.  
Or that was what she told Arianne. _A R'hllor priestess admitting her lessened skills in reading from the flames... same as Ironborn captain saying he cannot navigate by stars. One must be wary of those that speak openly of their shortcomings..._ Arianne mused.

"This is a war council, woman, not for anyone's eyes or ears... leave now and tell guards they'll be flogged for allowing you to pass."  
Tremond Gargalen barked at her. She tilted her head and with hint of grin responded: "I know of what you speak. For that I have entered this tent. To give you advice and warning." "Leave, priestess, before you don't end being flogged alongside those guards." lord of Salt Shore told her loudly. Arianne coughed before saying: "As this is my tent, allow me to be the one who decides who leaves it and who stays...  
Priestess Rila, as you were so eager to join us, that even my trusted guards were not able to stop you, say your mind.  
But, I warn you, should this turn out to be trifles and wasting of my time and the time of my lords here, I will not flog you.  
A woman should not do that to another woman. But, I will tie you to a pole in the very middle of this camp, naked for all to see your shame.  
Sun and flies will torment you more than a whip."  
Rila nodded: "Princess Arianne, this messenger, one whose name is Sand, came to you with word of the castle in the mountains behind which sun sets has fallen. Due to a treachery. That is not true. Not wholly, at least. Indeed, someone from the castle told the enemy of that walled passage. But that someone has died many decades ago." Edric Dayne frowned: "What are you saying, lady Rila?"  
Daeron Vaith smirked: "_Lady..._, a slave that chants before fire." "Let her speak!" Arianne said in commanding tone.  
"It was the evil one, Princess. One whose sight knows no boundaries of place and time. His eyes went in the olden days, when great-grandsire of great-grandsire of lord Fowler lived and those in the castle knew of that passage, where it begins and where it ends. It was them who betrayed Skyreach to the enemy." "Nonsense..." Tremond Gargalen dismissed what he has just heard "...strip this mummer witch bare and tie her to a pole, my princess." Arianne replied in calm voice: "I will do no such thing, my lord. I have seen only a glimpse of the magic red priests can do and have you seen it as well, none of you would speak of it with insults and belittling." "The gaze of evil one is upon Dorne, I can feel it,  
as hot iron is poking my very soul." Rila said in solemn tone. "This evil one you speak of, who is it?" Edric Dayne asked.

"Bran the Broken, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Six Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm."  
Rila replied with grim, menacing tone. "The Three Eyed Raven..." Edric sighed "...we spoke of this, Princess, not long ago in this very tent."  
"Yes, we have... Some here might or might not believe in magic, sorcery, ways of this world when it was still young, yet I do..." Arianne told them  
"...I believe that thing in the Red Keep, thing in the body of long ago dead wolf boy, uses powers of greensight against us."  
"Greeensight? Ha! Northern folk tales..." lord Daeron nearly laughed "...and this wench is peddling her own superstitious beliefs."  
"My lord Daeron, I was merely a boy, during war in Riverlands, a squire for a Marcher lord whom I saw being slain five times.  
And five times did he rose again by prayer of a red priest. I am sure you don't take me for superstitious ignorant peasant, my lord."  
Daeron remained with no words, while Rila said approvingly: "Lord of Light returned that man so many times for a reason.  
Lord of Light will help the people of Dorne against the evil one and his army. There is no time to lose."

"How can you help us, lady Rila?" Edric asked. Priestess smiled at him, he treated her with respect: "I can light fires that will shield this tent from his gaze. Yet, not much more I can do. True power that Dorne needs now is in the east. It is there you must seek help, Princess Arianne."  
Daughter of Doran Martell nodded, she unlike others in the tent understood what Yi Ti woman was telling her.  
Then she said: "That help must be asked right away. Have you the means... You do know what I speak of, right?"  
Rila made a slight nod: "I do. And I have it. This very night we shall try to light that flame. This is no longer war between spear and sword.  
This is war between Lord of Light and Lord of Darkness. We must act swiftly or the evil one will take all your land, using your past against you.  
Till tonight, my princess." said beauty born in land far away and after bowing left the tent.  
Tremond Gargalen said dryly: "I must admit that I have not understood most of what she was saying. What help will you be asking and from where?" Arianne answered: "From the enemy of our enemy. From the fire made flesh." 

"Last time I saw you bare, there was no hair on your balls..." Arianne was lying in her nameday suit on the bed in the central part of her pavilion, part that was walled by thick curtains. "How old was I... ten? In Water Gardens... Before I left to squire for a man who was to marry my aunt..."  
Edric Dayne smiled at her "...you were already a maiden. Even us hairless boys loved seeing you bare, be sure of that."  
He lied next to her, gently kissing her nipples, before his lips met with hers.  
She chuckled: "Still it took us twenty years to bed one another... why? I always liked you, Edric." "Well, upon leaving the Brotherhood without banners I've found my way home and my lord father wanted me to marry, so I did. And I have sired heirs to Starfall. With a lady from House Dondarrion, who six years ago decided she no longer wishes to be lady of Starfall, so we parted ways. She returned to her home in Blackhaven, leaving me with two boys who are now ten and eight namedays old." "Where are they now?" "At Sandstone, with Qorgyles." She passed his fingers through his hair: "Some lords of Dorne sent their families as far as Lys." "Daynes are not cravens. Should our cause fail, those families will end  
as slaves in Lysene brothels." "Will our cause fail, Edric?"

Question lingered with no answer for a while. Lord of Starfall was her friend since youth. There was liking between them as they were both man and woman grown, yet this evening was first time they give in to the passion. It was not intended by her or him, a small talk with shared bottle of wine lead them into each other's arms. Mayhaps both needed comfort of love making, after all the bad news they have heard this day.  
Edric kissed her neck few times before saying: "Our cause is now tied with the cause of those that follow R'hllor.  
Gods only know with what is tied the cause of the Red Keep. Is Bran a man with broken back or demon in shape of king'"  
Arianne sighed, before placing head on his chest: "I know how to wage war against armies of men, sword against axe, spear against shield.  
I know not how to fight with sorcery, with blood magic, with greensight... Can you imagine that he could be watching us right now..."  
"King Bran? He might... he never tasted the pleasures of flesh as I know, he was merely a boy when he was crippled."  
Princess laughed: "What a couple rules in Red Keep. Remnants of boy who never lay with woman and a whore mongering dwarf.  
Though all that I've learned of broken king, he is now many things, but least of all son of Eddard Stark."  
Edric looked at her: "I wonder how those around him can't tell who he truly is."  
"Mayhaps they can't, mayhaps they won't. He was good king for years. Those who serve him blame his failures on us, on the Ironborn.  
Not on him, they trust times of good reign of Bran the Broken will come back once Dorne is dealt with."  
"Easier said than done..." he said softly. "Edric, once this war is over... I wish to talk with you of future.  
I was unwed for too long... there are many Dornish lords who desire to be Prince Consort. I want only one. You."  
"Then you shall have me, Princess Arianne Nymeros Martell." Edric told her.  
She was happy. For the first time that day. Love making gave her pleasure as ever, but happiness came only after those words.  
He was younger than her, but neither of them cared. Seed of affection that was planted in Water Gardens many years ago was now blooming,  
in the large camp of Dornish host, on the bare hills near Vaith river. _He is nobler than I am..._ she mused watching him naked  
and asleep in her bed _...was that what lured me towards him... I am schemer, I was that since I learned what scheming is.  
I need at my side someone who is not. Who is more knight than lord... Edric Dayne. A little bare boy from the pool at Water Gardens.  
Who used to stare at my breasts and fleece between my legs... Now man who loves me as a man... life is strange. And worth living._

That night red priestess came to her pavilion, dark hair fashioned in three braids falling down her back, robe she wore was of brighter red.  
Around her neck was an adornment, a choker necklace of hexagonal links, with red ruby shining in the very middle piece.  
She wore a linen bag, in it a long, straight object was hidden. Arianne knew what that was and with nod she let Rila know of that.  
"Your glass candle is jet black and much shorter than one Ezzelyno had..." she noted when Yi Ti woman placed the obsidian candle on the tent's floor. "There are not many of these candles left in the Known World. This one, kept in Lys, was long ago cut in half by a pirate captain who wished to know his future. Candle does not serve that purpose. He disagreed and used his sword on the candle. Candle did break, but man's sword shattered in many pieces, one ending in his neck. Pirate bled to death in quarter of an hour."  
Arianne smirked: "And that is a true story?"  
"You may unsheathe your scimitar and try to make this glass candle even shorter, Princess." Rila answered also with smirk.  
"You're of insolent kind, aren't you? I need that thing to speak with the dragon queen. Nothing else." Arianne warned her.  
"And you shall. Yet, first you will see and talk to my High Priestess, Kinvara, the candle in Meereen is with her."  
"Good. But I want to speak with Daenerys Targaryen. I need her help. Dorne needs her help." 

_Seaswift_, a war galley of the royal fleet of King's Landing was for nearly six moons patrolling the waters of Dorne, she was a small ship with big sails, faster than any galley afloat. Or so it was claimed. _Bold Wind_ was also there, same as _Blackwater Rush_, once named _Lionstar_. This night, they were anchored before the seat of princes of Dorne, Sunspear. Castle and its shadow town were ghostly empty, save the royal garrison of five and ten hundred, some royal foot and not even one hundred mounted men, but mostly sailors from the ships of royal fleet. This night was one of moonlight, it seemed bright as day when big silver orb was not covered with passing clouds.  
Brack Furrow, helmsman of _Seaswift_ waddled along the deck, ale taking the best of him. Ale and cards, only way to fill the long night hours.  
Whores were another one, but as Dornish have taken every living soul from Sunspear far inland and only handful of prostitutes from Crownlands  
dared to go south, to Dorne, to earn from giving pleasure and company to king's men at arms, Brack as many of his fellow crewmembers were robbed of whoring. "All the better..." he would say to his companions "...stroking cock is free and it will give you no diseases."  
He just pulled out his manhood to give some of the ale he drunk to the waves of Summer Sea, urge to whistle came to him and he was about to when moonlight was gone. Brack lifted his gaze to the night sky, looking for a large, thick cloud, one that could cover the full moon.  
He saw no cloud. He saw a shadow, closing by with every heartbeat.  
Helmsman blinked, once, twice, he tried narrowing his eyes and all that time he was pissing in the water. 

Shadow was now over him, dark and large, three times large as ship on which he stood was. Shadow was living thing. Shadow was a beast.  
Beast of huge wings that were moving gracefully and silently and of scales, scales that seemed to gleam in the moonlight.  
Then he saw the teeth, as rows of greatswords shining in mouth of this creature, illuminated by light that seemed to be coming deep from its throat. Light of orange and gold and scarlet grew larger and larger till it was no light but a stream of fire, coming narrow from the jaws and then spreading all around. All around Brack Furrow from Rosby Bridge in the Crownlands.  
Helmsman was long before reduced to ashes when his ship,_Seaswift_, cracked under dragonflames.  
_Seaswift_ has long before kissed the bottom of the sea before Sunspear when last of vessels of the royal fleet was consumed by fire.  
Those few that were lucky to survive watched, floating among burning remnants of nearly two scores of ships, how large dark shadow flies up the Greenblood river, westwards.


	82. SANSA

_Barrowton, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

**SANSA**

"King Bran is with you, Your Grace. That is why I am here. That is why Ser Culler and his men are here.  
I was commanded to do all in my power to help you retake Winterfell. It is your castle and your throne.  
King Bran will not suffer usurper north of the Six Kingdoms, same as he does not suffer rebels on the south."  
Brienne of Tarth stood before Sansa Stark in the chambers of lord of Barrow Hall. Queen in the North was guest of House Dustin.  
Not by her own choice, nor did she wished to linger here longer than needed. Dustins were not her true allies.  
Sansa did not forget how was their vote cast on the Queen's council three and a half moons ago. They betrayed her.  
They sided with jackal and three weasels. They remained with jackal when weasels, moose and merman run under dragon wings.

Why was that Sansa could not tell. Was that a vengeance that Beron Dustin did for late lady Barbrey.  
Siding with Elric Karstark was means to punish daughter and niece for deeds of ther father and uncle.  
Her uncle, one she never met, Brandon Stark, son and heir of her grandfather Rickard was fostered here, at Barrowton.  
Being of wolf blood, he oft rode to the Rills where Barbrey Ryswell gave her heart and her maidenhead to young lord Stark.  
Her father hoped to marry her to Winterfell, but Brandon was betrothed with Catelyn Tully of Riverrun.  
Lord Ryswell had little issue with that and went to arrange his daughter to be wed with second son of Warden of the North,  
young Eddard Stark, though that did not come to pass. After a while, Barbrey was wed to Willam Dustin, the young lord of Barrowton.  
What followed later was Prince Rhaegar Targaryen vanishing with lady Lyanna Stark, murder of lord Rickard and his heir Brandon in the  
throne room of Red Keep under orders of Mad King, rebellion led by lord of Storm's End... all ending with utter ruin of dragon dynasty. 

It was aftermath of those events that bitter the relations between Barrowton and Winterfell. Lady Barbrey was widowed after her young husband died at some tower in the Red Mountains of Dorne, where he stood side by side with Eddard Stark and crossed swords with three knights of Kingsguard. Lady of Barrow Hall was returned her husband's steed which she gifted him before he rode off to fight against the Mad King. Ned Stark returned the horse, but not the bones of Willam Dustin. He returned the bones of his sister, to be interred in the crypts of Winterfell. Lady Barbrey till her last day did not forget or forgive that.

Sansa felt that, that resentment as she came to the castle on the large hill overlooking the barrowlands that encircle it.  
Even now, when all were dead. Barbrey was last to die, all others from that account were dead and burred for decades.  
Brandon, Willam, Eddard, Catelyn, Rickard, Rhaegar, Lyanna... That name was as curse for her now. Lyanna Stark Targaryen.  
Girl of twelve. Girl that dared before all houses of the North, great and small, to call her unable to give heirs.  
A Stark looking Targaryen. Well taught in schemery albeit her age and clearly well tutored in Northern politics.  
Girl that dared to strike her back after Sansa gave her a slap across the face, slap she deserved, for her foul mouth.  
A bastard born out of incest dared to insult true heir of Stark kings and Stark lords.  
_I should have given the dragonspawn ten lashes of whip across her back before sending her back to her mad mother._,  
Sansa mused when reliving that day in her thoughts. _Jon deserved the same. Spineless worm._.

The Great Barrow is a large, grassy hill at Barrowton in the north. The surrounding barrowlands are flat and windswept. Barrow Hall, the castle of House Dustin, is built on the hill. Beneath it lies a town, of wooden and broad straight streets, even having one lined with elms. Great wooden walls are built all around the town, with the two rivers splitting around it from the southern side, both splitting off in opposite directions.  
Near the eastern gate of Barrowton is a small keep of House Stout of Goldgrass.

_Stouts. A lesser house, sworn to Dustins. They have betrayed me as well, casting vote against me remaining the queen._  
_I am among enemies here... I fool myself not of it._ Sansa pondered as she walked around the Great Barrow, Ser Brienne at her side.  
Lady Commander of Kingsguard came to Barrowton on a river runner, after disembarking from ship in the waters of Saltspear.  
Sansa was pleased that Brienne has arrived, though it meant that she will owe even more to her brother in the Red Keep.  
She did not want to owe much to anyone. For ten years Six Kingdoms and Kingdom of the North lived one next to another, as good neighbors.  
And nothing more. She never went south, in all that decade, to visit Bran nor did he ever show interest of Northern affairs. Until now.  
"I intend to march on Winterfell as soon as I can, Ser Brienne. The longer that usurper takes the throne, more foothold she will gain."  
Sansa said to tall woman, looking over her shoulder before that, yet no one was near them save two of Brienne's men walking behind and two walking ahead of them. "Your Grace, I was truly surprised that Daenerys Targaryen and your brother would use their own daughter to take your throne." Brienne said looking towards the houses of the town beneath the hill they were standing on. Sansa smiled at her:  
"It is for you do not know her well. Or him. Targaryens always used their own children as coins in game of ruling. Mad Queen wishes nothing more than to see me humiliated... and Jon... well, love and lust have ruined many men. Why should he be the exception."  
"And... lady Arya?" Brienne asked, as with caution. "She is a fool who sees dragons as her own kin. That will cost her. But I care not.  
I had a sister and a half-brother once. Now, it is only me left... and Bran, but he is more than just Bran Stark. I know that."  
"What is your plan, Your Grace?" Brienne asked. Sansa nodded in approval: "Good of you to ask. Beron Dustin is bit more than a halfwit when planing and strategy are in question, and I would be mad to leave Elric Karstark to make plans for me. No... I have devised my own actions."  
"If you're not willing to share it with me, I understand." knight said. "But I am willing. I plan to task Ser Culler, he's proven as loyal to me thus far, to take some of his men and men of House Stark who served me in Winterfell and take sway over part of the Kingsroad that leads to castle Cerwyn and to Torrhen's Square and to seize all the cargo coming from White Harbor intended for Tallharts and Cerwyns... and Glovers in Deepwood Motte. They will no longer be getting Essosi goods as payment for siding against me. Taking Kingsroad, south of Cerwyn lands will cut off Moat Cailin and the Neck from the rest of dragonspawn supporters." "When will this take place?" Brienne asked.  
"Overmorrow, Ser Brienne. I will not lose time here, in Barrowton." Sansa replied. Then she looked at the town.

"Are you familiar with the Burning of Barrowton, Ser Brienne?"  
"I can't say that I am, Your Grace." "Until last war and attack on the White Harbor, the sack of Barrowton was noted as worst attack on any Northern city. Same as with White Harbor, it were the Ironborn who came to plunder and reave. They were repelled, but that night battle, where they used fire to tore down the city walls damaged Barrowton so that two years were needed to rebuilt houses and city defenses. Word was that after the battle, city walls were reduced to barely a fence for cattle." Brienne nodded.  
"You wonder why I am telling you this?" Sansa asked. Before yellow-haired woman answered, she continued: "I can see it on your face, Ser Brienne.  
I am telling you this for Barrowton is, as you may well see, a city made of wood. That will fare poorly against dragon fire."  
"Your Grace, you expect the dragon queen to come North with her last..." "I most surely do. She yearns for it. For burning people, towns, lands.  
We deal with a madwoman. Daughter of a madman. And given how many offspring she has and taint of Targaryen blood, she'll be mother of some mad wretch as well. One cannot escape own destiny." Brienne was silent and she could not tell if knight from Tarth is agreeing with her or not. "Queen Sansa, I have heard from Davos Seaworth of her last dragon. He told me that Drogon is now twice the size he was when she burned  
down King's Landing. What if she comes here, to defend her girl with fire?" "We must outsmart her." Stark queen said.  
"How shall we do that?" Brienne asked. "I am still pondering on it. But, it will include that bastard girl who dares to call herself Stark."  


It was early evening and she found herself in the chambers assigned to her. She could not tell if these once belonged to Lady Barbrey as room was richly furnished, with ornate bed of oak wood with canopy, with looking glass hanged on the wall next to a wardrobe ornate same as the bed, with bronze bath in the far side of the chamber, close to the hearth and thick carpets and animal furs covering the wooden floor.  
Even through closed window, Sansa could hear the vanes turning on the old windmill that stood close to the gatehouse of Barrow Hall.  
She was about to change into nightgown and go to her night rest when sound came to her from the outside the window. It repeated few times, enough to make her walk to the window. Pecking. That was the noise, pecking. Despite the lack of light, as sun has set over an hour ago, she could see small dark shadow on the other side. She slowly opened the window. A short croak greeted her. It was a raven, larger than any of those in Winterfell ravenry and what made her smile was bird's eyes. They were white. _Bran..._ Bird had a scroll tied to its leg and with one more short croak, allowed Sansa to take it off. _Barrow Hall weirwood tree. We shall speak there _ message said.  
She looked at the bird and nodded, knowing that one who warged into this raven can see her. 

"I'll go to your castle's weirwood tree, to pray. I would like to be alone." she said to Beron Dustin who was just supping in the hall of his keep.  
He shrugged, not even hiding that he could not care less what she was doing during her stay under roof of House Dustin. Sansa came out on the grassy courtyard and paced slowly towards the farthest part of the keep, where in the middle of small orchard tree of white bark and red leaves stood. She looked around, there was no one there, only steps of the guard echoed on the ramparts many yards away.  


"Bran..." she whispered. Nothing. Tree stood there silently, as many centuries before, looking at her with carved face. Sansa stepped closer and placed her hand on the trunk. Red leaves began to tremble, even bark was as glowing, from lowest to highest branch, and voice came to her:  
_Sansa..._ "You wished to speak with me." _Yes._ "Of what?" she asked. _Of how shall we meet our common foe._  
"Dragon queen... she took my throne." _She did. Now you must take it back._ "I plan to march on Winterfell within sennight."  
_Do not delay. Dragon girl has not taken root in Winterfell. She will if she's given time. You have the numbers,_ voice said.  
"I have. A thousand of loyal Northerners and five thousand you have sent me." _That is enough. To free your home. It is not enough to keep it._  
"She will come with dragon..." _She will. When you defeat her daughter, she will come. I will draw her to southern sands, but you must act hastily  
in the North. Be firm, be stern, be merciless, Sansa. That is the only way._ "To capture that girl and have her as hostage... that would make both Jon and that madwoman to run back to Essos. It would give me great pleasure to have her locked up in one of Winterfell chambers.  
In gilded cage, same as I was with Lannisters. And any move Daenerys makes against me, would mean girl's life is forfeit."  
_You plan to keep the girl alive, should she become your prisoner?_ "You would not?" Sansa frowned. _No._  
Sansa felt as if ice came to her ears when Bran answered. "She shares our blood, no matter how I mislike that. It's kinslaying, Bran."  
_It is when you think of the girl as such. She is blood of dragon. Evil in making. Evil breeds evil, Sansa. Girl must die._  
"She is more worth to me alive..." 

_But not to me!_ voice was louder now, ringing with anger. That left Sansa bewildered.  
What she remembered of Bran was his even, almost inhuman tone, empty of any feeling, as he was beyond joy and anger and sadness.  
Now Sansa could tell how great wish is in Bran to have the daughter of dragon queen removed from this world. She countered:  
"Bran, even if we overlook the kinslaying, should her daughter be harmed in any way, Daenerys will burn Winterfell down to foundation stone.  
She burned King's Landing to avenge the death of her friend. I can't allow that to happen to my home. I will not."  
_You do not parlay with dragons, Sansa, you break them. And you will break her only with death of her children._  
"She will burn Winterfell, Bran... our home. My only home." she argued. _Take Winterfell, slay the dragon girl, give shelter to people  
of Winter Town within your walls. Thousands of innocents hiding before wrath of Mad Queen in your castle._  
"Daenerys will kill them all... mayhaps those deep in the crypts will stay alive. But crypts cannot shelter that many..."  
_Good. The more she kills, the further away is she or her spawn from ever taking the North.  
And should she burn down Winterfell with thousands of innocents, Jon will kill her again. No matter the death of his daughter. He will kill her._  
"You can't be certain of that, Bran. You ask of me to commit crime of kinslaying and then to sacrifice thousands of my people..."  
_You forget that I see what once was and what is now. Also I can see what may come to pass, yet unclear. _  
_Should you act as I ask of you, then such future can truly happen. But only with you doing as I have told you, Sansa._  
"I cannot Bran... you ask of me to act as Cersei Lannister..." _She broke the dragon queen. You can break her too. Break her, Sansa._  
_If you want to rule North till your dying day, you will make Daenerys Targaryen to show how mad she truly is._  
_Only then will Westeros once and for all be freed from danger of Targaryens returning. World will again see their cruel madness._  
Sansa shook her head... "I am not..."  
_What you are not? Cersei? No, you are Sansa Stark of Winterfell. Daughter of Eddard and Catelyn._  
_Tell me, would she suffer traitor as Elric Karstark is? You're a wolf, Sansa. Wolves kill those who trample on their ground._  
_That is last you'll hear from me this evening. Act as I have told you or you will never sit on Northern throne again._  
Sansa was about to respond, but red leaves ceased to tremble and bark darkened. Bran, the Three Eyed Raven was gone.

She walked back to her chamber, immersed in her thoughts. She did not expect this kind of ruthlessness from Bran.  
Ruthlessness that will cost him nothing, but she could lose everything. Thousands of people, Winterfell itself.  
That was one thought, other was notion of Daenerys Targaryen burning the North. And Jon killing her again. That made her smile.  
She entered her chamber and began to disrobe. Sudden craving for bath came to her and she called the servant girl which was placed at her disposal. Sansa learned that both Beren Tallhart and Beth Cassel are coming to Barrowton and that pleased her greatly.  
They were her friends, they were true to her. It was Beth who drew her baths for many years.  
She was bare when knocking on the chamber door sounded. Sansa covered herself with nightgown and said opening the door:  
"You have certainly taken your time, I almost fell asleep waiting for..." she stopped talking.  
Elric Karstark grinned at her: "Lovely words, coming from a naked woman... though I doubt they were intended for me."  
"Indeed they were not..." she hissed holding the nightgown with both hands now "...I am waiting for the servant girl to drew my bath."  
"I remember when you gladly shared your bath with me..." he said as his gaze went from her neck down. _Lust. He still lusts for me._  
Her eyes narrowed as she looked him straight in his. "Here, let me help you..." she let the nightgown to slip on the floor. She stood naked before Elric. Unlike Sansa's, his eyes widened and wild glow was now in them, he made one step closer to her. She placed her hands behind her neck and made a long sigh: "Mayhaps I should let you sweat me before my bath, lord Karstark." "Mayhaps you should..." he said with a grin.  
"And mayhaps we should see how thick these wooden walls are..." "What?" he asked. She smiled, but her eyes had a glint.  
Then she threw herself at him, naked as on her nameday, clutching him with hands around his neck and legs around his waist.  
Before Elric managed to say anything, Sansa screamed: "Nooo, nooo... stop, I don't want.. noo... my lord... help! Help me! Heeelp!!!"  
Last words she shrieked as wounded animal while Elric tried to shake her off himself: "What the... Sansa! Be quiet... what are you doing?!" Instead answering she bite his neck with all ferocity she could muster. That make him let out a painful yell. "Fucking bitch!"  
He pulled her hair with both hands trying to part this savage embrace... "Heeeelp! Help me!" "Shut the fuck up!" Elric shouted.  
Then Sansa let go, her arms and legs loosened their grip and she let herself to fall on the floor.  
Lord of Karhold stood wholly dressed over naked Queen in the North who yelled for help as she crawled on the floor beneath him.  
He went after her: "Stop it! Stop screaming... You truly are mad as your aunt... mad as Lysa Tul..." He did not end the sentence.  
Tip of a sword appeared on his left chest, blood sprayed bare body of Sansa Stark. Sword tip was there for a heartbeat more and then vanished.

Lord of Karhold fell dead, with his bewildered face down. Behind him stood Brienne of Tarth with bloodied blade of Oathkeeper.  
Guards were rushing through the hallway, towards her chamber, knocking down the servant girl who was bringing hot water for her bath.  
Girl screamed upon seeing naked, blood stained Sansa and a man lying dead on the floor of the chamber.  
"What in seven hells is going on here!?" Beron Dustin shouted making his way to Sansa's chamber, pushing his guards aside.  
"What was going on, lord Dustin..." Sansa told him, standing upright, still naked and bloody "...was lord Elric Karstark trying to rape his queen.  
And Ser Brienne of Tarth, knight of Six Kingdoms, defending my honor as you have failed to post proper guard at my door."  
Brienne wrapped Sansa's cloak around her body, killing all present men with her gaze. Beron looked at dead lord of Karhold:  
"Greyscale take you, Karstark, I've never taken you for a raper..." Brienne hissed at him: "He had a cock and balls, had he not?  
And a naked defenseless woman before him... all which is needed for a rape, my lord Dustin." Beron shrugged, scratching his head.  
Then he said to his guards: "Take this corpse outside, in the morrow queen shall decide what we shall do with it.  
You, girl, find three more servants to clean Her Grace's chamber. Have the bath ready for our queen..." Then he turned to Sansa again:  
"I beg your forgiveness for this... this vile event, my queen. I'll see that this chamber is guarded by half a dozen men day and night.  
To have Queen nearly raped under my roof, that brings great shame to House Dustin, a stain that can never..."  
Sansa gestured with her hand for him to stop talking: "I, Queen in the North, will consider that stain removed if you pledge yourself  
and House Dustin to me, my lord, and give your swords to me as I march to free Winterfell from foreign usurper."  
Beron looked at her face, marked with blood of his ally and then knelt before Sansa, : "House Dustin is yours, my queen, now and always."  
Stark queen nodded approvingly: "Now and always, lord Beron. And bear in mind, North mayhaps remembers. But Sansa Stark never forgets." 


	83. RHAELLA

_Meereen, Essos, year 317 After Conquest_

**RHAELLA**

"Shijetra nyke..." she said meekly as she could to silver-haired youth "...nyke pendagon īlē pirtir."  
(_Forgive me... I thought you were lying._). She spoke in High Valyrian, their ancestral tongue.  
He answered the same way, there was that slight accent and older style of speaking, she fell in love with it.  
Same as she fell in love with all else about this young nobleman from island in the Narrow Sea.  
"Pirta ao pendagon. Skoro syt gaomagon ao daor pāsagon nyke? esan dōrī pirtir naejot ao, ñuha sētenon."  
(_Wrong you have thought. Why do you not trust me? Never would I lie to you, my delight._)  
"Gaomagon daor yne brōzā bona. Daor ao." Her voice was firm and ordering again, painted with slight anger.  
(_Do not call me that. Not you._) He shrugged: "Skorkydoso kessa nyke brōzagon ao?"  
"How should you call me?! Hmm.. how about... ñuha mēre drēje jorrāelagon?" "My one true love... yes, that is who you are."  
Alyn Velaryon gave her a long loving gaze before kissing her. This was true kiss, it lasted, and Rhae closed her eyes savoring the moment.

"Princess... lord Alyn..." a well known voice made Rhaella open her eyes and part the kiss. She could tell her cheeks were blushing, part from joy that every kiss by the boy she loved gave her, part for shame as her mother walked on that kiss. Once again. Daenerys Targaryen was approving of the bond that Rhaella made with Alyn. Still, every time Queen of the Bay of Dragons would came across Princess of the Bay of Dragons sharing affections with her betrothed, it made Rhaella to feel unease, as she were caught stealing. "Aōha Dārōñe..." Alyn said, his gaze down.  
"I see that you have brought an item of great value, my lord." Daenerys said looking at the object laid on the table.  
It was an egg, as large as head of a child, its shell was covered with small scales. As sun rays would touch it through the greenery of the apex terrace, it shimmered. Shimmered as polished metal. It was dragon egg. This one was of silver coating with a streak of bright gold running for its whole length. Egg of Princess Elaena Targaryen. "Have you apologized to lord Alyn, Rhaella?" her mother asked.  
"I have, mother..." "There was no need to..." Alyn began to talk but Queen dismissed it: "There was. Princess had some doubts about you having this egg." Daenerys sat next to him: "But I see you're loyal to Rhaella. That is good ground for your common future." "Your Grace, I..." young Velaryon tried to utter. She smiled at him: "I still would prefer that you display affection to each other where none can see you, myself included. There is no need for something so pure that you have to be matter of gossip." "Yes, Your Grace." Alyn nodded same as Rhaella who the very next moment exclaimed: "Look, mama, it is the egg of Princess Elaena." Her mother nodded: "Indeed, it is."  


Rhae saw how Muña's eyes were glowing since she first saw the egg. "It is over hundred and sixty years old, Your Grace." Alyn said.  
Daenerys made a slight gesture with her head, confirming it: "A remnant of happier times for our family... well... happier then some other times were. Truth is Elaena grew in times when Targaryens were left with no dragons..." Then Queen's face changed: "Have you touched it, Rhaella?"  
"No, Muña, I have not." "And you lord Alyn, when you touch this egg, how does it feel?" Boy looked at her, then at Rhaella: "I did not want to say it for Rhae was already mad at me and did not trust me having this egg, but it is strange, Your Grace, it sometimes feels... as warm."  
Princess chuckled: "That cannot be, that is your mind fooling you." Daenerys said to her: "Go on... touch it."  
Rhaella placed her hands on the sixteen decades old egg and removed it right away, frowning. Then she touched it again, this time she hold it longer. "It feels warm... how? Why.." then she came with a reason that make most sense: "The sun, it warmed up in the sun."  
"Rhae, I've touched it last night when I was placing it in the bag... it felt warm... it is not the sun." Alyn told her.  
"Then what is it?" she wondered. Daenerys laid her hand on the egg again: "The eggs from which I have hatched Drogon, Viseron and Rhaegal were much warmer than this one, tala. Mayhaps it is matter of Valyrian blood or Targaryen blood... Alyn, you have Targaryen blood in your veins as well." "I do, Your Grace, by lady Baela Targaryen, she was dragonrider and her daughter Laena Velaryon, she had a hatchling of her own." Rhae added:  
"I know that story, Laena's dragon was hatched blind and wingless, white as a maggot. Lord Oakenfist killed it when hatchling wounded Laena, biting her arm." Daenerys smiled: "As you see, Alyn, your betrothed is true scholar of history of our house and of yours."  
"Yes, my queen, she is." boy smiled. "What do you intend with this egg, now after you have proven my distrustful daughter that you have it?"  
Boy shrugged: "I would like this egg to be our first common possession, Rhae's and mine..." Rhaella's eyes glowed again: "Ours?" "Yes, Rhaella, ours. I know that dragon egg is very valuable, more than gemstones. My father gave it to me, his father to him and so it was done from the days of Alyn Oakenfist and Elaena. One day, should gods grant us heirs, your son and mine will place his hands on this egg." Daenerys looked at the boy, her eyebrows lifted. "Forgive me, Your Grace, if I was too bold..." "There is nothing to forgive, young Alyn. I only hope that your dedication to my daughter will last beyond your young age, many years beyond." "It will, my queen."  
Rhaella felt anger. They were talking as she was not even there. _You deserve a slap across your face, Alyn. To talk about us having heirs before mother. And I haven't even had my first moonblood yet. You're acting even more foolish than Hallis with Lyanna..._"I trust Princess and you will agree that egg will be safer here, in royal vaults than in the pyramid you're staying, young lord Alyn. Your family is not alone in that pyramid and it is hard to keep secret in this city." "I agree, Your Grace." Then he looked at Rhae. "One day it will be kept in the vault of Driftmark as it was all those many years." She barely nodded, still annoyed with Muña and Alyn speaking of future as she has no saying of it. 

"You care greatly of Alyn Velaryon." Muña told her as they have supped together that evening. She did not answer.  
"You do. His actions either make you happy or angry, but you never remain cold. That is what caring of someone means."  
She looked at Daenerys: "Was it as that with Papa and you?" Queen chuckled: "Was? Dōna tala, it still is." "So when you quarell..."  
"We do not do it for we hate each other..." mother smiled "...Alyn truly loves you, Rhae. Return that to him. He will grow into honest man."  
"Yet, we have lied to him, of sort. So that egg comes into our hands." she replied. "Tala... we did not lie to him. Egg is truly safer here.  
Velaryons are people without home now. They have all the aid I can provide them with, but they are highborn, used to luxuries from all sides  
of the Known World that every Velaryon which ever fared the seas brought home. They could sell the egg to get more luxury here.  
For that reason, egg is safer here." Daenerys explained. Rhaella gazed away. "What is it, my sweet?" "You want to hatch it. I can tell."  
Queen lifted eyebrow: "Well, Princess Rhaella Targaryen is no fool." "Why? That egg has been stone for century and a half."  
"Rhaella, there is a mark on your belly, mark of hatred that some have for our family. Only with dragons we are safe, only dragons make others..." "To fear us." Rhae said. "Yes. To fear us." "Fear breeds hate, mother." was her answer.  
Daenerys smiled: "You are truly daughter of Jon Targaryen." Then she sighed:  
"We have inherited that hate of us, Rhae, Papa, me, Lya, you, even Cregan and Little Dany... some hate us only for our name. To be safe from them, we need dragons. Drogon will live long, he will light the funeral pyre of both me and you, dōna tala, but dragons die as well. I want not for your grandchildren to remain without such shield that dragons are. Even one dragon more would make difference..."  
"How do you hatch the egg as old as this? How do you hatch any dragon egg?" Rhaella asked.  
"I know how I have hatched my tree eggs. We shall see... there is no need to rush it. Many failed attemps there were in hatching dragon eggs"  
She was about to say something to mother, when Azzak zo Ghazeen interrupted their supper, his voice marked with seriousness:  
"Aōha Jaqiarza, voktys Ezzelyno umbagon ao isse dēmalion tistālion. Vestras run iksis adere. Vēzos se egrio brōzas dohaeragon."  
(_Your Radiance, priest Ezzelyno awaits in the throne room. Says that matter is of haste. Sun and spear calls for aid._)  
"He has come alone, without Kinvara?" "High priestess is in Astapor, for occasion of new temple there." Azzak said.  
"Tell Ezzelyno I'll be with him right away..." then she looked at Rhaella. She nodded: "I know what this means, Muña. I am ready."  
"Ready for what, tala?" her mother asked. "To rule once more in your stead. And Papa's." "I am yet to decide should I go..."  
"You already have, mama. You are Daenerys Targaryen. You answer the call of the weak. You always have. Same as father."  
Queen of Bay of Dragons embraced Rhaella, placing gentle kiss on her brow: "Same as you. Keep Meereen safe and strong, tala."  
She saw tears in mother's eyes, her own blurred her gaze. _Dorne..._ Rhae mused _...Muña goes to Dorne now. _

"Thief! Thieves the lot of them! Curse on you and all your forefathers and your children, curse by all the gods of Ghis!"  
Woman yelled at the man during audience the following day. Mother flew off on Drogon early on the morrow of that day, Rhaella knew  
she will fly over the sea, away from the coast and many eyes that could see large black and red dragon on his way westwards.  
Princess held court that same day and had to listen to three dozen of petitioners. That sometimes was small number or large.  
Depending on the matters with which people would come before the stone throne of Meereen.  
"Crown sees your grievance, my lady, yet it is not on King or Queen to resolve your problem as it touches matters of faith."  
"Faith? Faith? They have no faith... worshipers of R'hllor as heathens that burn their own flesh in their heathen rituals."  
Man replied: "I will not pray to Ghiscari gods, that is religion of slave masters, that is faith that kept us in chains for centuries."  
Azzak, standing at her side, frowned and was about to order them to remove themselves from the throne room, but Rhae spoke first:  
"Still, my lord, some once slaves do pray to the gods of Ghis and Bay of Dragons is place where we allow free worship of many gods.  
Gods of Ghis, R'hllor, gods of Sunset Kingdoms..." Woman asked: "What god do you pray, Princess?" "Mind your place!" Azzak warned her.  
Rhaella gestured to him that she allows the question: "I do not pray oft as I should, but I give worship to the gods of Sunset Kingdoms.  
And to one goddess of Old Valyria. Does that answer your question?" Woman nodded. "Good. Now, we shall meet here in three days. Priests of both faiths will be present and then we shall resolve the issue of burial rites of your late daughter, my lady. One that was your wife, my lord."  


Next day an elderly man came to the Great Pyramid in the red robes of R'hllor priest.  
He was tall and slim, his clean shaven head clashing with grey beard. He came following the call Rhae sent to Kinvara's temple.  
Rhaella never saw him before, only Alyn who was with her that day knew of him. Young Velaryon came to be with her as she took  
her duty of ruler of Meereen. She liked having Alyn near, he had some knowledge on matters of ruling, but to Rhae benefit was his company.  
"Ezzelyno of Braavos..." Alyn said to the man.  
"Young lord Alyn, I was sad to hear that you had to leave your horse on Driftmark."  
She saw how Alyn frowned: "How do you know that?" Priest smiled: "I have seen you riding it many times."  
"How could you, I have never seen you there." Alyn responded.  
"I was there. Lord Monterys took me in his service as a scribe. And I was his scribe for many moons."  
"That man was young, near as young as Monterys himself. That were not you." boy said, slightly irked.  
"That was me, lord Alyn. I assure you. Me and the power of Lord of Light."  
Alyn frowned: "So, the red god can make old man appear as young. Next you'll claim he can raise men from the dead and hatch dragon eggs."  
"Not once has he returned those fallen in his service back to life. As for dragon eggs, no one ever tried to hatch it using powers of R'hllor."  
Rhaella felt urge to hit Alyn for speaking of dragon eggs, though notion of magic of Lord of Light as tools...  
"Are you saying that magic of Lord of Light could be powerful enough to hatch a dragon egg?" she asked.  
"Nothing is impossible for the god I serve. Yet to be certain of that, one should have a dragon egg. It is a rare thing. Very rare."

Rhaella nodded and exchanged glances with Alyn, then again spoke to the priest: "Would you wait outside for I need a certain matter to discuss with lord Velaryon here." Ezzelyno bowed and left the room. "Are you an idiot?" she hissed at Alyn. "Why?" he answered with question.  
"Speaking of dragon eggs before this man. He is a conjurer of some sort." He shook his head: "No, Rhaella, he served my kinsman Monterys loyally and he now serves in the temple of red god here in Meereen. He is no conjurer. He was the one who sent news of Westeros to your mother.  
She knows him well." Rhaella was pensive for a while, her gaze wandered in distance.  
"Rhae?" boy spoke to her.  
"Tell me, Alyn, do you know if Velaryons of old have tried to hatch Princess Elaena's egg? Ever, even once?"  
He shrugged: "If they have, no record was ever made. When my father passed it to me, I wanted to learn all I could of that egg, but save few scrolls... nothing." "That is very odd." she said.  
"No, not when you think more of it... Elaena's one true love was Alyn Oakenfist, but he was married to Baela Targaryen and surely she misliked the notion of her husband loving her brother's daughter more than her. For that, I dare say that egg was ignored on Driftmark. Why do you ask this?" She looked at him, still pondering: "Mayhaps it would not be so unwise to show this egg to that priest... mayhaps he could tell us if it is truly dead or it still can be... hatched." He nearly laughed: "Afer that many years?"  
"Dragon egg is no chicken egg to wither away so easily."  
"It seems this egg is very important to you... you truly believe it can still be hatched?" "I am a Targaryen, Alyn, it is in my blood."  
"To hatch eggs?" he asked, grinning.  
"Do not mock me." she frowned.  
"I'd never... all right, what matters to you, matters to me. Egg is mine and I have no issue if that priest takes a look of it.  
He is not without skill in matters of magic. And dragons are magic made flesh."  
"Can he be trusted?" Rhaella asked. "I am rather certain he can, but still, we can warn him what may happen if he were to speak of it to anyone."  
She chuckled before placing kiss on his lips: "Was that you trying to sound ruthless? You may need to practice more on that..."  
"Be quiet." Alyn said returning the kiss. 

Ezzelyno gazed at the silver-gold egg with eyes wide open. He was in awe.  
"Only R'hllor knows how many of Targaryen dragon eggs are left in the world. Men can only speculate."  
"This is one of them. My heirloom." Alyn said. "And it was on Driftmark for hundred and sixty years..." Ezzlyno wondered.  
"Yes. It was." boy confirmed. "Well guarded secret, it seems..." priest mused aloud, his eyes as glued to the scaled shell.  
"More as forgotten part of my family's history. Castle Driftmark is filled with wonders of the Known World, from Yi Ti to Nefer.  
An egg from long ago is easily set aside. More so after dragons that were hatched in those days came as twisted creatures, dying in matter of days or weeks." Priest nodded, being familiar with how Targaryen dragons, after blacks and greens drew both swords and dragonflame at each other during Dance, died out. "You have shown me this egg with a purpose, Princess Rhaella and lord Alyn..."  
"We have." Rhae said "We hope that mayhaps you as servant of R'hllor can tell us if this egg is only stone..."  
"...or if there's still life in it, dormant for tens of years." priest finished her sentence.  
"That is correct." Rhae told him, then asked: "Is that even possible?"  
"Nothing is impossible for the Lord of Light." "You have already said that. It is proper to put that to the test." Rhae replied, her eyes narrow.  
"As Princess wishes. Bring the egg to the temple pyramid this evening. Through flames we shall reveal if there is spark of life in the stone."  


Alyn gazed at once Pyramid of Uhlez, now temple of Lord of Light in the city of Meereen as Rhae and him dismounted from their horses.  
He was troubled, even score of Freeflames as their escort did not take that away. She squeezed his hand: "What is it, jorrāelatan mēre?"  
_Loved one..._, he was that. Her loved one. It took her by surprise how fast and wholly he came into her heart.  
_Was this fate, something meant to be?_ Many times since he came to her life did Rhae ask this question.  
_I was never one of those girls that would swoon over young lords. That was not me. Yet, Alyn... he captured my heart same as I captured his... _  
_Can it be even that both of us have found love of our life so young? I dare not to hope... and if not, why do we drown so in each other's eyes..._  
"I don't know what to make of this, Rhae. I don't like this place..." She leaned her head on his shoulder:  
"Don't be afraid. I've lived here once, you know. My father came back to us here. It was a safe place for me..."  
_No, Rhaella Targaryen, it was not... they tried to kill you here, you were hurt here... scar on your belly will speak of that all of your life. _  
Thought flashed in her mind, but she remained silent and smiling to Alyn who was still reluctant to climb the temple pyramid stairs.  
"I am not afraid, but Faith teaches us not to trust in queer, foreign gods..." She smiled: "Seven will not curse you for entering this pyramid, Alyn." 

Hall of the temple was dimly lit, Alyn's eyes went for the banners embroidered with a flaming heart hanging from the walls.  
Ezzelyno was standing next to a stone altar in the middle of the room, clothed in red. He was washing his hands in oil.  
A necklace, encrusted with a red gem, was tight around his neck. As priest rinsed his hands, he was murmuring the prayer.  
Then he turned to the young girl and boy, “Lord of Light!” he called out in High Valyrian “Hear my prayer!”  
Priest raised her oil-soaked hands: “Lord, cast your light upon us!” The torches, spread out throughout the room, suddenly lit.  
The altar was surrounded by a ring of fire.  
Rhaella was calm as she witnessed this many times before, but youth next to her was startled.  
"Sorcery..." he whispered through his teeth, while he clutched the leather bag with egg in it.  
Priest passed by them and barred the hall main entrance. Alyn gazed at him with doubt.  
"Emagon ao se zaldrīzes drōmon?" old man in red clothes asked. (_Have you the dragon egg? _)  
"We have it." she replied in Common Tongue. "Bring it forth." Ezzelyno said next.  
Young Velaryon opened the bag of black leather and soon the silver-gold egg was in his hand.  
He stepped forward, minding the flames that burnt around the altar, and passed his most prized possession into priest's hands.  
Ezzelyno took it as it were made of crystal and holding it high above his head he passed through the flames and gently placed  
the egg on the altar. Rhaella stood by Alyn and her look was more on him than on the altar. His face was marked with mistrust.  
_He regrets us coming here... he is Westerosi, R'hllor is fire demon to him..._  
Then her gaze went to the altar, where priest chanted.  
"Zȳhys perzys stepagon Āeksio Ōño jorepi!" (_We beg the Lord to share his fire!_)  
"Zȳhys perzys stepagon Āeksio Ōño jorepi!"  
"Zȳhys perzys stepagon Āeksio Ōño jorepi!"  
He laid his hands on the egg, then raised them in the air again and flames surged out of altar, as high as ceiling, enveloping the egg,  
making it glisten as it were truly made of silver and gold. Ezzelyno exclaimed aloud, his face reflecting the flames and great pleasure:  
"Champion of Lord of Light has purified the nonbelievers, servants of the evil one, in thousands! With fire made flesh!"  
Alyn whispered to Rhaella: "What is he talking of? We should not have come..." Rhaella did not answer, for her only egg existed now.  
Egg that was bathed in fire and was shining as moonlight now, scales disappeared and it seemed as shell was melting down...  
then all was over. In a blink of an eye, flames died. Those around the altar and those on the egg. "What happened?!" Alyn asked bewildered.

"Nothing, my lord, nothing happened. And nothing will..." Ezzelyno said, defeated. Then he looked straight at Rhaella:  
"Unless... what are the words of House Targaryen?" She frowned, but answer came from her mouth: "Fire and blood."  
"Lord of Light demands blood. Blood of kings." Alyn stepped before Rhaella, shielding her from priest's gaze:  
"Are you mad!? Asking of Princess to take part in blood magic rituals. She will not!" young Velaryon shouted. "I ask nothing of the sort."  
"What do you ask of me then?" she asked calmly. "I ask only few drops of your blood, Princess." old man replied.  
"Few drops I can spare." Rhae said, which made Alyn to turn towards her. He was appalled with what she said, it was clear in his eyes.  
"Rhae, don't... don't take part in this foul sorcery..." "There is nothing foul in blood of the dragon, you have it too."  
She then made few paces and was standing before Ezzelyno: "You said few drops..." He nods, pleased: "I have to cut your palm."  
"Do what is needed." Rhae said extending her hand to him. He took girl's palm gently with his left hand and then equally gently cut it with small knife in his right hand. Sigh escaped her, enough for Alyn to utter curse, blood trickled from her hand into a small, shallow bowl priest took from the wall behind the altar. Ezzelyno nodded and Rhae stepped back, she was standing next to young Velaryon again and soon his arms were around her. "I'm all right..." she whispered. "Was this wise?" he whispered back. "It was necessary." she said same words her mother would.  
Ezzelyno was now at the altar again, again he chanted: "Zȳhys perzys stepagon Āeksio Ōño jorepi!" and flames were lit again, again egg was bathed in fire. Next he said aloud: "Hen sȳndrorro, ōños. Hen dōrot, glaeson." (_From darkness, light. From stone, life_)  
Then he poured blood on the egg and fire surged high and wide in all directions, with screaming sound, burning bright with red and orange.  
Alyn turned his head away, he could not look at the flames, but Rhae kept her gaze on the egg. Her mouth opened as she now saw scaled shell becoming as glass, she could see through it... there was a small shadow inside the egg, dark amidst the flames. And that shadow moved. She moved closer to altar and with eyes narrowed she looked at the egg. Shadow was there, Rhae could see it, and it was moving. 

Hen sȳndrorro, ōños. Hen dōrot, glaeson.  
Hen sȳndrorro, ōños. Hen dōrot, glaeson.  
Hen sȳndrorro, ōños. Hen dōrot, glaeson.  
Ezzelyno chanted, his eyes closed.  
When he opened them, he saw the shadow in the egg as well, smile came upon his face and he chanted even louder.  
"Lord of Light, reward your loyal servant! Let your servant bring living dragon from stone egg!" he uttered last before raising his right arm,  
hand clenched in a fist. "From stone, life!" he yelled in High Valyrian and then through flames fist came down on the egg.  
Burst of flames made Rhaella to fall down on the stone floor of the hall, soon she felt hands grabbing her under armpits to pull her away.  
Scream filled the room, from one end to the other, scream that could not come from a man. And yet, it did.  
Priest of R'hllor, Ezzelyno of Braavos, was burning alive, from head to toes dressed in flames. Screams pierced Rhae's ears and heart alike and she let out a painful wail as well. Alyn pulled her behind the pillar, she embraced him tight and cried bitterly, while sounds of man dying in most horrible way echoed around them.

"Let me go... I can't listen to this..." she begged Alyn through tears "...I can't..."  
He said nothing, only held her even firmly. Screams ended, but before it were replaced with sounds of agony.  
Death was with them, in this hall. Notion filled Rhae with dread. Sounds of living, banging on the locked and barred door, came from the outside. Fire was gone and hall was nearly dark, with only few torches giving light. A loud crack was heard. It brought her shivers.  
"What is it..." her voice trembled. Alyn looked from behind the pillar. "Altar... it cracked... the stone cracked... fire broke the stone... how..."  
Then he let her go, his jaw dropped.  
"What..." "Look..." he said. Rhaella saw the charred corpse of old priest, smokes still raising from it and it felt as sword piercing her heart.  
The odor of burned flesh made her to retch, some of it soiling the clothes of Velaryon boy she loved. He suffered that in silence.  
Ezzelyno fell next to a stone altar, that was now broken in two. Tears went down her face, _he died and I am to blame... I brought that egg..._  
_Egg... have flames consumed it as well... the fiery rage broke stone in half, it must have destroyed the egg as well..._  
"Alyn... what have we done..." she began to speak, only to be left with no words.  
Beneath the broken altar something crawled out and climbed up on the lower half of broken stone. Alyn and Rhae stepped out from behind the pillar. There, on the broken altar of the R'hllor temple of Meereen, a silver-gold dragon spread his small, leathery wings and looked at their, in tears soaked faces with eyes glowing as embers. 


	84. LORD OF STARFALL

_Greenblood, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

**LORD OF STARFALL**

"Fire! Fire rains from the sky!"  
A tumult of shouting broke out along the encampment of combined host of House Uller and House Qorgyle, on the hills south of the Greenblood. Godsgrace was on the other bank, about four miles to north and west. Men rushed out from their small tents, some makeshift with cloaks and sticks, rushed to look across the river. It was hour of the owl and dark clouds, pushed inland by the southern wind from Summer Sea, hung low over this part of eastern Dorne. It spoke of sudden storm, not uncommon for the autumn days in this part of Westeros. Older among the soldiers were telling how their bones are warning them of hailstorm and that horses and mules should be moved under shelter.

What they were watching was not hailstorm. These low dark clouds have not brought ice. It was fire that struck the land through that curtain.  
From Godsgrace castle westwards, for almost ten miles, a wide trail of flames lightened the Dornish night. It was as some flaming sword from heavens cut through the land beneath. "Look! It's coming about!" Fire streaked from the clouds again, this time scorching its way back towards Godsgrace. "How flames can fall as rain does?" one squire of three and ten namedays wondered.  
"Those are not falling flames, boy... that is dragon." man standing next to him said. "What can live through that?!" squire mused aloud.  
"Nothing boy. It melts all, flesh and bone, iron and stone... I was not much older than you're now, I was part of escort of Prince Qoren when he went to King's Landing. Dragon tore down city walls, tore down streets whole, Red Keep was half melted. Those are our enemies out there, but the manner in which they're dying... I saw dozens burnt by dragonflame in King's Landing... one shouldn't feel pity for his foe..."  
"One should not wish for any man to die by dragonflames. Foe or not..." third man spoke. His head was covered with chain coif and ornate Dornish halfhelm. He donned dark breeches, pale purple gambeson under the chainmail hauberk with forearms protected by steel vambraces with engraved sword and star "...and yet... if someone has to die by fire breath, let it be our foes." Other two, man and boy, bowed their heads: "Lord Dayne..."  
He returned the gesture, then gazed to the west.  
"Odd, isn't it. One of most gruesome ways to die yet brought in so splendid manner... Poets would spend many ink and scroll on this sight  
we are watchers of..." Squire and soldier standing next to him said nothing, unsure what Edric Dayne wanted to say. 

Few miles away from them, the monster of red, orange and yellow danced with rage across the land, blazing inferno that killed mercilessly.  
It seemed to him as great famished beast devouring everything and everyone on its path and belching out black smoke. Flames flashed into the night in a wash of red and yellow. So unearthly beautiful, same as the sight of cascading water. Yet this was a dangerous beauty. It leaped up, raising its head up regally and proudly as its destruction spread. It ate everything on its way.  
Yellow, red and orange._The colors of autumn..._ Edric thought _...yet no autumn could ever cause so much destruction. This is not just fire. It is death._ To his eyes this was a giant wave, a fire storm, rolling in on itself, undulating like some grotesque creature hell-bent on murder,  
hurtling towards Godsgrace so quickly it appeared unreal. Wind blew inland, from the shore and he was thankful for it.  
Otherwise, smoke and smell of burning flesh would be upon Dornishmen that watched their foes being ruined by flames.  
_Mayhaps even sounds of those dying. Screams and wails... and pleads..._ Sounds that carve itself in one's mind. Better not to hear them.  
He tried to catch the glimpse of that in the same time magnificent and dreadful creature which breathed death on the enemies of Dorne.  
Dragon seemed to be flying above the line of low clouds, unseen by those on the ground, only his long fiery trace marked where he was moving.  
Ser Gulian Qorgyle, lord of Sandstone, walked next to him and leaned on his round red coated shield displaying three black scorpions:  
"I've read of the Field of Fire when I was a boy. Now I am witnessing it." Edric nodded: "Field of Fire was a true battle, it claimed four thousand lives of those opposing Aegon the Conqueror. This night will claim more." Gulian nodded, unmoved: "Better them than us, I say to that...  
if that firestorm from dragon's mouth brings an end to this invasion of broken king... good." He gazed at the flames and smoke rising on the other bank of the Greenblood: "What it must be like to command such power...weapon that kills by thousands..."  
"And yet, that weapon did not break our forefathers..." Edric said. "Yes, it did not. But, think how Dornish lives and land would have been spared if Meria Martell had even one dragon to counter those of Aegon and his sisters. Power does not prey on another power, it preys on the weakness." "Way of the world..." lord of Starfall added, pensively, his eyes looking as dragon made another pass over the dry plains between Vaith and Scourge. 

With the light of dawn, Ser Ulwyck Uller and Ser Gulian Qorgyle ordered their men to advance on Godsgrace. Foot advanced in triple line, spears and shields ready while horse shielded flanks. They've met first enemy soldiers on the southern bank of the river, not more than three scores scattered along four miles, those yielded right away, most of them were sitting or lying, their strength gone as they escaped dragonflames, running for miles, then swimming across the Greenblood. Corpses of those less fortunate were floating downstream, Edric assumed there was twice as many of the dead carried by the river than those who managed to come across. Maddened with fear, soldiers of the Realm did not go to the ford, some two and a half miles east from Godsgrace castle, they rushed in the Greenblood and escaping the death by fire it was water that brought it to them. 

Dornish host crossed at the ford and marched with more haste to Godsgrace. Castle appeared to be abandoned and there were no scars of fire on its walls. A torn white sheet flew from castle's gatehouse. As Uller cavalry approached, some thirty men, wearing helmets, armor and crimson cloaks of House Lannister surrendered. "Where is Ser Lucion?" Edric asked. "He was not here, my lord, but at the camp, six miles west of here." one serjeant answered. "You'll find his burnt bones." Gulian grinned. Edric knew that Qorgyle was relishing in utter defeat of their enemies.  
Half a mile westwards of the castle, first marks of dragon fire were seen. Land was dark, smoking and covered with ash. Here and there small fires were still burning. Half-burned shield of House Lorch lied on the groun, lower part of it where black manticore should be was almost melted, but he could tell the three gold coins on crimson, though all was covered with dirt and ash. Then he saw it... a centaur. Yet it was not, that was horse and rider burned in one by flames, burned into a gruesome sculpture. Sculpture of ash which crumbled down as one of Uller men touched it with the tip of a spear. "Seven hells!" shouted one mounted archer, while one spearmen let out a sigh: "Gods be good!"  
As far as they could see, scorched ground was covered with charred husks of men and horses, covered with burned wagons and carts, destroyed siege weapons. Hundreds of dead bodies stretched before them, some wholly, some partly burned. Bare bones were sticking out from darkened flesh. Edric saw many swords, each curved in different manner, steel did not resist the heat of dragonflame, of spears and halberds only tips remained. Gulian's face glowed, his hatred for the enemy now feasted. "Deliver mercy blow to any you find breathing." he ordered.  
"Ending their misery is all we can do..." he told Edric who nodded for Qorgyle was right. As they made it further west and land between rivers Vaith and Scourge became wider, more burned corpses they could see, but also more wounded they have encountered. Some missing limbs, some hideously burned, clinging to this life only by sheer will. Only handful of king's soldiers came from under the burned wagons or remnants of tents that weren't burned or flames have touched them only briefly. Those asked for mercy, then for water and were given both, before driven to Godsgrace castle in chains. Every new prisoner Edric would in his head add to the earlier number. He did not count over three hundred and it was already three hours till noon. Words of his Princess came to him:_...five and twenty thousand enemies led by Lannister and Merryweather between Vaith and Scourge..._ Five and twenty thousand. _Can it be that single dragon reduced to ash and bone twenty thousand men?_

In the eleventh hour of that day combined host of Sandstone and Hellholt came so far west that towers of the Vaith castle in the distance could be seen even with naked eye. Not more that eight and ten hundred enemies were captured, though it was more truthful they came by themselves. Army of the Realm in eastern Dorne was broken. Russell Merryweather, some of captured officers claimed, was riding down the northern bank of Greenblood to Sunspear with some two thousand riders, he was aimed for the ships to take him home. Yet, only few royal ships before Dornish capital remained afloat. Ser Lucion of House Lannister was much less fortunate. Ser Forley, knight and lord of House Prester in Westerlands, has shown him were Lucion Lannister fell. Right next to his horse, now half burnt carcass. Gulian gazed at faceless blackened scull, his face had been burnt off whole. Only by his clothes and sword they could tell who that corpse truly was once when he still drew breath.  
"Ser Forley..." Edric asked "...thus far we have captured no less than two thousand men... are those all that have survived? There must be more..."  
"Lord Dayne, when fire came on us from the clouds, some tried to flee to Godsgrace, our cavalry run northwards, to cross the Scourge.  
You'll find some four thousand scattered there, mayhaps five... dragon killed the rest of us." knight of house Prester answered.  
"Five and ten thousand of foes gone in mere hour..." Gulian told him. "...Balerion the Black Dread never burned half as many at once"  
"Balerion never did, but this same dragon sunk the fleet of Euron Greyjoy and destroyed the Golden Company at King's Landing.  
Knowing all that, I'd wager that Aegon the Conqueror would trade Balerion for this dreadful beast." he replied.

Trumpet sounded from the west, followed by two more.  
Column of cavalry, counting over three thousand, was coming towards them, under the sunspear banner.  
On the dark sand steed rode Ser Manfrey Martell, castellan of Sunspear, ahead of his riders. He covered his head with chain coif and a richly ornate halfhelm. In one hand he held scimitar, in the other he had orange coated round shield with yellow spear piercing through red sun. Ground shook under hooves of Dornish cavalry as two hosts met. "My lord, from Godsgrace to here, enemies are no more."  
Ulwyck Uller reported contently and Manfrey smiled: "From Hellholt to here, enemies are no more. That we have her to thank."  
Martell knight raised his hand towards the sky, towards west and soon large dark shadow covered the land and loud roar was heard from above. As black dragon flew over them, he made some horses to neigh and prance out of great fear, Edric saw the rider. A silver-haired woman.  
His eyes caught her armor of black leather that reached to her knees with red sigil on the chest. Targaryen colors. _So this is the dragon queen._ Dragon was aimed to south and east. Ser Manfrey saw how Edric follows the huge beast with his eyes.

"She is flying to the open sea, my lords, to find Yara Greyjoy's fleet, to have her set sail for Sunspear and Lemonwood. You, lord Edric and I, will take five thousand riders with men of Planky Town following us down the Greenblood. Princess ordered us to reclaim our land from Sunspear to Spotswood. Lords Uller and Qorgyle, take your men to Vaith, there you will join with our main and march west. We'll see how much grey steel is in Ser Garth Hightower now. Or he'll tremble when news of last night reaches him... If he's of even small wit, he'll scurry back to Oldtown before sun sets on this day." Edric grinned: "If not, dragon queen could burn fleet of the Reach at the mouth of Torentine, that will trap him in the Red Mountains and we shall ruin his host to the last man."  
"Or we could let dragon to devour him..." Ulwyck said. Manfrey chuckled: "I tell you, last night when Targaryen queen landed in our camp, after her short work here, many of our men shat their breeches... but the queerest thing happened this morning. As sun came out, that black beast shot from the ground high in the air, as stone from slingshot, it tore down half of Princess' pavilion when dragon went up. And then... he danced." Edric exchanged looks with lord Uller, while Gulian Qorgyle, ever lacking restraint, nearly burst in laughter: "Ser, are you jesting with us? It is a happy day for Dorne and we should laugh..." Martell cut him with his gaze: "I serve Dorne not as a jester, lord Gulian. I tell you what I saw, what our Princess saw and thousands of our warriors present there. That dragon of black and red scales danced in the sky..." Gulian, aware that he overstepped the boundaries with the castellan of Sunspear said: "Mayhaps he celebrated the victory... dragons are no ordinary beasts."  
"Princess Arianne said the same thing, even Queen Daenerys seemed to agree, but that red priestess from Lys said _Zaldrīzes iksis mērī dombo..."_  
"I don't know what that means..." Gulian said, but Edric knew, during his time with the Brotherhood without banners he learned more of High Valyrian from Thoros of Myr than he did from maester in Starfall. "Dragon is no more alone..." he uttered. Manfrey nodded: "That is what both Princess and the Queen said upon hearing that Yi Ti girl." "...them red god priests always speak in fucking riddles." Ulwyck Uller said.

_Sunspear, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

For some reason, Edric of House Dayne, liked Sunspear ever since he laid his eyes on the Dornish capital for the first time.  
He could not tell why... was it the striking difference between his home at Starfall and here. Sunspear had Rhoynish mark, that was indisputable.  
Towers around the Sandship, old stronghold of House Martell, were built in fashion of the Rhoynar. Most impressive of those was the Spear Tower. Hundred and fifty feet tall, massive stone building, adorned with thirty feet long spear of gilded steel.  
It was the first thing one would see coming to Sunspear, by land or by sea.  
It was the first thing men on the ships with black sails displaying kraken, saw as they sailed before the Dornish capital. It was not the only thing.  
Close was the second wonder of Sunspear, the Tower of the Sun with its dome of gold and leaded glass that was built over the throne of Dorne. Some thought wrongly that Dorne has two thrones for the two seats on the dais, made same in everything save that one displayed the Martell spear and other the Rhoynish sun. Though seats stood one next to other and were near twins, the Prince or Princess of Dorne sits on the seat with spear. _Soon, Arianne Martell will again sit on the throne of her fathers..._ he thought entering the shadow city. 

Behind Edric followed a column of mounted men, fifteen hundred strong, while rest of those under his and Ser Manfrey Martell's command went to take Lemonwood and Water Gardens, while folk of Planky Town, orphans of the Greenblood, began to return where their floating homes once were. Spottswood was the farthest and Ser Andrey Dalt himself took five hundred riders to retake it in the name of his future wife, lady Sylva Santagar. Princedom in mere couple of days, as flood coming from desert, retook its land, its castles, towns, its coasts. King Bran's army fled. They used all the remaining ships, those of war and merchant ones, to evacuate from eastern shores of Dorne north, to Stormlands and beyond. Garrisons that were left to guard castles on the coast as Lucion Lannister and Russell Merryweather took the main of royal host in eastern Dorne inland, were first to flee as upon hearing the accounts of those who survived the dragon's wrath at Vaith. Young lord Merryweather soon arrived from inland himself ordering evacuation of king's troops from eastern Dorne. While some of Dornish lords saw that as cowardice, Edric saw it as wisdom. Indeed, Russell Merryweather still had nearly nine thousand men and he could have made a stand, protected by walls of Sunspear, but it would have ended the same. Death for his men and Russell himself and with destruction of capital itself. Arianne Martell was ruler who would rather suffer destruction of her own castle than enemy holding it. And there was a mighty ally whose dragon could reduce Sunspear's Winding Walls into rubble of blackened stone.

Winding Walls. One more wonder of Sunspear. Edric never cared for it much. Red Mountains, Torentine, its mouth into Summer Sea, all breathed freedom. These three lines of massive walls passing through the shadow city and thus making a strong curtain of defenses would make him feel all but free. Narrow alleys, small hidden courts, crowded bazaars ringing with noises, mud-brick shops, hovels, stables... small wall upon small wall, all towered by Winding Walls. Every time, today was the same, he had this notion of choking as he passed through the first gate of Threefold Gate. This triple gate were built in the fashion of one following the other in straight line. Threefold Gate thus made a straight path to the Old Palace, not entering the maze of the shadow city. Edric remembered learning, when he was only a boy of eight namedays, of these gates and triple walls being raised four hundred years before Aegon Targaryen and his sister-wives came to forge Westeros into one Realm. They had three dragons. Today, one was in the sky above Sunspear. _That means both Mother of Dragons and Kraken's Daughter are here_, Edric concluded as his steed slowly trotted in the courtyard of Martell palace.

_Daenerys Targaryen..._  
He halted his pace in the hall of Old Palace upon seeing portrait on the wall. Edric knew the story of the silver-haired beauty which was born hundred and forty years ago. King's daughter. King's sister.  
Married to Dornish prince to end enmity between Seven Kingdoms and Princedom which by that marriage became part of the Realm.  
King Daeron Targaryen, Second of his name, Daenerys' brother, ended one old conflict and healed wounds with giving her to Prince Maron Martell. That started new bloody feud, one between king and his half-brother, Daemon Blackfyre who as rumors of those days claimed had great desire for his half-sister Daenerys and when king denied him of her that, should one trust those accounts, was the last straw that led Daemon against Daeron, starting the first rebellion of Blackfyres against Targaryens. Black dragons against red dragons. Yet, that was not the first thought which came to mind of lord of Starfall when he looked at the picture on the wall. He imagined dark haired girl of olive skin staring at this portrait for hours, girl who prayed to gods to give her curves and shapes of a woman instead of flat chest. It brought smile to his face, same as first time he heard that from Arianne. 

"This portrait tells me how my namesake was a gentler woman than I am..." voice of a woman came from behind.  
He turned around right away.  
_Daenerys Targaryen. Daenerys Stormborn._  
"Your Grace." he made a slight bow, knowing that some of his fellow lords of Dorne would not honor foreign queen in the same manner.  
"My lord..." before him stood a young woman of braided silver-hair, dressed in black breeches and knee-cut leather armor of black coating with red leather plates on the chest. She was far more beautiful than her long dead kinswoman on the picture.  
The way she said _my lord_ told Edric she does not know who he is.  
"I am Edric of House Dayne of Starfall, Your Grace." She nodded: "The bane of the Reach... or have I heard wrong?"  
"You have not, that is how I am called of late." Her eyebrow lifted: "It pleases you not, that title..." "I can't say it does."  
"Why is that?" Targaryen queen asked before saying: "To me it is a sign how good you are in delivering blows to your enemy."  
"Making land and the people of that land to suffer... some like being good at it. I don't, not much." She gave him a smile.  
"That surely sounds odd to you, Your Grace, coming from a man whose home was taken from him by that same enemy."  
"No, I smiled for it made me remember of another man who once told me the same words. My husband and my king."  
"King Jon Targaryen of Meereen... I've heard of him. Then I am in good company." Edric said. "I'd say you are."  
"I was of twelve namedays when I rode with the Brotherhood without banners in Riverlands, I've seen what war did to that land and to smallfolk."  
"Your Princess told me that you were squire of Beric Dondarrion." Daenerys said. "I was, yes." "I've met him at Winterfell."  
"He died there. For one last time..." Edric said with sadness "...I've seen him die and come back to life five times."  
He looked at her: "You were brought back by red priests as well, Your Grace?" She nodded: "Me and King Jon as well."

"Thoros of Myr was R'hllor priest with the Brotherhood. He used to say that we’re here for a reason, that we are part of something larger than ourselves. If he were alive, he'd say that the Lord of Light has returned you among the living for a reason. And I believe Thoros was right."  
"I'm certain that all those thousands my dragon burned to ash few days ago would prefer me staying dead." she said with even tone.  
"Your Grace, tenfold more thousands here in Dorne are grateful that you're with us. And millions in Westeros will be grateful one day when  
this whole continent is freed from Bran the Broken..." Edric told her "...they were dead the very same day he and Imp ferried them to Dorne."  
"Are you privy with your Princess' plans? " silver-haired woman asked. "As much as she allows me to be..." he replied cautiously.  
She made a nod: "Should she share our common strategy with you, then you'll know that millions will be free.  
When I was younger, I fooled myself into believing that Realm can exist without the wheel. Now, I know that Realm is the wheel."  
Edric frowned: "What is this... wheel, Your Grace?" "The bane of Westeros, my lord Dayne." 


	85. LYANNA

_Winterfell, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

**LYANNA**

It was the first sennight of twelfth moon of the year. 

Walls of Winterfell were choking her, more with every passing day.  
She felt trapped here, something that never occurred to her in White Harbor.  
That was port and the city. Small if one were the compare it with the great cities of Essos or those in south of Westeros,  
yet city where she could still roam around, escorted but free to explore the land she was to rule one day.  
Winterfell was a castle, largest she ever saw, but castle with tall walls. Walls that served to keep some outside same as to keep others inside.  
She belonged to the latter. Most valuable person in the North. For all those around her, including her father and her aunt.  
Lyanna craved to go and see the land around Winterfell.  
To ride into wolfswood, she could see its rim in shape of dark, tall pines from the window of her chamber, to ride south and visit castle Cerwyn  
as lords of Winterfell were doing for many generations. To ride west to the banks of White Knife river, though she wished to see the seat  
of House Hornwood, home of the boy who will one day be sitting at her side as her king consort.  
_You cannot, Your Grace…_ she was told _…roads and woods are not safe. We cannot risk your life when future of all the North depends of you. _

Future of all the North. Those words burdened her mind.  
_I am not a little girl which Arya saved in Qarth anymore, but I am not a woman either.  
And all I have learned of ruling in Meereen somehow is of little use for me here...these are different people. Different land. _

She first learned that when two men came to speak for Winter Town.  
Citizens of Meereen, same as Yunkish and Astapori, were very articulated in their demands, they would lay out their grievances with ease,  
some in torrent of words, other in few well thought lines, but her mother or her father would know what those standing before them hope or even expect from their King and Queen. It was same with once masters and once slaves. Once slaves were even louder in their petitions to the throne  
of the Bay of Dragons, they were given voice after centuries of chained silence and they used it, for issues great and small.  
Here it was different. Words came slow and few. As those who were uttering it valued them in gold and silver.

“Mikal Woodgard, Your Grace…” man dressed in dark blue said to her.  
He was in his forties, reddish hair was both thinning and greying on his head, but Mikal was among tallest and fattest of Winter Town folk.  
And richest. He traded with timber, from Wolfswood and as far as upper shore of Long Lake, he sold it mostly to Braavos,  
but some found its way to the manses of Pentos and Lorath. Last eleven moons his trade with the Free Cities all but ceased.  
Mikal used sellsails which Sansa Stark hired to try selling even a tenth of what he once did across the Narrow Sea. When House Manderly  
broke faith with Stark queen, he no longer had access to the port of White Harbor. His coffers became emptier with every passing moon.  
Arrival of young princess from Essos he met with relief as he could now send timber down the White Knife,  
same as he did before Essos shunned Westeros in matters of trade. The other man was Lorgan Tarre, tanner.  
Man of same age as Arya, tall and slim with yellow hair and pox-scarred face, lacking half of his teeth.  
He came to speak for the poorer folk of Winter Town, there were eight or nine such on every one as Mikal Woodgard was.  
It was plain that he never entered the Great Hall before. 

Lyanna sat on the direwolf throne, Larence Hornwood stood next to her.  
He was future regent of Kingdom of the North, till she becomes of age.  
Same as her father, Larence insisted on Lyanna holding the court during her stay in the North, both in White Harbor and Winterfell.  
King Jon seldom stood next to her in such occasions.  
“They must see you as queen in your own right, Lya, not as child that clings to her father’s side.” were his words and she knew he was right.  
She gave short, but assessing gaze to both men that came for White Harbor.  
Then she said: “My lords, I thank you for coming. I wanted to speak with those that speak for Winter Town.  
To learn your needs, troubles... and wishes.” Both remained silent, their eyes wandered from her to each other.  
“Can it be that folk of Winter Town has no needs of troubles? That would be very unusual, a wonder of the Known World even.” Lyanna said smiling. “It is not so, Your Grace…” Mikal said “…truth is that we don’t know much of each other’s needs…”  
“Are there no common issues among all those many thousands?” she asked. “Surely they are, but…” was all he said.  
Lya knew Woodgard was a name this man gave to himself once he became prominent trader with timber and the manner in which  
he spoke told her he was trying to act as highborn do, even with his accent.  
“Muh queen, we ain’t proper town folk…” Lorgan spoke for the first time “…Mikal ‘ere and I live in Winter Town, but it’s as we’re living  
hundred leagues away. ‘em from fancier part of town never come to where muh house is.”  
“I would not call my home fancy, tanner.” Woodgard told him.  
“It ain’t shack either. Your pigsty is better built than some ‘ouses of muh neighbors.” Lorgan countered. It almost made her laugh.  
“My lords, I’ve passed few times through what one might call fancier part of town, one with cobbled streets and squares,  
yet it is precious few of them. How many people truly lives in Winter Town? Some say twenty, some thirty thousand…”  
Mikal shrugged: “No one ever bothered to count, Your Grace.”  
“How then Queen Sansa collected taxes? From whom?” Lya asked.  
“From me and other honest merchants. Not from likes of him… not from those who would disappear from the town with first warmer day.”  
“I’s never asked to pay taxes… so I never paid ‘em.” Lorgan said calmly.  
Timber merchant smirked, but she was not amused: “Tell me, lord Woodgard, on what were those taxes spent?”  
“Winterfell castle, my queen, both King Jon and Princess Arya can tell you how it was when they were of your age and how it is now.”  
“And Winter Town? Was any of it used for the town itself?”  
“I don’t understand, Your Grace…”  
“I see you do not. Save few paved squares and streets, what thing of common good was paid for Winter Town from the royal vault?”  
“Nuthin, muh queen.” tanner replied though Mikal already opened his mouth.  
“And that does not trouble you both?”  
Lorgan shrugged, while Mikal said: “Those who do not pay taxes should not enjoy common good made and paid from those taxes.”  
“That is only fair. And yet should things remain as they’re now, you lord Woodgard shall still be living in fancier part of the town  
with cobbles under your boots while you, Lorgan Tarre will be knee deep in the mud after any abundant rain. That I intend to change.”  
Merchant’s eyes narrowed, she could tell that he sees her as nothing more than a child, new to the matters of treasury and coin:  
“Forgive me for saying this, Your Grace, but that can prove to be easier uttered than achieved.”  
“You will find that I, same as my father and my mother, never utter what I do not mean to achieve. And having all of Winter Town paying taxes…  
that is a hardly a feat you take it to be.” she answered with seriousness. He was about to answer, but she cut him:  
“I task both of you to go and ask questions among your neighbors, those in fancy and less fancy part of Winter Town, what do they deem  
as most urgent for town people’s common good. I expect you here six days from this day.” Lorgan nodded, while Mikal had need to ask her:  
“I am grateful that Your Grace wants to improve Winter Town, but surely you have found treasuries of the Kingdom nearly empty.  
All good intentions ask for gold and silver coins that will make them true… and North has precious few of them.”  
Lyanna looked at him, it was a long gaze which made him uneasy, then she spoke:  
“I thank you for this lecture, my lord, unneeded as it was. Do as I have asked of you.  
North will have enough coins to meet the needs of its people.  
And Kingdom under my rule will collect taxes, justly but sparing no one. I look forward seeing you both, my lords.” 

As they were gone, Lyanna chuckled.  
“What is it, my queen?” Larence asked.  
“My sister Rhaella has done in Meereen what I am doing here. Held court in our parents’ stead.  
Two young girls, not even in maidenhood, ruling on two sides of the world…  
she wouldn’t agree, but the more I sit on this throne the more I trust she had easier task than me.  
If naught, people of Meereen know to say what they want. Here, people are not so…”  
“This is not Meereen, Your Grace. People here take what comes upon them as it must be so and then wrestle with it in silence.  
It was so with them for many centuries.” .  
“Am I wrong for wanting Winter Town to be a proper town?”  
“No. But it will not come overnight.” he answered. She smiled at him: “Your son takes after you… he’d say the same.”  
“I see you miss him. He’ll return here in two or three days. He went to oversee works on Dreadfort and banks of Weeping Water.  
We need to fortify border of Hornwood lands, I will not allow Karstarks to caught us unprepared.”  
“You trust that Sansa will attack, lord Larence?” “She could, aye.”  
“Even if not more than three great houses back her?”  
“Those houses command enough swords and to that she adds that host her brother have sent her.  
Throne of the North is yours, but it is not yet secured.” “Then I wish she attacks already… to end this.” Lyanna said.  
“Should she attack now with all her force…” he spoke cautiously.  
“We would not be able to defend Winterfell. Not from an army of over six thousand…”  
He shook his head: “All the North combined cannot muster so many men at arms.  
Well, we could if we’re to put sword in hands of toothless men and boys younger than you are, my queen.”  
She nodded and smiled, but her face was pensive. 

Lyanna dined with her father that day.  
Arya was not in Winterfell, she went to White Harbor as _Nymeria_ was to return from across the Narrow Sea, from Braavos.  
Lyanna hoped Arya will return with letter from Rhaella.  
She was apart from her twin sister for more than two moons now and she wished nothing more than to be with Rhae again.  
And with babes, Cregan and Little Dany. Father told her how her twin took rule over Meereen, that was when Muña was still near White Harbor.  
Now she was with Rhae, thousands of miles away.

She grew the love Northern food. Fried bread, blood sausages, hard cheese, even barley porridge.  
Father smiled watching her savoring in salt mutton. When with him, Winterfell felt home to Lyanna. She felt as true Stark then.  
“Holding court made you hungry…” Jon said, japing. “Mhm…” she answered with her mouth full “…it did.”  
“You’ll be a good queen, Lya.” She shrugged.  
“You will. Corners of this castle murmur only favorable things of you. You’re slowly wining their hearts.”  
Lya chuckled: “Their thick minds, that is another matter entirely.”  
“You must be patient, tala. Look it with their eyes.  
You’re very young, you’ve come from other side of the world and you act as no queen they ever knew.”  
She was silent, enough to make him frown, so she asked:  
“Papa, I... there are hours when I don’t see myself as Queen in the North… this land and people…”  
“Lya… were you wronged here? By anyone, no matter lowborn or highborn…  
If you were, you must tell me, you hear? That one will suffer, that I promise.”  
“It is not that, Papa. It’s… I doubt sometimes that I’ll rule here well.”  
“That is good, tala.” Jon said, his eyes warm. “How can that be good, Papa?”  
“Only madmen don’t doubt themselves. And fools.”  
“What would happen with the North should I fail?” she asked next.  
“Sansa would soon retake Winterfell and then rest of the North, punishing all those who declared for you.  
This land would bleed for moons, if not years, to come. She is not known to be a forgiving woman.”  
“Then I better not fail.” Lyanna said, before taking one more piece of mutton.  
“You will not. You’re She-dragonwolf.” That made her smile, though briefly as another dark thought came to her mind:  
“That woman knight who came to Barrowton, she will be Sansa’s main commander, right?” Jon nodded.  
“Ser Brienne is honourable woman. Yet her loyalty is misplaced. With Bran and with Sansa. She sees them for what they are not.  
I pity her, Lya. Good men dying for bad rulers, no greater waste of life exists.”  
“Lord Larence told me we will not be able to hold Winterfell should Sansa attack with all the men she has.”  
Father nodded: “That is true. For that I have sent message to your mother in Meereen. We need her here. We need Drogon here.”  
“Papa, you and Muña both said that North must be taken without dragon.”  
“We did. And it will be so, but should Sansa use army Bran sent her against you, then we’ll use Drogon against them. I want Sansa to know that.”  
He said it with bitter tone, as ever when he spoke of the woman that was his cousin, but for most of his life he thought she was his half-sister.  
“You loved her once, Papa?” Lyanna asked, looking at him.  
“I did. I loved what she once was. Not what she has become.” 

Hallis was approaching Winterfell with column of forty Hornwood men three days later.  
She was happy to learn of it and she rode out to meet him, not minding the dangers all in the court spoke of.  
Winterfell household and garrison was now made of those that declared loyalty to Lyanna, whether they were true or only good mummers.  
Those loyal to Sansa left during first week after she fled to Barrowton. Winterfell was now manned with about thousand soldiers.  
Less than six score of those were Stark men, mostly aged men who long ago fought for Jon Snow, rest were Hornwood and Manderly swords with some men of House Cerwyn and House Tallhart. Her personal guard were Freeflames, all Westerosi, born on either side of the Narrow Sea.

“That was unwise of you, Lya…” Hallis said when they have met, three miles north of Winterfell.  
She was dressed as common Stark soldier, helmet covering her hair, scarf hiding her face,  
from afar she looked more as a squire than as rightful heir of the largest portion of Westeros.  
They kissed, even before dismounting. “Dragon is not a slave. Nor is queen a prisoner.” only then she answered him.  
They walked beside their horses, down the Kingsroad, their mounted escort slowly trotting all around them.  
“What of Dreadfort?” she asked. “It’s still half-burned ruin, but it will be rebuilt wholly one day…”  
Then he chuckled: “If it hadn’t burned, we would never have met.”  
“Should we invite Yara Greyjoy to our wedding then?” she japed.  
“Not on the side of the husband.” Hornwood boy replied. He made her laugh.  
Hallis Hornwood oft made her laugh. She liked it as hour and place were dark.  
“And Karstark men, do they trouble your land?” “Not many of them are left in Karhold. Most are with their lord in Barrowton.”  
They walked arm in arm and Lyanna leaned on his shoulder: “You believe she will strike against us soon, I can tell.”  
“You mean Sansa Stark? Aye, she will. The more she waits, the less she is queen. I’d say she will try to retake Winterfell in matter of days.”  
Lya sighed: “We can’t win that battle, not with the men we have. She has six fold more men than us.”  
Hallis sighed even more: “If she makes you flee from Winterfell… there are those in the North that could see that as victory  
of true queen over foreign usurper. Even as victory of old gods over R’hllor, the fire god. Many of Northern folk are superstitious, Lya.”  
“My father is right. We need Drogon here. Only then Sansa will not charge on Winterfell.”  
Hallis agreed: “She knows that well. She will charge soon.”  
“What do you advise me?” “Defend Winterfell until your dragon comes.”

She was silent, for a while. “Hallis, dragons are a creatures of magic.  
If Drogon comes over Winterfell under siege, he could, even if my mother does not order it, burn many of our foes.  
I don’t want that. Stark kings were not crowned amidst ashes and embers.”  
“I fear that without Drogon you’ll never wear the Northern crown.” he told her.  
“And if I won that crown with dragon, I’ll never be a true Stark to all those superstitious Northerners…”  
Hallis embraced her: “I am sorry, Lya. It’s unfair that you have to choose between two evils and you haven’t even begun to rule.”  
“I am sorry as well, Hallis.” she replied.

Lyanna shunned godswood of Winterfell most of the time.  
Both father and Arya told her to do so. Weirwood trees were used by Three Eyed Raven.  
"You need not to come before that tree, where his sight is the strongest."  
Still, she went there couple of times. _Northerners must see that I respect the old gods,_ were her thoughts.  
Two days after Hallis returned to Winterfell she was before the white tree again, though Lya gazed at the pool filled with black water.  
She missed swimming in the water pools in Meereen. Here most oft it was too cold for that and there were no proper pools.  
In her first week in Winterfell, Lyanna dared Hallis to take her swimming in the White Knife river.  
Even the thought of it made him to blush with shame: "Queens here do not show themselves bare in the woods."  
"Mayhaps I'll be the one to start the fashion..." she jested only to irk him even more.

Today she was not alone in the godswood.  
Girl of dark curly hair, dressed whole in garments of greenish coating was there.  
Her lambskin breeches, shirt, sleeveless jerkin, all were of greenish coating.  
Black lizard-lion was embroidered on her leather jerkin. Green eyes smiled at Lyanna.  
"Lady Jojena Reed..." she said to the girl. "Your Grace." she bowed.  
Then they hugged. "Welcome to Winterfell, Jo.." "I'm happy to see you again, Lya."  
Jojena became her friend in White Harbor. They were nearly of same age and history of Stark-Reed alliance and friendship made it easier  
for them to bond. Though it were dreams that brought them close the most. Both dreamed of things that have not yet come to pass.  
Some happened merely days later, others were moons or years away. Lyanna and Jojena had gift that troubled their young minds and that  
made them become friends even more quickly, for they both have found someone who could understand such troubled thoughts the best.  
"You should not be coming before this tree, Lya..." Jojena said "...he follows you with his many eyes, you and all those around you."  
"I was never good at hiding, Jo, not even in a game. I know he's looking." she replied.  
"What have you dreamed of last few nights, Lyanna?" girl asked. "Flames, ashes and shadow that flies. You know what that means..."  
Jojena nodded: "Dragon. Burning the land... I've seen the same. Smoke, fire, charred bones." "Was that North in your dream?" Lya asked.  
"I don't know. Smoke blurred it all." Jojena answered. "Have you dreamed of anything else?"  
Reed girl gazed in the water, before uttering: "I had a dream of a pale sun bleeding, before vanishing into darkness..."  
Then she looked at Lya: "That darkness was creeping as it were alive. Creeping from... from a windmill all over the land.  
A tall shadow rose from that darkness. With shining blade." "What can be meaning of that?" she wondered.  
"I don't know, Lya... I only know that once I used to have dreams which foretold good times. Now all I dream of frightens me." 

They walked out of the godswood together.  
To chase away dark thoughts, they spoke of things that made them happy ever since they were little children.  
Jojena reminded her of Dothraki girls, her first friends. She acted more as smallfolk than highborn and Lya loved that.  
They both laughed loudly when Hallis approached them. She could tell right away of him being troubled.  
"What is it?" Lyanna asked. "Sansa. Her men have taken sway over Kingsroad, south of castle Cerwyn.  
They have seizing goods that are coming from White Harbor. I fear that lady Jojena will not be able to go home.  
Not by Kingsroad, that is." Girl in greenish clothes replied: "It matters not. My place is here, with my queen."  
Lyanna said nothing for a heartbeat, then she uttered foulest curse she heard from sailors on the ships of her aunt Arya.


	86. BAKER

_King’s Landing, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

**BAKER**

"Three gold dragons. That is the price."  
Bryce Lash of City Watch said with firm voice. He laughed aloud: "You take me for a fool?"  
The item was again in his hands. A golden goblet, richly ornate and adorned with green, blue and red gemstones.  
_A true craftsmanship, most likely from one of the nine Free Cities. Pentos or Myr. Only the most rich among highborn families could afford it._

"What do you reckon it's worth, Tobin?" "Three hundred silver stags and that is for I enjoy your company." Man wearing golden cloak spat:  
"Fuck off! That's less than third of what I ask! Don't you have eyes? That is goblet of House Tyrell. I've found it in Highgarden."  
Bryce Lash was one of the gold cloaks who warred in the Reach and has returned to the capital few weeks ago.  
He was most likely telling the truth. Truth this time did not work in Tobin's favor. He turned and turned the goblet in his hands,  
there was green shield with golden rose engraved on it, still he was not ready to pay the price Lash asked.  
"You have found it? I feared you'll say that it jumped into your saddle bag... Bryce, we know each other for many years. You've looted corpse of some Dornish fuck who before that looted dead Reachmen. Them Tyrells had that rose of theirs engraved everywhere, from plates to chamber pots. I wager every lord in the Reach, great and small, had to have one such goblet, to prove fealty to Highgarden."

Bryce insisted: "Do not insult me, Leadbetter. I've found this goblet in the chamber where lady Olenna slept." Tobin laughed: "I am sure you have. Old hag used that goblet to drink her wine from it and then she put it under her wrinkled, dry cunt to piss... Four hundred silver stags is my last offer and only for I like you and I am pleased that you haven't ended up on the wrong end of Dornish spear."  
Man of the City Watch frowned, his eyes went from the goblet to his money purse, which knew better days as it was near empty.  
"And for that I can buy what to eat?" Tobin smirked: "Half a pig and two loaves of bread. Luckily for you, the Realm still manages to feed you well."  
"Luckily for you, Tobin, Red Keep has contract with your bakery and pays you well. I am pleased that your fellow, yet not so lucky, bakers haven't killed you in your sleep. At least not yet." "I have brave men of City Watch to thank for that." "Indeed you have. All other baker shops in the Street of Flour have to pay sellswords to keep the thieves and burglars away... all but Tobin Leadbetter." "I am only a humble baker."  
Bryce chuckled: "You don't have one humble bone, you fucking leach... give me my four hundred stags. I hope you choke on the very first sip you take from that goblet." "If you or your brothers from City Watch have stol... found things of same sort as this goblet, my shop is open to you..." "Sure... you know, one day and that is nearer than you think, this city will burst into riots for food. City Watch whole then will not be enough to save you from the hungry and angry mob... they will tear you apart, Tobin, your bowels will adorn all the poles in this street".  
"Good. That means my shite will fall on their heads even after I am dead." 

Tobin Leadbetter. A humble baker.  
Yet he was not. Not for many years now. He was a boy of nine namedays and an apprentice in this same bakery, it was that year when Northern lord who came to be Hand of the King was beheaded for treason. The baker Tobin worked for remembered the days of Mad King and how uncertain and ungrateful the duty of King's Hand was. Tobin, who was born and grew only under stag king, Robert Baratheon, thought that seven hells broke loose if Hand betrayed the King and his true heir. Years that followed gave even more hell. The time, albeit not long, when House Tyrell ceased to send grain to the capital made loaf of bread to cost many folds more that usual. Bakery was guarded with sellswords.  
City was not safe place then. Even High Septon was murdered by the hungry mob. Tobin recalled the Battle of the Blackwater same as the image of a naked queen made to walk across the city came to his mind. He was already a man grown of six and ten namedays when Ironborn king delivered Dornish snakes before the Iron Throne. Not long after that, he was left alone in this bakery. Man who taught him the trade perished with his whole family in the fire that consumed thousands when dragon queen came over King's Landing. He took over the shop on the very first day of reign of the new king, one they called the broken. Tobin was seven and ten years old then and old baker made sure he learned one lesson, one of not placing greed before rules of the craft. Ever since War of the Five Kings, many bakers even at risk of being fined with fifty silver stags did put sawdust in the flour. Not bakery where Tobin learned the trade. That was well known in the capital. When rebuilding of King's Landing and that of the Red Keep begun, king's men came to the Street of Flour seeking the baker shop which will supply the court.  
Dragonflames took away most of his competitors and he now held shop known for the quality. He was the one who supplied the Red Keep with all that his bakery had to offer. In the third year of King Bran the Broken, Tobin bought shop to the right and to the left of his own and joined it into one. One score of bakers and apprentices now worked for him. He began to pursue other interests. Luxuries. Precious metals, silk, spices...  
not for himself. He would buy it cheap and then sold it pricier. When he married to a third cousin of old baker, Tobin moved his home to the Hook. Most would never choose to live in the street that was narrow, curved and steep, all in one, but he did. For his house was in the upper side of the Hook, right beneath the Aegon's High Hill and the Red Keep on that hill. Tobin was no longer poor man, but he wanted more.  
As he supplied the court, with that came acquaintances which he found useful. His intentions were to place his children on the court, no matter how lowly that service would be. _House Leadbetter.._ that was his final goal. Will it be reached by his sons or grandsons, it did not matter.  
History knew such cases. _That cunt Janos Slynt was son of a butcher, yet fate made him Commander of the City Watch and a lord.  
And he was rotten to the core. _

Tobin did not think of himself as rotten. He never betrayed anyone, he rode on what came to pass as on some invisible courser.  
It was a tame horse which for ten years carried him from young apprentice to the richest baker in King's Landing. Then times changed and this obedient mount of events begun to act as unbroken stallion trying to throw him off. Wars came. For the one in the North he could not care less. Even with Ironborn prowling the Narrow sea, people were still eating bread. It were fishmongers that suffered as fishermen feared to sail far from the coast. Then he dropped the reins of events for the first time. Trading with Essos ended, as sudden as it was unexpected. That struck hard the Six Kingdoms, its capital most of all. Prices of all the goods that came from across the sea went up within days. Luxuries became even more luxurious. At first.  
Till there was enough of those willing to pay more for such merchandise. Later, merchants who lived by selling priced foreign spices, silk or clothes were willing to trade it for ten or twenty fold lower price so they could get coppers to buy food. Red Keep itself ordered less bread for the royal household and for the City Watch barracks. Merchants who lived by selling luxurious goods from the Free Cities no longer paid taxes as they weren't earning anymore. Court cut its expenses. Tobin traded smoothly with the court while Master of Coin was once sellsword with no notion of how to run king's treasury. That man was chased away and his work was taken by Lannister dwarf who knew how to cut expenses and save coins. Red Keep, being his main buyer, ordered less, but paid on time. Tobin was still in the saddle, riding on events. 

He flew off that saddle when another war began, one in Dorne.  
Reach, main source of wheat, had to supply its many thousands of soldiers in the field and soon the Reach itself became war torn land.  
That lasted for moons. Dornish raiders burned and plundered, grains or flour did not come to the capital, bakeries could not deliver  
bread in greater amount. For the first time since he was working for himself, Tobin was not able to meet the needs of all of his customers.  
Tyrion Lannister was clever man who learned from the mistakes of the past and during those prosperous ten years of reign of broken king he made sure that granaries of King's Landing are always full. When Reach failed to deliver its grains to the capital, due to Dornish raiders, Imp began to empty granaries, in measure that will keep the hunger away. And riots that always came hand in hand with empty bellies.  
Tobin knew that will give a moon or two of peace in King's Landing, but royal granaries were not meant to feed tens of thousands.  
He mused of it again, as he rode towards Cobbler's Square with six sellswords escorting him. Two of them fought as freeriders in the North, taller of the two lacked an ear. An Ironborn axe claimed it in the very last battle of that war, in some dense forest near the easternmost castle on the Wall. Tobin never set foot outside King's Landing. All those accounts of war in the North and in the Reach oft seemed as tales meant to scare little children. He refused to believe half of it. Wildlings to him were as foreign and distant as men of the Grey Waste, on the far end of Essos. 

Cobbler's Square was the other side of the city, far from the Hook where he lived.  
Street of Flour was slightly nearer to that square as this street was close to Visenya's Hill and the ruins of Great Sept of Baelor.  
Tobin even from its bakery would not dare to walk to the Cobbler's Square. Not with goblet of House Tyrell, one he will offer to the goldsmiths there. To one particular goldsmith. Duncas Upcliff. Last time he met with that man was over a fortnight ago. That was his last visit to the square known of many craftsmen to have shops there. _Many..._ Leadbetter smirked as his eyes went from one side of the square to the other _...once mayhaps..._. What he could see were chains and locks on doors. Some had wooden planks, nailed one over another.  
_Even more of them have left the city..._ flashed in his mind as he was dismounting before Upcliff's shop.  
"Seven blessings..." Tobin said as he entered. Man behind the counter, of short dark hair and trimmed beard laughed: "It's good to see that someone in this city still can jape..." "Is it not proper to call blessing of the Seven for your shop?" Duncas shrugged: "Not that it will do much good..." "That is blasphemy, how dare you..." he said mockingly. "Well, last few moons Seven have forsaken me and you and whole of King's Landing. I've told you... remember... a king that follows the tree gods of the North in the Red Keep was a slight to the Seven. That and not rebuilding the Great Sept..." "You did. You told me. Last moon. Before that, whole ten years, you never thought of were Seven slighted or not. Odd, how men find gods in troubled times." Tobin said with a grin. "Not the likes of you, Leadbetter... in your heathen ways you endure. Admirable, one could say." "I've lost faith when Faith has beaten me for having the bakery open when I should have been observing... Well, when pious men break your rib it does wonders in making you a nonbeliever." Duncas had nothing to say to that, he pointed at Tobin's bag instead:  
"I see you have something for me." "Indeed, I do." baker replied and soon, the goblet was on the counter.

"The gold of Highgarden..." Upcliff said with even voice. "You take it to be Tyrell goblet even by first gaze?" he wondered.  
"Tyrells, my friend, were meticulous cunts. All their gold, be it in bars or in cups and earrings was listed... Aye, all listed in the books and described. When host of Cersei Lannister has sacked Highgarden those lists were taken to King's Landing. Some of us, from goldsmith and silversmith guild, made sure to have those lists transcribed." "Why the effort?" Tobin asked. "Late queen Cersei gave gold in bars to Iron Bank, it bought her the Golden Company. All else, remained in the Red Keep, necklaces, bracelets, rings, cups... some of those were given to us, goldsmiths of King's Landing, to remove the golden roses and replace them with golden lions. That goblet was here, in one of the shops of Cobbler's Square, but before it could have been adorned with Lannister sigil, Cersei ended under pile of bricks. And then the new Master of Coin, one who became lord of Highgarden demanded from us to kindly restore all the Tyrell jewelry to the Red Keep. Knowing the nature of that man, we obeyed." Tobin looked at the goblet once more: "So, what you're saying is that this thing here was sacked from the Highgarden, brought here, then Ser Bronn returned it to the Highgarden only to be sacked once more and brought to King's Landing."  
Duncas smiled: "Isn't life exciting?" "Indeed it is..." Goldsmith asked next: "And pray tell how that goblet came into hands of a baker from the Street of Flour?" "One who came from the Reach sold it to me..." "For what? Three loaves of rye bread?" Duncas mocked. "Give it few sennights more and what I paid him for it will not be enough for rye bread. Or any bread." he replied. "And what will you do then, Tobin?"  
"I have my contract with the court. They need to eat, same as their guards and City Watch." "Hmm..." Duncas frowned.  
"It appears you know something I do not... it's written all over your brow."

"Mayhaps. Knowledge has price of its own. This one... well... quarter of gold dragon."  
Tobin laughed: "Most of men would say hundred silver stags. Yet you...you count in gold dragons. As goldsmith you are."  
"Should you lower the price for this goblet... we could reach an accord."  
"Three gold dragons and three quarters then..." Duncas grinned: "As I've said when you entered...will to jape has not abandoned you.  
Two and a half. I'm not ready to give more. That goblet is stolen, Tobin, from a castle that crown gave to House Hightower. One day war with Dorne will end and knowing the lords of High Tower they will search for things as this goblet is to reclaim them. Many highborn families would let go of treasures stolen from them, but Hightowers are different kind. That, my baker friend, greatly narrows the number of those willing to have it in their keeps or manses. Narrows so that only true buyers are those across the Narrow Sea. Two and a half.  
Add to that knowledge I shall share with you and a free advice." He knew that Duncas will not agree on any price higher than one he was ready to pay so he made gesture of agreement. "The knowledge?" he asked next. "A young man from the Red Keep was here... two days ago..." goldsmith said as he was giving golden coins to Tobin "...a page... House Peckledon... well, the boy likes to dip his pecker in pricey whores so much that he came to sell his dagger. The blade was not much to see, but its hilt was coated with gold and well ornate. It will buy him a fuck or two in that brothel close to your home... one once owned by lord Baelish." "That was before my time, Duncas." he replied. "I reckon it was... well.. if that page has a cock as long as his tongue is, whores should be paying him for the service. That boy told me how that same day he came here a raven brought news to the Red Keep. Half of king's army was ruined in Dorne. Ruined by fire... by dragon, Tobin." He dismissed it: "She's dead. The dragon queen. It's been twelve years..." "But her dragon lives... what he told me so I'd give him more coins for the dagger is that dragonrider descended upon twenty thousand men of the Realm and burned away more than half of them. Dragonrider, Tobin, no matter who that was.  
You're a clever man... where will he come next?"

"Here..." "Aye, Tobin... here. One does not break king's host and leaves king at peace." Duncas told him. "That page... mayhaps he craves for whore cunts so that he's ready to lie to get more silver stags." "Mayhaps... though telling falsehoods of how army of the Realm was reduced to ash... that is treason. I trust he told me the truth. For that, I'll give you the free advice. Flee this city before dragon comes." "Flee..." he sighed "...to go where? Storm's End as half of Cobbler's Square has gone. Do you plan on fleeing, Upcliff?"  
"Indeed I do. Few more days, a sennight at the most, to close my affairs here and I shall take a ship north."  
"North?? Storm's End is south of here." Duncas agreed: "Yes.. it is. But I don't plan to go there. I'll be going to White Harbor."  
"Why there?" he asked. "A kinsman of mine is silversmith there. Grandson of my father's cousin, I gather.  
Well, a Gulltown merchant brought me his letter in which he writes of a new young queen there which renew the trade with Essos.  
No goldsmith will ever thrive in the city where bread, pork and apples have become luxury. Don't linger here, Tobin. This place reeks of death  
and misery." "Duncas, it may be that White Harbor lacks goldsmiths as skilled as you are and you would do well there, but bakers...  
No, I am of King's Landing. I'll stay here."  
He parted ways with Duncas Upcliff knowing that in a few days his shop will too have lock on the door.  
Another craftsman from Cobbler's Square gone, mayhaps for good.

As he returned to the Street of Flour, there was a man waiting before bakery. Tobin knew right away this was not an ordinary customer.  
Man was tall, a foot taller than him, of brown hair and pointy beard. His clothes were telling of him being a highborn.  
Dark-blue surcoat had a small sigil on the left side of the chest. A sea turtle of dark-green coating on the shield of pale-green.  
House Estermont. As man had a mounted escort of two dozen gold cloaks, Tobin had no doubts who that man was.  
Ser Andrew Estermont, Master of Laws to King Bran the Broken.  
_Seven hells, that dumb twat Bryce said to someone how he sold me that goblet... yet, would Master of Laws himself come to arrest me for it?_  
Tobin quickly dismounted. "My lord..." "Are you Tobin Leadbetter, one who owns this baker shop?" tall man asked. "I am, my lord."  
"Good. Then we have not been waiting in vain. I must speak with you, baker, alone and preferably not on the street."  
"Of course, my lord, of course."  
He invited the man in and while doing so he cursed his workers and apprentices for not offering lord Estermont to wait in his chambers which was on the upper floor of the house, where he once lived. That room was now furnished with chairs, oak table and cabinet.  
Tobin Leadbetter tried to ape the solar of noblemen but without much success.  
It was in the end only a bedroom in the Street of Flours. Estermont did not seem to mind, he sat down even before Tobin offered him to.  
"Surely my coming here raised a lot of questions in your mind." He nodded: "Surely it is, my lord Estermont. Seldom is this street visited by lord who serves in the Small Council. Never, in truth." "You have been a reliable purveyor of bread and other baker's goods to the court all these years, Tobin Lead..good..? "Leadbetter, my lord, Leadbetter is my humble name."  
"Hm... if you were named Leadbad or Leadworse that would truly be odd... well... as I was saying you've never failed to supply the Red Keep, royal household and City Watch. For that I have come here.. to inquire if you will manage to supply a certain number of people with bread,  
salt and sweet, on sixth day from today." Master of Laws said. "I'd need to know how many mouths that certain number has, my lord."  
"As many mouths as Tourney Grounds can accommodate." Estermont replied. "A thousand or two, mayhaps more. Surely there will be no tourney..." Tobin said and that made Estermont to laugh: "No, baker, there will be no tourney. A trial will be held there and it is a wish of His Grace and lord Tyrion to have as many people of King's Landing present. A public trial and sentencing." Master of Laws told him.

"Who is being trialed, my lord?" "Monterys Velaryon. Once Master of Ships. For crime of treason. He will be hanged there, right after being sentenced, before the people. Your task, Leadbetter is to bring bread to all those many hundreds that will come to hear how lord of Driftmark betrayed his king and the Realm. Betrayed and sided with the dragon que..." Estermont's mouth were suddenly shut. Tobin made a slight frown.  
"So, now when you know time, place and the occasion, even the rough number of mouths to feed, what say you, baker? You will, of course,  
be paid for your work. Wheat you shall receive from royal granaries. Can you meet our requirements?" tall nobleman asked.  
"Yes, my lord, I can. My men will work night and day, but thousands of loaves will be baked. For the people of King's Landing to watch traitor hang." "Very well then..." Estermont said contently "...now I shall take my leave as there are certain butchers and fishmongers I have to visit as well." Tobin bowed and wanted to accompany lord Andrew to the street, but Master of Laws left the room hastily as his host was not even there. 

"Seven fucking hells..." he cursed aloud upon seeing the backs of tall highborn and his escort "...they're making a bloody feast out of a trial."  
He knew that lord Monterys Velaryon was chained in the dungeon of the Red Keep for over two moons already.  
Then unfinished words came back to his mind... _the dragon que..._  
"Was he to utter dragon queen...? Who ever that is now, she might decide to appear on this trial as well.  
Mayhaps I truly should flee to Storm's End as well... seven fucking hells." 


	87. DAENERYS

_Sunspear, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

**DAENERYS**

Dorne agreed with her. Land and the people alike. Dornish were nothing like the rest of Westeros.  
Same as those among which man who was love of her life has grown. They were different from the rest of then Seven Kingdoms as well.  
Twelve years have passed, but in her mind it was as yesterday. The way Northerners acted towards her, from great lords to smallfolk.  
Image of sour face that red-haired lady of Winterfell had when they have met for the first time. Her concern on how to feed large armies.  
And dragons. _What do dragons eat, anyway?_ Daenerys smirked when she thought of the answer that question got.  
Red-haired lady did learn that she was telling the truth. Dragons eat what ever they want. They take what ever they want.  
Crowns and thrones too. _Dragon took your crown... I wonder what wise remark you have on that, lady of Winterfell..._

Three Martell soldiers were placing a large shield with sun and spear on the outer wall of the Old Palace.  
When they saw her, men halted their work and greeted her slightly bowing their heads. They were pleased with her presence,  
same as every man or woman she encountered in her eight days of staying in Sunspear. _No one here spits upon seeing me..._ another ugly memory came to her, when a Northern soldier, one that was digging a trench with a group of the Unsullied and other Northerners before walls of Winterfell, spat the water he just took in his mouth when she came to the trench. That was North. That is how she remembered it. Land she came to save from certain death, from becoming a frozen waste where nothing lived and only the blue eyed wights would roam around, mindless army of tens of thousands headed south to swarm over rest of Westeros for their masters, the Night King and White Walkers.  
Northern lords, same as the people, saw her, her dragons and her armies not as aid and allies but as lesser evil and they have not even tried to hide that, it was laid out plainly before her, before Grey Worm, before Missandei, the kindest heart she has ever known. North has not welcomed them, North has suffered them. Lady of Winterfell did all she could to undermine her. And she succeeded.

_I wish you were here with me, Missandei... _ Dany thought. Her closest adviser and best friend who fell as last victim of Cersei's malice would come to her mind, from time to time, many things in Bay of Dragons reminded her of the Naathi girl. Here in Dorne, she thought of her again.  
_...you would find Dorne to your liking..._. Southern end of Westeros was all northern end was not. Targaryens warred with Princedom many times since Aegon left Dragonstone to conquer the Seven Kingdoms. Dragonflame burned Dornish land and castles, Dornish killed Rhaenys and her mount Meraxes. Daeron Targaryen, the Young Dragon, conquered Dorne only to be killed by Dornish. Her own brother, Rhaegar, married Elia Martell who bore him two children, later he cast her aside and married grandmother of Dany's children, woman of the North. Dorne and Targaryens wronged each other for centuries, many folds more than dragons ever wronged the wolves of Winterfell. Still, now Daenerys was in Dorne and lords and smallfolk alike greeted her and treated her as an ally should be treated. Dorne was thankful.  
It was her and Drogon that have ended Bran's invasion.

Young Russell Merryweather fled from Dorne with remnants of his host on the ships of royal fleet. At first, it seemed he'll take his ships to the nearest shore under king's banner, one of Stormlands, but instead he continued sailing northwards, aimed for the capital of Six Kingdoms, though that name was no longer telling the truth. Arianne Martell wished to march west, with her now united army of nearly thirty thousand swords and spears that went to chase Ser Garth Hightower out of Dorne. Greysteel and his men had no intention to wait for whole Dornish host to arrive and he was slowly retreating from the Red Mountains. Skyreach, Blackmont, High Hermitage, one after another were abandoned by king's troops. Greysteel commanded the western portion of royal army with iron hand and even as news of dragon burning thousands of their brothers in arms spread along the flow of Torentine, discipline was maintained. There was no disorder in retreat, Garth's foot marched towards Starfall to board the ships of Arbor fleet while cavalry guarded their flanks. Later, horsemen of the Reach rode down the south and west slopes of the Red Mountains, returning home. Ser Garth of House Hightower will return to Oldtown as a commander who has won every battle he fought in Dorne, no matter how long it took him, and yet he has lost the war.  
Arianne Martell came to Sunspear though she wanted to see her foes running down the Red Mountains.  
_ Wishes are one thing, duties of a ruler another,_ Dany thought upon seeing Princess and her entourage riding into Old Palace. There was another woman of power in Sunspear who would rather be at the mouth of Torentine, ramming her ships into galleys of House Redwyne. Yara Greyjoy.  
Daenerys saw her last in Ghoyan Drohe, more than six and ten moons ago, she was not a wife nor queen then, Rhaella's scar was still fresh.  
Queen of Salt and Rock relished in another victory. Her choice of alliances has proven to be wise. Stark queen lost the war, raven king of Stark blood lost the war. Yara Greyjoy fought against the two and lived to see their defeat. Face of Ironborn woman glowed. 

"Impressive..." Daenerys said looking at the large tapestry hanged on the wall of Arianne's solar. It was a twelve feet high and seven feet wide map of Westeros. "Not as impressive as the Painted Table, but it does show the size of this continent..." "And as you can see, Queen Daenerys, Dorne on this map was already marked as country of our own." Dany asked: "Was it not always so with Dorne? A land with people, ways and laws of its own?" Princess nodded: "Yes, but now we're truly free." "Iron Islands as well. Stark monarchs are defeated." Yara added.  
"Are they?" she asked the brown haired kraken's daughter same as the buxom olive-skinned Dornish ruler "Indeed, Sansa Stark has lost the war and what I've last learned from the North, my daughter has taken her throne, but she will not rest till she is utterly broken. And that abomination in the body of Bran Stark... your lands will never be safe with him in the Red Keep. Body of a young man hosting powers as old as First Men and older... he can live for tens of years, if not centuries." Arianne asked: "You want us to do something about it?" Dany nodded before placing her hand on the part of tapestry: "I do. I want you to march and sail here. To King's Landing. The Realm falls when its capital falls."  
"You want us to attack King's Landing... I'll gladly do it, but are we strong enough?" Yara said. Arianne was uncertain: "It will ask of Dornish host to march across Stormlands. I don't wholly trust lord Baratheon. I don't want to come under walls of King's Landing without knowing if stormlords behind me are foes or not." Daenerys made a nod: "A well founded concern. Yet, leave Gendry Baratheon to me. Strength of Stormlands is now no more than a shadow of their once might. Gendry can muster ten thousand at the most and that with placing little boys under arms. Those few thousands of stormlanders.. they will not fight you. They will march on King's Landing with you. I'll make sure of that."  
"You seem so certain in his loyalty, my queen..." Yara said. "He sent his envoy to Ghoyan Drohe, did he not? Storm's End did not take part in the invasion of Dorne. I say he was true to his word. Bran is a threat to someone lord Gendry cares greatly of. He will join you, Princess Arianne and Queen Yara." "Will you join us, my queen?" ruler of the Iron Islands asked. She shook her head: "You don't need me to take King's Landing.  
What strength Crownlands had was burned at Vaith and the Reach will not rush to save the capital. It is ripe for the taking."

Yara nodded, it was plain she yearns for more fighting, while Arianne's face spoke of caution. "And when we take it? What then?"  
Dany looked at her: "Why don't you ask me that what you truly want to know?" "All right..." said Dornish princess "...when King's Landing falls,  
do you intend to retake the crown of your fathers. Iron Throne is gone, but all else is there. All else is Targaryen heirloom."  
"That is not my intention. Yet, even if it were, is that so troubling notion to you?" Daenerys asked.  
"Your Grace, Dorne will forever be thankful for what you did at Vaith. You and your dragon brought us this victory. No Dornishman will ever deny that. But, time passes... in half a century from now, should House Targaryen reclaim the Red Keep, who can vouch that your heir will not draw sword on my heir wanting to return Dorne in the Six Kingdoms. Targaryens are formidable and fearsome conquerors."  
"History of Westeros teaches us that Martells have resisted those fearsome conquerors..." Dany replied "...I assure you, Princess Arianne,  
House Targaryen has no ambition to rule over Seven or Six or Five Kingdoms... our kingdom is in Essos."  
"You told us of your daughter in the North..." Arianne said. "I did. But, that affair is wholly a Stark thing. Targaryens have no say in it."  
Olive-skinned woman nodded in agreement which made Daenerys to return the nod. "Very well, with these questions being answered,  
I ask you now to agree on further actions. I'll ensure the alliance of Storm's End, princess, you can then order your army to march over Boneway." She looked at the tapestry map again: "It would be wise for Dornish to reach Kingsroad at Bronzegate, north of Storm's End.  
Lord Gendry needs not thousands of spears before walls of his keep. Your men must meet his on the open road, as two column of allies."  
"And the Iron Fleet?" Yara asked. "You will sail with all your ships into Blackwater Bay and impose blockade. Not one ship comes, nor leaves.  
Smugglers have been ferrying all sorts of goods from Essos to King's Landing. It helped Tyrion to barely keep the city from sinking into chaos.  
That will end." "You want chaos in the capital..." Arianne had an evil grin.  
"Nothing would give me more pleasure than to see mob tearing apart the broken king and his Hand." Daenerys replied.  
"Wrath of a dragon." Martell princess nodded approvingly. "Wrath of a mother whose child's blood was spilled by orders of Bran and Tyrion.  
From me, they'll receive no mercy. I will make sure their reign comes down on their heads. That day is not far."  
She knew her eyes now had a fiery glow, the looks Arianne and Yara spoke of that. Her final revenge was nearing.  
Daenerys Stormborn already felt the sweetness of it. "Princess, I plan to send a message to Gendry Baratheon." she said to Arianne.  
"We do not use ravens, Your Grace. Broken king has sway over them. Rider on a sand steed can deliver it to his commander on the northern end of Boneway in two days." "Can we trust that commander to pass on the message to his lord?" Dany asked. "That man is Arstan Selmy, lord of Harvest Hall. One of most loyal bannermen of Gendry Baratheon." She lifted an eyebrow: "A kinsman of Ser Barristan... I will write a message for him as well." "Riders will be waiting to take your messages, Your Grace." Arianne said. 

An hour later she was in the guest chambers of Tower of the Sun, preparing to leave Dorne and its capital.  
_In two days it will be a fortnight that I've burned Bran's ships and Bran's army. My work here is done.  
Time to fly north, to see Lyanna. To see Jon._  
In two days it will be the first day of twelfth moon. Five weeks have passed since she last saw her husband and her raven-haired daughter.  
It burdened her and she decided to take Drogon to the North, to Winterfell. To the place of bad memories. And to the place where blood of her blood was now queen. She heard footsteps in the hall outside her chamber. Someone paced slowly, then stopped and soon she heard knocking on the door. Dany opened. A young woman, small and of dark hair stood before the door, dressed in red robe:  
"Dāria Daenerys." (_Queen Daenerys._)  
"Voktys Rila hen Lys..." she returned the greeting "...issi ao naejot ivestragon nyke geros ilas?" (_Priestess Rila of Lys, are you to bid me farewell? _)  
"Iksan kesīr naejot ivestragon ao daor naejot jikagon jelmor, yn ñāqa." Yi Ti girl replied in even tone.  
(_I am here to tell you not to go north, but east._) "Naejot ivestragon iā naejot udrāzma?" she smiled. (_To tell or to command? _)  
Rila's features were marked with seriousness: "Zaldrīzes iksis mērī dombo." "Dragon is alone no more... you say those words as I should know  
their meaning." "Kesā gīmigon isse se ñāqa." priestess said, voice distant and with no emotions. (_You will know in the east._)  
"Kesan gīmigon isse se ñāqa. Iksan daor jāre konīr, yn naejot Jelmor." (_I will know in the east... I am not going there, but to the North._)  
"Zaldrīzes lilagon isse se jēdar. Jaelza syt ñāqa. Kessa jikagon ñāqa." young priestess insisted.  
(_Dragon danced in the sky. He longs for the east. He will go east._)  
"Ñuha zaldrīzes ēza iā kipagīros." Daenerys said (_My dragon has a rider._) Rila shrugged: "Drōgon buzdari iksis daor." (_Drogon is not a slave._)  
She frowned, her patience with this priestess spent: "Skoros gaomagon jaelā?" (_What do you want? _)  
"Gaoman daor jaelagon mirros. Nyke ȳdragon syt se Āeksiot Ōño se zȳhon kessa."  
(_I do not want anything. I speak for the Lord of light and his will._)  
"Ñuha riña iksis isse Jelmor. Ziry jorrāelagon nyke." (_My child is in the North. She needs me._)  
"Skoros hen lī isse se ñāqa? se se mēre kesīr lēda ao?" (_What of those in the east? And the one here with you? _)  
Dany eyes widened, then she said words of warning: "Ao nārhēdegon aōla, voktys." (_You forget yourself, priestess._)  
"Aōha dārōñe, iksan kesīr naejot dohaeragon ao. Ao sagon se kosh hen Āeksiot Ōño. Iā riña grows isse ao." Rila spoke with utmost seriousness.  
(_Your Grace, I am here to serve you. You're the champion of Lord of Light. A child grows in you._)  
Sigh nearly escaped her. Last time she was with Jon was the night before her return to Meereen. She wanted one more child.  
One more Targaryen in this world. Her hand was on her belly, she was not even aware of it.  
"Ao daor gīmigon bona." she replied to Rila with stern voice. (_You cannot know that._)  
"Perzyssy dōrī pirtir naejot nyke hen ra bona issi." priestess told her with smile (_Flames never lie to me of things that are._)  
Then she lowered her head admitting: "Issa ra skore issi naejot māzigon, bona gaoman daor ūndegon isse perzyssy tolī sȳrī."  
(_It is things which are to come, that I do not see in flames too well._) Dany nodded as she looked at Rila with warmer gaze:  
"Ivestragon nyke hen lī ra. Nyke jaelagon naejot gīmigon." (_Tell me of those things. I wish to know._)

"Mōrī naejot sagon āzma kessa sagon se ēlī. Skoros ao se zaldrīzes dārys ēdrurys kessa glaesagon.  
Tala kessa ziry dīnagon se bōsa ātsio se pogry kessa tyvagon se jeson gō zirȳla. Iā rōvēgrie dārys mazverdagon iemnȳ ao."  
Rila uttered words of future she saw in flames in slow, solemn voice.  
Dany repeated every word in her mind, in High Valyrian and in Common Tongue:  
_Last to be born will be first. What you and dragon king dream, he will live. _  
_Daughter he shall marry and long teeth and claw will crawl in the dust before him. A great king grows inside you._  
She pressed her hand on the belly slightly more, then whispered to her unborn: "Your name shall be Daeron. A Young Dragon of our time.  
And I'll see that my Young Dragon lives to be old dragon. That I swear to you, ñuha tresy... my son."  
Her eyes went to Rila again: "As you have said... Drogon is not a slave. I will let him to choose where we shall fly.  
Rila of Lys, I hope the flames were true to you. It gave me great joy."  
Rila nodded and spoke in her accentuated Common Tongue: "That is not the only joy that awaits you, Your Grace. Dragon is alone no more." 

_Meereen, Essos, year 317 After Conquest_

Drogon landed on the apex of Great Pyramid two hours after sunrise. He flew hard eastwards after feeding on two herds of sheep Dornish prepared for him outside the walls of Sunspear. Flight lasted the whole night and Daenerys even slept during, the harness on Drogon and large canvas bag with inside coated in wool allowed her to rest while her winged mount rushed towards sun that was being born again in the horizon. East.  
Her dragon wanted to go east. She wanted to go North. To embrace her Lyanna. And to tell Jon how their love has mayhaps given another fruit.  
It was not yet to be. Before going north, she had to return east. It made her think of a prophecy she was told almost twenty years ago in Qarth.  
_To go north, you must journey south. To reach the west, you must go east._  
She journeyed south. And now she goes east before reaching west. The north of the west.

Most oft Drogon would fly away upon her dismounting. Today he remained on the apex, a dark shadow that could be seen from nearly whole of Meereen. Daenerys took the stairs down to the terrace garden, already there she noticed a change. Three dozen of Freeflames guarded the terrace, standing along the wall. Their serjeant knelt as soon as he saw her coming. "Your Radiance..." man spoke in Low Valyrian of Meereen.  
"Why so many guards?" she asked upon gesturing him to rise. "Princess Rhaella's orders." "Was there a threat to this pyramid?" she asked.  
"No, Your Radiance. Princess only told us that pyramid now holds something House Targaryen must keep at any cost."  
"Where is Princess Rhaella now?" "In the chambers of royal family, my queen." Dany nodded and walked over the terrace with resolve.  
As she entered the hall, sounds came to her from the nursery. Cregan and Daenysanne. She knew their joyful babbling. Third voice was one  
of a boy. She opened the door and saw Alyn Velayron play with her babe twins. Her son was making slow, clumsy paces as young lord from Driftmark was gently holding his hands. Cregan laughed with every step he would take. Her eyes watered and then even more when she saw Little Dany standing upright with tight grip on ornate wooden bars of her crib. "Your Grace, we weren't expecting you..." Alyn said, surprised.  
She went to her babes, only nodding to him, and embraced them both: "Ñuha byka mēre, aderī kesā geron!" (_My little ones, soon you'll walk! _).  
She tickled them both and twins laughed. Then silver-haired girl with grey eyes babbled: "Daize..." "What, my love?"  
"Zaldrīzes, Your Grace." Alyn said "Rhaella and I believe Princess Daenysanne says zaldrīzes." "Her very first word... is dragon?"  
Dany chuckled: "I wonder if any Targaryen child ever as first word said - dragon." Alyn sighed. "Was that you not approving, lord Alyn?"  
"My queen, you ought to speak with Rhae. Then you'll see why Little Dany's first word was zaldrīzes." She frowned now:  
"I certainly intend to. Where is Rhaella?" "In her chambers, Your Grace." "Then I'll go to her..." she kissed Cregan and Daenysanne  
"...Muña kessa sagon arlī aderī." (_Mother will be back soon._) Before she walked out, Daenerys smiled at Alyn: "You know with babes, young lord Velaryon. That pleases me should you be the father of my grandchildren one day." "That would be the most worthy title for me, my queen." 

She walked down the hall, smiling. Her babes will soon walk and talk. It was time to bring Jon and Lyanna home, to end that Northern affair.  
Jon must not miss the first steps and first words of Cregan and Little Dany. Lya's place was here with her siblings. North must be taken, Sansa removed as threat to Lyanna's claim and rule. So that her Stark looking daughter will spend next four or five years here, where she belongs.  
Then, as woman grown, she can return to Winterfell as a true queen. Door of Rhaella's chamber were open and she went inside.  
The very next moment, she was frozen on the spot. She saw a wooden pole, likes of which he saw in rich manse gardens of Pentos and Qarth with parrots chained to such polls. Here it was another living thing. Of silver and gold scales, of wings folded on the back, of glowing red eyes.  
A dragon. A living dragon.  
There was a small iron bowl attached to the pole with piece of meat, not larger than a fig, inside. Rhaella stood there, her back turned towards the door, and she said softly: "Tessarion, dracarys." A cat-sized winged reptile made a coughing sound first and then from a wide open mouth came a weak flame, a tiny streak of fire, yet enough to burn the meat which soon was swallowed.  
Rhaella clapped her hands: "Olvie sȳz!" (_Very good! _) Hatchling's head tilted and that made Rhae to turn around. "Muña!" she almost shouted and ran to her embrace. Dany placed her hands around her daughter and kissed her on the head. "I trust you have a lot to tell me, dōna tala."  
Rhaella nodded, she smiled, but trace of sadness in girl's eyes did not escape Daenerys. "As I remember, there was no newly hatched dragon in the Great Pyramid when I went to Dorne. And now there is." she said stepping closer to the pole, her voice nearly trembled. She knew her daughter can see how great was her wonder, but she did not try to hide it. Dragon moved left and right on the pole, gazing at the newcomer same as Daenerys gazed with eyes widened at silver and gold scales. "How...? How can this be? You must tell me everything, Rhaella." 

Dany gently wiped tears from Rhae's cheeks.  
Silver-haired girl cried as she told her the whole account of how egg once belonging to Princess Elaena Targaryen was hatched in the R'hllor temple of Meereen. Rhaella cried when she spoke of old priest's gruesome death. "Am I to blame, Muña? I told Alyn we should let Ezzelyno to see the egg... He died in unbearable pains, mama. I can still see it when I close my eyes. I hear him scream in my mind."  
"No, Rhae, no... don't blame yourself. It wasn't you who told him to try hatching that egg.  
He knew the perils of using the magic of fire and blood. Yet he went forth with the ritual and fire claimed him."  
Her hand was again on girl's cheek: "Your wrongdoing same as Alyn's was to share the secret of that dragon egg with Ezzelyno in the first place.  
If altar room is now ruined by fire as you've told me, all of R'hllor priests in Meereen know the reason of it." Rhae nodded:  
"Hence the guards, Muña. It has come to me that some in that temple speak of how dragon should be theirs as payment for the lost life of their brother. That cannot be. Tessarion is ours, mine and Alyn's. Two of us were there when she was hatched."  
Dany smiled: "Tessarion? Is that how this dragon is called?" "Yes, mama, that is her name. I named her after my favorite goddess of Old Valyria...  
one of knowledge and art and music and poetry." "And beauty and archery... I know, Rhae, I know that Tessarion is Valyrian goddess you like and respect the most..." she said looking at Rhaella with warm gaze "...how can you tell this dragon is a she?" Girl looked at the hatchling:  
"For I know. I can't say how, but I know." "Tessarion is good name for a dragon. There was already one she-dragon named Tessarion,  
if my memory serves me well." Rhae nodded: "You're right, Muña, that dragon was of blue color and she was beautiful.  
People even called her the Blue Queen. She died in those days when our kin warred against each other."  
"Mayhaps one day people will call this one the Silver Queen..." Daenerys said. Then she asked her daughter: "You've told me that some in  
the R'hllor temple say that dragon is theirs... what did Kinvara say?" "She said that dragon belongs to the one who owned the egg."  
"That is Alyn Velaryon." "And me. Egg was ours so Tessarion will be ours as well." Rhaella said with firm tone.  
"Dragon can only have one rider, tala." "And can carry those dear to that rider. Alyn is dear to me, mama. And I am to him.  
Mayhaps I am only a silly girl who now speaks from her heart instead of her mind, but I see Alyn as my future. And Tessarion will be part of that future." Daenerys sighed and kissed her brow again: "You're not silly, my sweet Rhaella. It is praiseworthy that one so young already knows what life she wants. I'll do all I can to ensure you to have that life. To you and to all your siblings. This dragon... this is a gift, a great gift to  
House Targaryen. Was it R'hllor or gods of Old Valyria or Seven or even gods of First Men your father believes in... Tessarion is a great gift."

Silver-gold dragon flapped her wings again and let out a loud shriek. That made Dany and Rhaella to chuckle.  
Then, from above a thundering roar was heard. It shook the upper levels of the Great Pyramid. Tessarion shrieked again, her red eyes gaze upwards. "Drogon! He is here!" Rhae exclaimed happily. "Yes. And he wants to meet your hatchling. His brothers are dead, but one of his kin lives now. A dragon hatched from the egg which was laid in the days of Targaryens of old, Rhaella. You know what that means..." Dany's voice rang with excitement "...it means that past of our House will soon guard the future of our House." Rhae agreed as she let Tessarion to nuzzle her hand:  
"She will. As you said, Muña, she is a gift." "Let her climb on you and tell Alyn to come with us. We're going to the apex. Old dragon must meet   
the young." Her daughter giggled as a small child while hatchling perched on her shoulder. Daenerys' eyes watered, memories of Drogon, Viserion   
and Rhaegal when small as Tessarion was now came to her, memories of Red Waste and Vaes Tolorro. Of heat and death.  
_No child of mine will ever suffer as I have. Dragons are our shield from the rest of the world,_ came to her mind next.  
Then she heard Rhae's voice: "Muña, when Ezzelyno prayed in the temple, he said that champion of the Lord of Light has purified   
the servants of the evil one in thousands. Kinvara says that you're that champion. What does it mean... to purify thousands?" 


	88. TYRION

_King’s Landing, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

**TYRION**

_Dorne will soon be taken. King's banner waves over Skyreach. I march east._  
His eyes went over small scroll few more times before he threw in the hearth. Raven brought that message from Ser Garth Hightower twelve days ago. It was long awaited news from battlefields in rebelled southern part of the Realm. All the knowledge he had of warfare told him how army of Arianne Martell will soon be caught in pincers, outnumbered more than two to one. One battle will put an end to Dornish rebellion.

Plans for hereafter of Princedom were already drawn. All Dornish noble houses will be stripped of their titles and lands, main leaders put to sword, other banished from Westeros together with their families. King's reprisal was to be delivered swiftly and mercilessly. Smallfolk was not to be spared either. This time punishment for rebellion will come to all, those living in castles and those living in tents.  
It was known from history that even after lords of Dorne would bend the knee to Iron Throne, people carried on with rebellions, attacking and killing royal troops on every step. This time that would not be the case. Banishment would await even the poorest among the Dornish who would not yield. Realm had ships to take them across the Narrow Sea and disembark them in Disputed Lands where they would meet death or slavery, depending on how lucky they were. No one in Essos will object to tens or hundreds of banished Dornish, slave markets always welcomed new sales. No Dornish will ever end in Essos if he or she remains loyal to the king.  
_Seeds of rebellion will never again be planted in Dorne..._  
With their lords removed and exiled, with people facing choice of keeping peace or ending in chains in Pentos or Volantis, Dorne will be pacified. For the first time in their history they will be bent and broken and they will bow. Bow before King Bran. And then, they will see how stupid and hollow that rebellion was. Dorne will be made a better place than it was under House Martell and their bannermen. Dornish were people that knew how to live off their labor, of working the land, planting orchards and tending animals. Dorne would slowly but surely become true part  
of Six Kingdoms.

Those other rebels were something else entirely. The Iron Islands.  
With Dorne defeated, they would remain alone and as in days of King Robert, combined armies and fleets of the Realm would break them on land and on the sea. Greyjoys and their bannermen would be removed same as Martells and theirs. Iron Islands will be placed under rule of lords of Riverlands and Westerlands and no ship larger that fishing boat will ever again be built and sailed by the Ironborn.  
_They will learn how to sow or they will die starving_  
He knew it was cruel. Yet, soul of the folk that worshiped the Drowned God was cruel. That was the only tongue they understood.  
Only tongue they respected. Ironborn will be removed as plague of the seas once and for all times. They can live as folk of fishermen.  
Or they can try their luck in Essos as well. _And Essos, once Realm takes sway over Dorne and Iron Islands, will return to trade with us.  
Once peace and order are restored. They will see our strength and they will respect it._

"These are harsh actions you speak of, my lord." Andrew Estermont said upon hearing his intentions for Dorne and the Iron Islands "Forgive me for asking this, but does His Grace approve such severity against the people? Men, women and children of Westeros will end up being sold as cattle on the Essosi markets... slavery is abomination." "I assure you that our king approves of this. Not only does he approve, he even proposed some of actions mentioned. King Bran wants peace in Six Kingdoms. We will not have peace until even the slightest notion or craving for rebellion is removed from the minds of Dornish and the Ironborn. They must learn that raising arms against the Realm comes with great price to pay. As you well know from our history, for their actions against Seven Kingdoms, Pyke same as Sunspear would only get a slap on the wrist. That ends with this war. After this war, within a year or two at the most, we shall have Dornishmen meek as lambs and Iron Islands which will deliver fish on our tables." "What of their new lords?" Estermont asked. "Iron Islands will be divided between Riverrun and Casterly Rock. It is wise to do so, it will tear that folk asunder. As you know, Edmure Tully and my Lannister kinsmen have different talents of ruling and the Ironborn will taste that difference wholly." "Will the same be done with Dorne?" "It will for a while, before we find suitable Dornish lords, even if we have to make them from the lowest of peasants. Till then, one part of Dorne will belong to Hightowers, other to Storm's End."  
"That is unearned reward, my lord, to give even one yard of Dorne to Gendry Baratheon." "I said that Storm's End will be given sway over portion of Dorne. Not the man who is presently ruling Stormlands. He will be replaced in due time as well. He's proven to be disloyal in many ways.  
We know who made him Baratheon. He will be unmade. We shall find proper lord for Storm's End. Gendry can always return to hammer and anvil, unlike most of great lords of Westeros he has a trade... That was a jape, Ser Andrew, though I see it was lost on you."  
"I was never much of a japing man, my lord." Master of Laws replied. "Plainly you weren't. Have you prepared all for the trial of Monterys Velaryon?" Estermont nodded: "All is done save the place where it will be held. I assume the once throne room would be..."  
"It would be, but it will not be... His Grace wants this trial to be seen by as many people of King's Landing as possible. For that, only the Dragonpit or Tourney Grounds remain as choices. As Dragonpit is a ruin and place where king of Six Kingdoms was chosen and where his successor will be chosen, we cannot have any sort of criminals there, you will prepare all for trial to take place on the Tourney Grounds."  
"Why bringing that many to see trial, my lord?" was the next question, Estermont was cautious, as ever. "People of King's Landing should hear for whom did lord Monterys betrayed our king, who bears the guilt for Essos ceasing trade with us, who aides rebels in Dorne and on the Iron Islands. We must remind them of the tyrant who burned this city and murdered tens of thousands. We are not placing Monterys Velaryon on trial, lord Andrew, we're placing Daenerys Stormborn on trial."

Tyrion Lannister shook his head as he repeated the talk he had with Master of Laws, last remaining member of the Small Council in King's Landing. Bronn was nothing more than bones in Dornish desert, Samwell Tarly was long ago sent away from the court, Ser Brienne was in the North, Davos Seaworth was enjoying his retirement while one that succeeded him came to be a traitor... _How did we come to this..._ his thoughts fled to that day when Bran's Small Council gathered for the first time, twelve years ago. _...when past seems to have more appeal than present, that is mark of a failure._ Only twelve days ago, it seemed that Six Kingdoms can hope for the better.

Raven brought news from Sunspear the same day it happened. Written by lord Russell Merryweather himself.  
Dragon came in the night and burned the camp of king's army, one commanded by Lord of Longtable and his cousin Lucion Lannister.  
Another raven brought the word of royal fleet being burned as well in the waters before Sunspear. It was her.  
Daenerys Targaryen has returned to Westeros. On the side of Dornish rebellion, she has come to deliver fiery death.  
More ravens came the following day, from Merryweather again, from Garth Hightower on the western side of Dorne, from garrison in Godsgrace castle before they have surrendered to Dornish. All saying the same... how dragonflame has claimed thousands of soldiers, how western part of king's host was no more. As no word came from his kinsman, Tyrion concluded Ser Lucion has perished together with most of his men.  
_She has burned our army and our fleet... She could be coming here next..._ was his first thought. With that he went to the king.

Bran was in the royal gardens, next to the weirwood tree as ever. His eyes were closed.  
An odd serenity was on his face, one could even mistake it for him being content. King barely noted Tyrion's presence.  
"Your Grace..." he said. Then he repeated it two more times. "Lord Tyrion." came the reply "You wish to speak of Dorne."  
"Yes, Your Grace." "To speak how dragon queen burned thousands near Vaith river. I knew she will come. She answered Dornish call for aid.  
I see that worries you, lord Hand." "She could hit the capital next, my king." "She will not." Bran said with certainty and calm. "Have you seen..."  
"I do not see tomorrow, lord Tyrion, not as clear as I see today and yesterday, but ever since we have learned of her living again, my gaze is on those around Daenerys Stormborn. Most of those are hidden from me by the sorcery of eastern demon, but sometimes I can pass through that shield and then I see or hear. She will not attack this city. What she did to King's Landing burdens her still. That is her weakness. Remorse.  
She fears of doing what she did again. That is her weakness. That is what we must harvest against her."  
"She has just burned half of our army in Dorne." "Army, yes. Not the people. What I task you with is to raise people against her, lord Tyrion. People of King's Landing, people of Six Kingdoms. You will send ravens to all the lords whose men were with lord Russell and Ser Lucion ordering them to bring word to the smallest village how dragon queen has burned their fathers, brothers, sons to help the Dornish rebels. You will make sure that you bring as many people as you can to the trial of Monterys Velaryon. I want whole of this city to know who brought the lack of food on them. Not me, not you. Her. Make sure that Targaryen name is hated from one end of Six Kingdoms to another. I want people, from toothless old men to newborn babes to curse the blood of dragon. People, Tyrion Lannister, people are our strongest weapon against Targaryens. Not this or that lord. People. Queen Sansa relied on loyalty of her lords, they have chased her from her throne and placed daughter of dragon queen on it. Sansa give people a little thought. Had she rallied smallfolk, Winterfell would not be taken from her. She acted as rulers of old. I will not. My strength is with the people." Tyrion listened to his king, this many words he has not heard from Bran in many moons.  
"May I ask how are things in the North?" Tyrion said "To have Daenerys' daughter in Winterfell... that is lasting threat to us..."  
"Sansa will march to retake her throne, we have provided her with men and with Ser Brienne. My sight is strong there. Dragon will not have North." Tyrion let out a deep breath: "How did it come to this? Two years ago we trusted Targaryens to be gone for good... now they are taking hold in the North, in Dorne..." King answered in calm voice that was bare of any feelings: "It was always meant to come to this, lord Tyrion Lannister. Since Brandon Stark became Three Eyed Raven. There are powers in this world that cannot suffer one another. Eastern demon and magic older than First Men cannot suffer one another." He had nothing to say to that, matters of faith and magic he did not dwell much on.  
He only managed to ask: "Is there anything else, my lord?" "See that those which will come to trial of Monterys Velaryon are well fed." 

People of King's Landing have not let him down. People that cheered when Ned Stark was beheaded, people that cheered to vicious idiot that was his nephew, people that threw their own shit at his naked sister, people that greeted Euron Greyjoy as hero... that was the nature of people of largest city in Westeros. That nature was in plain sight that day on Tourney Ground. A foul nature of men bought for a meal.  
"Hang him!" "Cocksucker!"  
"Velaryon filth!" "Dragonwhore lackay!"  
"Quarter him!" "Blood for blood!" "Burn him alive!"  
More than two thousand came to Tourney Grounds, sky was covered with clouds, but no rain came yet.  
Though even heavy rainfall would not keep those living in King's Landing from getting free food and seeing an execution in the same time.  
News of king's host ruined in Dorne by dragonflame spread, no matter how Red Keep tried to keep it secret. Or was it only Tyrion who tried to do so. Others, from pages and scribes to City Watch, all have spread the word. Many among perished were of Cronwlands, having kinfolk in the city. Mob, eating bread, meat and fish that Red Keep paid for demanded blood. Tyrion misliked this public trial, it brought back unwanted memories to him. _Justice should not be made spectacle for crowds, no matter if one on trial is innocent as I was or guilty as Monterys is_.

"Monterys of House Velaryon, you stand accused of high treason. You stand accused of siding with the enemies of Six Kingdoms.  
What say you of these accusations?" asked Master of Laws, Andrew Estermont who was named judge in King's stead. Accused man chuckled.  
For the occasion, lord of Driftmark was provided with new clothes, those in colors and with sigil of his house, which was found in his chambers in Red Keep. Colors of sea-blue and gray-green with seahorse embroidered on his chest.  
He was even washed and his beard shortened before being brought to Tourney Grounds. Yet, it was plain from his features that many weeks in the dungeon left trace on this man, his face more grey than pale, pale that was common trait of those with Valyrian blood. Tyrion saw how dungeon took nearly half of Monterys' weight. All that made him look twice the age the truly was. He felt sorry for the young Velaryon.  
Ever since he took the duty of Master of Ships, Tyrion saw potential in this man, not once did he think of him as one who would succeed him as Hand of the King. _Such a pity. Young man able and skilled in ruling throws his life away... and for what... for loyalty to a madwoman._

"I say of these accusations... that I am guilty. So, I beg of you as king's judge, my lord, to end this mummer show.... Pass me to the executioner for I see that gallows are already built not far from this dais... and I want not to make the people gathered here wait for too long..."  
"Do you mock this trial, lord Velaryon?" Estermont asked. He was irked with words that came from lord of Driftmark.  
"This trial is mockery same as Realm is mockery. Thank gods, that neither will last long." Monterys replied defiantly.  
"Traitor!!!" "Hang the fucker!" "Give him to us!!" "Hang him!" "Cut off his balls and feed him with it!" "Silver-haired cunt!"  
Shouts were becoming louder and louder, some of viewers from the first rows tried to cross the fence that was placed all around wooden platform on which trial was taking place, such were soon discouraged by City Watch, few broken ribs and noses restored order in the crowd, but shouts were becoming louder, it seemed as prelude to riots and Tyrion made signal to Andrew Estermont to give sentence.  
He noticed how Master of Laws gazed, albeit briefly, upwards, how eyes of some of the City Watch were also searching the sky since he came here, even the head of young baker Red Keep was buying bread from was turned towards the clouds.  
_They think dragon will come... they think she will come to save Monterys..._ burned in his mind and he was now looking up as well.  
"Get used of doing that, lord Hand..." he heard a voice even through all the tumult around him "...I've told you how you will die."  
Monterys Velaryon smirked at him, ashen-faced and in chains, he smirked at him. Tyrion said nothing, only nodded. As men in gold cloaks were taking him to the gallows, he felt sadness for the young lord. _He will not see his seven and twenty nameday... he gambled with his life,  
keeping faith with someone he never met... Was I ever like that? No, never. I needed to see Daenerys before I decided to serve her._

Tyrion left the Tourney Ground right after Estermont said the sentence. Death by hanging. As he waddled surrounded with his guards, noises behind him spoke of what was happening. Crowd yelled and cursed, then came a heartbeat of silence followed by thunder like cheering.  
People of King's Landing cheered as young man from island in the Narrow Sea was hanged before them.  
Tyrion sighed and shook his head as he was climbing in his carriage. It was twelfth day since Garth Greysteel briefly took Skyreach.


	89. ARYA

**ARYA**

_Kingsroad south of Cerwyn castle, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

Raindrops rang on his kettle helm as he stepped out from the makeshift tent which was raised not even four feet from the Kingsroad.  
Water did not cease falling from the clouds for three whole days and Barret Weaver, a freerider from Golden Tooth in Westerlands,  
was weary of it. "Cursed land!" he spat sitting down again: "I haven't seen the sun for a fucking sennight..."  
Trentan Hill, another freerider, laughed: "You've cursed Dorne not five moons ago for sky with no clouds... here you only have to open your mouth and look up, water comes from above. I like it better here than in that sand covered shithole. Hells, you only have to walk in the woods and you'll hunt down something... rabbit, boar, deer. In Dorne even damn rats shunned us. I thank the gods we were ferried out from there..."  
Barret grinned at him: "Yes, the land here is good to us. Now. You've never seen the winter here. Same as I never did. Snow here falls up to your waist. All water freezes, beasts vanish from the woods, save the wolves. Them like the winter. And men of this land... be it winter or summer they are the same. They hate you for being what you are. A Southron cunt. They killed my father at Oxcross. I don't trust those Northern heathens... they don't believe in Seven, they pray before fucking trees." Ryden Inmain, third man in the tent, nodded: "That is true. Any of us would be a halfwit to trust these people. Treacherous lot they are. Yet, these are good times to be here, my friends. Fate of many of us may change for better. So better that none of you ever dared to dream." Barret chuckled: "Are you to tell us again how lands and titles await us here? When that red-haired slut retakes her throne... Child would not trust that, serjeant." Ryden wiped nose with sleeve of his gambeson before answering: "That red-haired slut will remove all the lords that rose against her. All of them. Then she will search for more loyal ones.  
And where she will find them? Among swords that gave her crown again. Among us." 

"Ha! Who told you that?" "Ser Culler Tarwick spoke to one of the captains and he told me after seven ales when he was drunk enough to piss his breeches." Trentan Hill said: "Serjeant, that is a good story to rally us to fight, but this red-haired queen made that promise once, Culler was in her service before, he warred with them savages from beyond the Wall. And he lost that war." "He fled before the wildlings, he fled before the Dornish... Tarwick is good as cursed... Mayhaps he is. I've heard these Northerners ask from any man of the South to cast aside the Seven and embrace their forest gods. Whoever is born in the light of Seven and abandons it for foreign gods suffers." Barret told them. "Horseshit... Queen Cersei blew up the Great Sept of Baelor, gods did not strike her dead." Ryden countered. "No? Her son killed himself that same day, serjeant, and she died in the same manner as those in the Great Sept, by fire and falling stones. Seven punished her for all her wickedness. If Culler made a wow to this wolf queen that he will take her faith to get land and title, he is cursed. And all of us serving him are cursed as well." "You can't truly believe that, Barret, you sound as one of those sparrows now." "And what if I do? Were they wrong? Sisterfucking, buggery, all that marked Lannisters and Tyrells... and where are they now? Tyrells are gone and Lannisters are mice, not lions." "Fuck me, Trentan..." Inmain exclaimed "...our Barret here has indeed found gods, even so late in his life." "Mock as you wish, serjeant, but I intend to return from this soaked land alive.  
Snow and tree gods are not for me."

Ryden was to utter reply, but his gaze suddenly shifted on the road. "Riders. Four of them... Barret, you and I are going before them.  
Trentan, signal to our archers in the woods to be alert. Let not those riders see you doing that."  
Four cloaked riders slowly advanced up the Kingsroad, their horses as themselves covered in mud stains which spoke of their long ride.  
Ryden saw that first rider was of smaller stature, unlike other three. He stepped on the road with loaded crossbow in his hands.  
"Halt in the name of the Queen!" he said aloud. Barret was standing next to him, also with crossbow.  
"What Queen would that be?" came the answer.  
"I hear a woman's voice beneath that hood..." Ryden said "...Queen Sansa, the one true queen of the North."  
"Long may she reign." rider answered and removed the hood, revealing a pale face framed with raven hair. "Jeyne Stone is my name."  
"A Vale bastard, right?" he asked. "Aye. That is so." woman said. "And those three with you?" "One behind me is Artos Costayne, to his left is Dalton Rivers and that foreign face there is Illeo Maegyr." "He looks like a Dornish fuck to me..." Ryden said. Woman laughed: "If he's fuck of any sort, he is Volantene fuck." Serjeant looked at all four again, his crossbow still aiming at them: "So, two bastards, one Reachman and one Volantene are riding north on the Kingsroad... where are you headed?" "Mole's Town. In the Gift." she answered. "Are you going to bloody wildlings?" Barret asked now "...why the fuck for?" "My man is already there, he's stonemason from the Vale. Them Free Folk are building proper houses now." "So... you're a stonemason's woman. And the other three...?" Ryden asked. "...you, Rivers, what are you going to do in Mole's Town?" "Carpentry, m'lord. But I'm goin' to that place called 'ard'ome, where wildlings 'ave their port. Volantene and Artos 'ere as well."  
"To do what?" came from Barret again. "Man the ships wildlings have. We heard that Ironborn left them longship or two, but they need men of the sea which they're not..." Artos spoke now. "So, you three are hired sailors? Hired from those goatfuckers..." Trenton laughed standing next to tent with his longbow ready "...how much they pay you?" "We were each promised forty gold coins for one moon of service." Artos replied.  
"Wildlings don't use coins. They lied to you." Ryden said. "They do now..." Costayne told him "...they sell timber, furs, amber to Essosi merchants which pay them in coins. Even savage folk as they are change their ways." Serjeant nodded: "It seems so. Tell me, woman and you three, do you intend to go to Winterfell?" Dark-haired woman shook her head: "No. They'd ask us same questions you have, us going to live among the wildlings would buy us many days chained in dungeon there. No, my lord, we're not going near there."  
"Good. Keep riding north. Be wary of brigands and robbers along the road. More north you go, less law there is...  
"How did Queen Sansa allow that?" Artos wondered. "She did not. There's false queen in Winterfell now. But not for long." Ryden told them.  
"Not for long..." Barret added "...then we can go home from this shithole... And you, fools, you ride north of the bloody North.  
Going after your man or not, after pay of forty gold coins or not, you're fools. This is no land for us born south of the Neck to be living in." 

After riding a mile of road northwards, woman named Jeyne Stone, finally spoke: "Tonight we shall stay in castle Cerwyn. Before noon tomorrow we'll be at Winterfell. This was last watch post of Sansa's men on Kingsroad... we've passed them all smoothly..." Dalton Pyke said:  
"We have, aye. For those were only southern men along the road, if there was some of your sister's soldiers with them he'd recognise you,  
_Princess Arya_." "But there were no Northerners with them. So, luck this time favored us."  
Arya was coming from White Harbor where she went ten days before to see _Nymeria's_ return from Braavos. As White Knife river cannot be sailed upstream for nearly half of its flow, due to rapids, she and her three companions continued on horseback up the Kingsroad. Artos and Illeo were pleased, excited even that they will get to see Winterfell, while Dalton as ever complained. As much as she liked that guards they've met along the road all trusted their ruse of one smallfolk woman going after her husband and three men of different trades coming to work for wildlings, notion of how many southern troops were on the Kingsroad, on plain sight, but also hidden in the woods, all that stretching for more than twenty miles, troubled her. Arya knew that attack on Winterfell will soon take place. _When that happens, I will stand next to my brother and his young daughter. The true Queen in the North._

Arya had little love, if any for Jonelle Cerwyn. She was of fifty namedays, an elder among lords and ladies of Northern kingdom, a tutor of sorts for Eddara Tallhart and Erena Glover, both half her age. Feelings were shared as lady of Castle Cerwyn received her and three men that rode with her without even a feigned warmth. "Princess Arya..." she said as she came to the courtyard. "Truly I am not, my lady." "Sister of once king... and once queen is Princess. Aunt of the Queen is Princess... what brings you to my keep and from the south, I see." Arya looked at her silver cloak with black fur over her shoulders and embroidered battle-axe that covered most of the right side of cloak. She had regal stance, one could not deny that.  
"My men and I are coming from White Harbor, lady Jonelle. I intend to be in Winterfell tomorrow around noon. We came here asking for a place to rest, us and our horses alike during night." "You have the hospitality of this castle and mine." "I thank you, my lady." Arya said. "Pray tell me, how did you pass the Kingsroad. It is swarmed with Sansa's men last three days, Southrons your brother sent here to help her reclaim the throne..." She shook head: "My brother is dead. Long dead. Broken king is... he is not Brandon Stark." Cerwyn woman smirked: "Mayhaps... still, he provided Sansa with over five thousand soldiers and with them she has Dustin men and those of Rills."  
"And Karstarks..." Arya added. Jonelle frowned: "Oh, I see you haven't heard yet..." "Heard what?" "Of what occurred in Barrowton six days ago.  
It appears lord Elric tried to rape Sansa in her chamber and guards killed him for it. Some of his men trusted that was the truth and now are loyal to her, hundred or so of them, but most men of Karhold refused to believe that their lord would try defiling a noblewoman. They have abandoned Sansa, six hundred left the camp of her host in Barrowton and rode north. Yet, not all went to Karhold, more than half came to Wintefell. They've offered their swords to Queen Lyanna." Arya listened to these words with eyes wide. At first rage came over her at notion that someone would try to rape her sister again, Sansa never told her of what she has gone through being married to Ramsay Bolton, yet Arya learned bits of it from maester Wolkan. Then, rage was replaced by even more horrid notion of how her sister mayhaps could accuse a man of rape to have him killed. Divided thoughts struggled in her mind and she barely heard Jonelle asking: "How did you manage to pass through Sansa's blockade of the Kingsroad?"  
"We have lied..." she replied, half absently. Then Arya was back from her thoughts: "Lady Jonelle, there are dozens of broken king's men down Kingsroad. Not three miles south of here is their first watch post. Sansa will soon march on Winterfell.  
She has larger army. Over six thousand men. Even with those Karstark turncloaks, there will be no more than fifteen hundred defenders.  
They will attack your keep first. Or they'll pass you by, leaving you for later. Either way..." "Either way, Princess, you are about to tell me to abandon Castle Cerwyn and take my men to Winterfell." Jonelle said with dry voice. "Aye, my lady, that is the wisest thing to do."  
"It may seem as that to you, but to me...it means Sansa will have this keep burned should she find it vacant. Yet, you're right. No matter, what they do, attack this keep first or leave it surrounded, I have no good to hope for. I will consider it."  
Arya nodded, though not trusting that Jonelle of House Cerwyn was sincere in last what she said. 

_Winterfell , Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

Loud sigh escaped her niece as she began reading a letter _Nymeria_ brought from Braavos.  
It was written by her other niece, one Arya called ñuha dōna, one she missed greatly too. "Are you all right?" she asked Lyanna.  
Girl nodded: "I am... I wish Rhae was here..." "I wish that as well, Lya. This is home of her forefathers... what says she in the letter?"  
Lya smiled: "She writes of her ruling over Meereen when mother and father were away... and how people now call her Meereen's Delight."  
"Ha..." Arya chuckled "...well, I guess she earned that name well." "She does not like that name. I would not either. One who would dare to call me that to my face..." "You'd break his nose..." she said laughing "...same as I would. What else does Rhae write?" "Well, she wrote this six weeks ago, the same day Muña returned to Meereen. It seems that Velaryons of Driftmark fled to the Bay of Dragons with their whole fleet..."  
Lyanna suddenly smiled upon reading her sister's lines again. "Rhaella wrote something funny?" "No... she wrote of some Velaryon boy she befriended.." "And?" "She likes him. It's plain. Four long sentences about this... Alyn. She likes him a lot. I know my sister." Arya shrugged:  
"You have Hallis, mayhaps she wants to have someone to like and love as well." Lyanna agreed: "Rhae is very content now. If not so, it would burden me, it would burden my dreams." Arya touched her hand: "What does burden you, wolf child?" Girl gave her a sad gaze: "That many who support me will die. I know that Sansa will attack. It's matter of days now. And we don't have the numbers."  
Lyanna got up from her chair in Queen's Chamber whose furniture now was painted in white-grey. That made this room brighter and Arya liked it. Her niece told her how she wants to paint all chambers and halls in the castle in white-grey, colors of House Stark. Lyanna misliked the dark inner walls of Winterfell, she grew up on Essosi sun, in manses of white marble and pyramids of dun stones. Arya approved that.  
"This will be your home and home of your children and their children... you have the right to adorn it as you please, Lya."  
Arya wished her niece to be the Queen in the North with her whole heart. _She has my wolf temper, Jon's honor and Dany's justice. North needs that. Mayhaps Sansa once was a good queen, mayhaps she could've been a great queen. But her time has passed..._

"No, Lya, we don't have the numbers. But, you will not yield to Sansa. Not now, not ever. I love her, she is my sister, but I love you too, my royal niece." Girl smiled and in two paces her hands were around Arya: "I'm so happy you've returned, Arya. I feel twice as safe now."  
She kissed Lya's cheek: "You can keep yourself safe without me. You've done good not letting those Karstark men inside Winterfell."  
Young queen agreed: "I don't trust them... Of same host of Karhold men, some stayed with Sansa, some came here to kneel before me,  
some fled for hundreds of miles to Karhold. How many times can a man turn his cloak and where truly lies his loyalty?"  
"A man with no loyalty, no even to oneself, can change sides more oft than weather in the Narrow Sea. Yet, such a man is lower than beast and does not last long. These Karhold soldiers you've left outside Winterfell will fight for you. Not for you, for their lives. Sansa will show them no mercy once she arrives under these walls." "Our scouts claim she has siege weapons." Arya nodded: "I've heard that as well. I doubt she is strayed so much to use trebuchets on her own home." "If she does? We have only few scorpions and no trebuchets or catapults that work, her men ruined all before running to Barrowton. She only needs to struck down the main gate..." Lyanna said. "Do not fear her, Lya. Stand your ground against her with Northerners that support you. She tries to reclaim direwolf throne with foreign army. North will loathe her for that... if there's any of the true North left."  
"Arya, Papa has sent message to Meereen. He wants mother to bring Drogon here."  
"You don't know what to think of it, right?" Arya asked which made girl to nod: "I want to defend my crown without dragon. I am a Targaryen, dragon blood, but I'll be a Stark queen... tell me if I say stupid things?" "You do not. I understand your doubts. But, my dear niece, don't think that Sansa troubles herself with using southern swords to retake Winterfell... you must act the same, Lya. When you win, you will have a lifetime to be a true Stark queen. North remembers, they say. Twenty years from now, what will folk of Winter Town remember? Dragon burning southern invaders or good queen Lyanna who paved all the streets, filled all the bellies and gave justice to all."  
Girl now smiled: "Thank you for advising me, Arya."  
She placed girl's hand in hers: "I'll advise you till I draw breath. Lone wolf dies..." "...pack survives." Lya finished the saying.

"You wait for Daenerys to come on her dragon..." she said to Jon as they have walked beneath the walls of Winterfell.  
Even a man with no knowledge of warfare could tell that preparations for siege are underway, men on horses and wagons were coming in.  
Food and other supplies were brought in the ancient keep of Stark lords. Soldiers worked on battlements, scorpions, albeit few, were mounted on the walls. Yet no one was fleeing from Winterfell or from Winter Town. _Good sign_, Arya mused, _they trust in their new queen. For now._  
"On our dragon..." Jon said looking how riders of House Manderly escort three more wagons inside the castle "...aye, southern host sent here by Bran will not remove my daughter from the throne. Dragon is here to even the odds..." Arya laughed: "Even the odds? You speak of same dragon that burned the Golden Company to ash and bone?" "The same. I hope that mere sight of him will make that borrowed army to scatter. I hope there'll be no ash and bone. Not here." "Old Wyman told me, before we left for Winterfell, how raven came to his maester from the Citadel two days before. Bird brought message how dragon burned king Bran's army in Dorne in one night. Thousands were killed." Jon nodded:  
"Maester here got the same message as well." "It could be false account. Mayhaps Dornish used wildfire in some sort and eyes of those frightened out of their wits saw flying beast..." "And mayhaps Dany did flew over hundreds of leagues to Dorne and fire consumed thousands of men at arms..." Jon shrugged "...either way, message said that Martell princes claimed victory." "What Lya says of it?" "Thought of Drogon wining the crown for her burdens Lyanna, hearing of what may have happened on the other end of Westeros only made her more uneasy."  
"I've told Lya she should not have qualm of Drogon coming here. I don't know why she has it, truly." "She fears North will not see her as true Stark should her reign begin with dragonflame." Arya smiled at her brother: "She is her father's daughter. You weigh your actions as well before taking them." "It was not always so... I've been rash on many occasions." "We learn as we grow old, Jon. All of us..." she said pensively only to exclaim the very next moment: "Seven hells, Flints of Widow's Watch!"

Column of nearly four score of mounted men was approaching Winterfell from the west, horses slowly trotted across the open field.  
Blue-yellow banner with two eyes fluttered over the riders. "Well, young lord Robin brings good number of men with him. And he not so long ago supported our sister." Arya said as she watched them coming nearer. "Aye. I didn't expect him to come at all, given how far his keep is."  
"Your Grace, Princess Arya..." Robin Flint greeted them after he dismounted. "Lord Robin, Queen Lyanna will be pleased to know how loyal lord she has in Widow's Watch. I hope you journeyed safe..." "We have, Your Grace, we rode up the Broken Branch to Hornwood and from there to Winterfell. I prefer six days in saddle over crawling in river runner up the White Knife. In castle Hornwood they told me how men in service of former queen keep watch on Kingsroad and rob all cargo meant for Cerwyn keep, Torrhen's Square, Moat Cailin, even Deepwood Motte." "You've been told right..." Arya said "...food shipments and all else are stolen. Enemy makes supplies to last them during attack on Winterfell. What they've stolen thus far, should last them for a brief siege." Young Flint made a grin: "Then we'll make certain this siege lasts long. I trust Winterfell's provisions will outlast those of Sansa Stark's men." She gazed at him with narrow eyes: "I doubt that Queen Lyanna plans to suffer long siege of her castle." "Princess is right." Robin agreed before asking permission to leave. When given, he was back on his courser, leading men of House Flint in Winterfell. "He's not much to your liking, young Flint." Jon said. "I've never been very good in hiding whom I mislike." "Why him?" "He stood with Sansa when most of North has abandoned her. And after only one talk with Lyanna, his loyalty shifted." "Same as his kinsman from Flint's Finger who was against Sansa, but not for Lyanna..." her brother told her "...my daughter has her mother's gift in gaining support."  
"And her father's..." she added. "Aye. And her father's." dark-haired Targaryen king agreed.

Arya parted with Jon who went to oversee work on the walls. This time no trenches were dug before royal castle of the North. Small host was marching on Winterfell and nearly thrice as small was defending it. Still, Arya could tell it brought memories of last time when home of her childhood was awaiting attack, attack of vast army of wights. Not pleasant memories for any who was here that night. She walked across courtyard in her dark-grey breeches and woolen tunic of same color. Curved Rhoynar blade of Valyrian steel was resting on her back. All who laid eyes on this sword, singular in the Known World, could not hide their awe. From afar she saw Lyanna. Her niece was wearing similar clothes as Arya. Black breeches, grey woolen tunic over white shirt. Around her waist was red-leather belt on which Needle was hung. Lya had a new scabbard made, of thin black leather with red dragon and white wolf intertwined along its entire length. She looked nothing as queen, save her stance.  
Young queen was aimed for the crypts, her aunt knew of girl going there when she needed to be alone and at peace.  
_She's going to talk to her grandmother again..._ thought of that always made Arya to soften. Now was the same, but soon it was replaced with darkened gaze. Young lord in blue-yellow overcoat approached Lyanna. He greeted her politely, bowed and kissed her hand.  
Arya moved into darker corners of the courtyard and unseen came closer to the young couple. Lya seemed to enjoy talking with Robin Flint as smile was not coming off her face. "Six days ride... surely you have done some hunting along the way, lord Robin." "No, my queen, though I wanted to. Woods between Hornwood and Winterfell are teeming with game. Deers, boars, bears. One could spend days hunting there."  
"I intend to. Mayhaps you could join Hallis and me to hunt the woods from source of Broken Branch to its mouth." "I'd be honored, Your Grace."  
"Then it is agreed, my lord." Lyanna smiled. Robin gave her a long, warm look: "It is not noble to envy and yet I do."

"Whom do you envy, lord Robin?" "Your betrothed. Lord Hallis Hornwood." Smile was gone from girl's face: "Why is that?" "For he will have the most beautiful, smartest and bravest woman in the North as his wife." "You're being insultingly too familiar, my lord." "Forgive me, my queen, it was not my intention to offend you." he said, bit shaken. "I don't take offence in praises you gave me. But I find your envy of lord Hallis insulting..." Lya replied to him "...do you mayhaps find him unfit to be my husband one day?" "No, nothing as that, Your Grace. I only wish I could be as fortunate as he is. To have Lyanna Stark Targaryen as wife to be." Lyanna nodded: "I gather it is not an insult to call one fortunate. You praised me with that even more." She smiled at Robin again: "Fate robed you of chance to court me, my lord, yet I offer you my friendship. I like your candor."  
Next she kissed him on the cheek which surprised him. "Friends?" she asked next. "Aye... friends.. Your Grace."  
"Good. You'll soon find others being envious on your friendship with Lyanna Stark Targaryen."  
Arya remained in the shadows. She smiled as well upon seeing traits of Daenerys in Lya.  
Some would scold Robin Flint, but Lya charmed him even more. That is how true queens act.  
And her niece knew of that even this young.


	90. WHITE AND GREY

_Winterfell, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

Lyanna Stark Targaryen personal sigil  
(Stark direwolf white on grey, Targaryen dragon, blue rose on crimson in honor of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark)

* * *

**WHITE AND GREY**

A wounded horse nearly run him down charging the muddy way between the houses. His sword was gone, same as his helmet.  
Something stung in his right shoulder and he couldn't reach it. He knew something struck him, but he didn't know what.  
It wasn't arrow, he got it in his leg once. Wooden houses around him now seemed as maze.  
It was not so when he charged up the street, towards the northern end of this large settlement beneath the castle made of grey granite.  
Tens of his brothers in arms advanced fast to castle's north gate, expecting to find it nearly undefended.  
Yet, it was, many yards before the very gate. Rain of arrows came down on them from rooftops and from behind the wooden fences.  
His eyes went left and right, he was alone or it seemed that way. Some sixty yards before him was gate of the castle, it might as well be sixty miles. He was aimed away from it, same as all those who were faster than him in running away.  
Others were slower and they were now dying on the muddy street, struck down with arrows. There was not one man dead or dying hit only once.  
He nearly fell over a corpse with nine arrows sticking from his chest and belly.

"Barret! Barret... over here!" he heard voice calling him. It was his serjeant kneeling behind his shield next to a shack.  
"For fuck sake, man... instead seeking cover you stroll down the street as some bloody halfwit!" serjeant yelled as Barret crawled to him. "Trentan?" "I haven't seen him... dead or if he had any luck running from here.." "I think those fuckers have put an arrow in my back..." Barret Weaver said to Ryden Inmain. "Turn around then, let me see..." As he turned, right away he heard cursing: "Seven bloody hells!  
It ain't arrow, you have a piece of steel lodged in your chainmail!" "Steel!?" "Aye, it looks as star, edges are sharp... how could it pass..."  
Ryden was silent for a heartbeat then he cursed again before saying: "Slingers... there are slingers on the roofs!" "Northerners don't have slingers... no host in Westeros does!" "Then some fucker must have come from Essos to aim at you... I 'm telling you what I see."  
"Can you pull it out?" "I can, but I won't." "Why the fuck not?" "I can't tell how deep it has pierced your skin... I ain't maester."  
"Fuck! I can't move my hand properly..." "Well, you won't be doing much of a sword fighting now, will you?"  
Ryden slowly got up and still covering himself with shield he said: "Come on, we're getting out of here, back to our main... that red-haired bitch won't be taking Winterfell through this gate." Barret was now upright as well and both were rushing down the mud-covered street, away from the castle. A sudden sound of metal meeting metal was heard and he saw Ryden's half helm blown from his head. It threw serjeant off balance and he made two stumbling paces when something struck the back of his head, spraying blood even on Barret's chest. Ryden fell with his face down in the mud, a star shaped steel was planted in him. Barret froze on the spot at first, but soon was running through the mud with madman's resolve. Behind him was untaken northern entrance to royal castle of the North, over which fluttered grey banner with white direwolf.

Jon was standing over a table in the same room where war council was held more than twelve years ago, merely hours before army of the dead descended on the living. There was a difference, though, instead of castle painted on the map, now a small Winterfell was before him. Whomever craftsman worked on this wooden model, he respected every detail, from gatehouse to godswood whose heart tree was painted white and red.  
His gaze went from one part of the scaled down castle to another while the tapped on the table with fingers of his right hand.  
His daughter stood on the other side of the table, looking more at him than at the wooden model of Stark home.  
"Four gates, Lya..." Jon finally said. "Father?" she asked. "There are four gates of Winterfell... Tell me of each of those gates, tala." Lyanna walked around the table... "North Gate, it leads to First Keep and Guards Hall at one side and godswood on the other... East Gate, one to Kingsroad, when you pass it you're in the courtyard before the Great Keep where we're now, South Gate takes you to stables, smithy and Great Hall." "And if you were to take this castle by sword...?" "East and South Gate." she replied. "Why?" "East Gate is the widest, once breached you can send in the cavalry charge... and by South Gate you're taking courtyard, Great Hall and Great Keep from the other side... once you take them, Winterfell has fallen." Jon agreed: "Aye, that is so. Yet, will Sansa do it that way?"  
"She could... I don't know." girl frowned. "She could, but she will not. On every man we have, she has four. And her commanders are seasoned warriors." "So, what do you think she'll do, Papa?" Jon walked to Lyanna and placed his arm around her which made her smile. Then he pointed at fourth gate. "Hunter's Gate. West side of Winterfell, one that goes through it can go to kennels, kitchen, library, maester's turret is right next to the gate." "Hmm... it is." "Will they attack that gate?" "Lyanna, they will try to stretch us thin, attacking on more than one gate at once.  
But only one gate will be their true aim. And that does not have to be the one they strike the hardest. Ruses and tricks, my daughter..."  
"So, Papa, they could attack the Hunter's Gate or the north one?" "They could, aye." he said looking at that side of wooden model.  
"But, that means we must commit same number of men to all the gates... we can't tell which one is the true aim." "No, we can't."  
"It is fortunate that maester Wolkan told me of the secret passages beneath the walls. Sansa had two built. Under stables and under Great Keep.  
On opposing sides of Winterfell." "He told me the same. Did he say the reason why she built it?"  
"So that Winterfell could have such passages as Red Keep has since times of Maegor the Cruel."  
"And those who built the passages for Sansa, have they met the same fate as Maegor's workers?"  
Lya chuckled: "No, she did not kill them all to keep secret passages secret. She brought stonemasons and workers from Braavos, making sure they do not speak a word of Common Tongue. After their work was done, she had them escorted back to White Harbor from where they returned across the Narrow Sea. That was some seven or eight years ago. Only a handful of people know where these passages lead and all are with her now."  
"We'll have them blocked, walled. Use only the Freeflames for the job and order it done before overmorrow."  
"I will, Papa." girl answered. Jon looked at his raven-haired daughter with sad eyes and Lyanna noticed that: "Kepa, skoros iksis pirta?" Question came in High Valyrian. "Nothing is wrong, Lya.. It's just.. I am sorry that you have to go through all this. You're brave and wise beyond your age, but to me you're still too young for wars and matters of ruling. You should be doing what girls of your age are doing..." She laughed joyfully:  
"Oh, Papa, yn gaoman lī ra...(_But I do those things..._), Jojena Reed and I braid each other's hair, talk of girlish things, one eve we even played with dolls, I did it to humor her, she is younger than I am. Zūgagon daor, iksan daor laodigon hen issare riña."  
(_Fear not, I am not being robbed of my childhood._) "Good. Your mother and I... our childhood was not what it could have been. Yours must be.  
That is what I want and that is what I will give to you."

Lyanna left for the Armory where she was to practice swordplay with her aunt. Jon went in the other direction, to maester's turret.  
It was raining again, though it was more of a steady drizzle. He didn't bother to cover his head as he walked across the courtyard. Jon was pleased. Castle was well provided, though his whole being spoke against prolonged siege. Four hundred Karhold men that were now camping beneath the walls as they were not trusted enough to be allowed inside Winterfell may turn cloak again and many of the houses that declared for Lyanna could waver as well. He wholly trusted in Hornwoods and Manderlys, every other noble family of the North could run back to Sansa proving how they repent for breaking faith by sending their swords against Lyanna. Jon firmly intended to end this fight with Sansa as quickly as possible.  
That was on his mind as he climbed up the winding stairs of small circular tower that emerged from the western castle wall.  
He has found Wolkan in ravenry, feeding the birds. "Your Grace..." he spoke, surprised to see Jon "...you honor me with your presence, if you prefer to wait in my chambers below till I am done..." "No need, maester, I've been around ravens in Castle Black. As steward I've fed maester Aemon's ravens many times." Wolkan nodded: "One of wisest maesters that have ever lived. A kinsman of Your Grace." "Indeed he was. I wish I've known that when he was still alive." Jon gazed at the cages with ravens who were eating meat given to them by Wolkan. "What are you feeding them with?" "Butcher provides me with what doesn't end on the plates... beef, mutton, rabbit, even venison now and then..."  
"Good..." Jon said "...ravens must be well fed otherwise it takes them much longer to fly with messages. Yet, these weren't in the sky recently, right? Their feathers are dry and we have rain for almost a sennight now." "Indeed, Your Grace, last few days no messages were sent..."  
"And yet, this one here..." Jon pointed at female in the cage he was standing next to "...has flown in recently. Bird was in the rain, maester."  
Wolkan looked at him, it was plain he was caught in lying. "Your Grace, I..." "If one were to say this bird has seen the roofs of Barrowton on the morrow of this day, would you deny that and call him a liar?" "No. I would not." man in black robes answered with voice of defeat.  
"I guess there is a certain courage in sending messages to my sister before the very eyes of your queen and myself. And my sister Arya. She is very fond of Lyanna, you know. She's killed many men for her thus far. And you may be certain, Arya would have no issue in killing a maester."  
"Your Grace, I wished no harm for Queen Lyanna.. it is that..." Jon leaned on the cages, his sword hand on the hilt of Longclaw.

"It is that Sansa must have ordered you to remain here and to spy on us for her. Sansa is a good learner, maester."  
As Wolkan was left with no words, Jon continued: "Aye, she has learned from the slyest players of the game of thrones, many years ago in King's Landing. There was Pycelle, a grand maester, you know of him, right?" Man of white trimmed beard nodded. "Pycelle survived five kings, from Aegon the Fifth to Joffrey. And yet, for all that time his allegiance was not with the crown, but with House Lannister. Sansa learned from that example well, making you her Pycelle. Your loyalty is not with House Stark nor with Winterfell, it is with Sansa. And do not insult me with your denial." Maester sighed deeply. Then he looked Jon straight in the eyes: "I will not. I admit. My allegiance is with Her Grace, Sansa of House Stark. She is the true Queen in the North." "Even if that same North renounced her?" "Schemery should not be tool of making monarchs." Jon shook his head: "And what is queen you faithfully serve doing but schemes?" "Queen Sansa is a Stark. Only a Stark has right to rule in Winterfell."  
His eyes narrowed: "My daughter is of Stark blood same as I am. Lyanna is true heir and will be true Queen in the North."  
"She is a Targaryen. Same as you are. You weren't before, all those years ago when Northerners chose you as our king, but now you act,  
even sound as one. You are blood of the dragon. Your place is not here. Nor is your daughter's."  
Jon felt sudden urge to draw out his Valyrian sword and cut off this man's head, he grasped the hilt with white wolf's head tightly, his eyes killing Wolkan where he stood. As rage has passed, he replied calmly: "I am dragon's blood indeed. And wolf's blood. Both beasts would tear  
in shreds anyone who threatens their young. Your actions were in favor of those who threaten my child. I should kill you where you stand.  
But, I will not." Wolkan nodded: "I will go to the dungeons myself. I fear not of chains. Wearing chain is what I am."  
"An arrogant man, that is who you are. You've told me and my daughter of passages built by Sansa beneath Winterfell for us to believe that you're loyal. Yet, only two passages you have mentioned. And I know Sansa well enough that she would not have masons brought all the way from Braavos to dig her only two tunnels. You gave away two to trick us, but there are more than two. One is surely close to the North Gate."  
Maester was silent, his head lowered. "I ask not of you to confirm me. I'll find it myself. Unlike you, maester, I grew up here. Underground of Winterfell can't hide secrets from me for too long. What you will do is write a message to Barrowton, one that will invite Sansa to attack the North Gate." "And should I refuse?" he asked defiantly. "Then you will spend a lot of hours with Arya Stark. Though, I doubt you'll endure more than one or two. Be wise, maester, writing few lines on the parchment will cost you nothing. And when all this is done, you will be allowed to run to Citadel, with your head on your shoulders. You may dwell upon it, locked in the dungeons. I would allow you to remain here, even, but I fear your loyalty to Sansa could lead you into taking poison." Wolkan said nothing, only let out one more sigh before walking down the stairs with tip of Longclaw pointed at his back.

Sansa rode ahead of the long column of horse and foot that advanced up the Kingsroad. White banners with grey direwolf were flying high as wind blew from the south, sending large, dark clouds north. They will unload their watery cargo somewhere in the Gift, over Queenscrown or Mole's Town. She tried not to think of those places, but she could not. Defeat there lead her to this day. Day when she had to ride with an army, given to her by another kingdom, to take back what was rightfully hers, what she worked for ever since she escaped from Ramsay Bolton. Winterfell was hers, North was hers. It was she who brought victory in the Battle of the Bastards, it was she who knew what tyrannical madness lies behind silver-hair and violet eyes, it was she who would never surrender Northern crown for anything and she did not even when her brother was made king of all Westeros. North was her kingdom, her making, her child. And now, thieves came from the east to take it from her. Thieves in shape of a man who was her once half-brother, cousin in truth, and his daughter, one he sired with his father's little sister. Targaryens came to steal North from her. No matter how much Stark blood they had. They were thieves. With them came her estranged sister, long lost to her in many ways than one. She was alone. The last of the Starks. Of the true Starks. That is how she saw herself. Defender of her family's legacy. And maker of her own.  
She has punished one traitor already. House Karstark was finally gone. Elric was last of them. Karhold will be given to those loyal to her, one of the smaller lords same as Hornwood, same as White Harbor, as Torrhen's Square, as Deepwood Motte. Once she is done with traitors, Kingdom of the North will be so changed it will bear no likeness to the state in which is now.

"Your Grace... we are near!" Ser Culler Tarwick informed her as walls of Winterfell appeared in the distance before them.  
"Good." answered woman of auburn hair in black dress and leather jerkin with silver head of direwolf pinned at her left chest.  
"It would be wise to don your armor now, my queen." he advised. "When we come before my home. Then I will put it on. You will send part of our men to attack the North Gate?" "I will, the moment we encircle the castle. If this message you've received is true, you will be back on your throne before sundown, Your Grace." Sansa nodded while her eyes were as glued to the great keep which was still miles away. "My queen, may I offer you this?" Ser Culler asked. She looked at the object in his hand. "A far-eye as most would say, though late maester Luwin more oft called it telescope. Thank you, Ser." She took the stretched bronze tube and looked through its glass lenses. Castle was much closer to her eyes now, she could see people walking on the battlements and banners on the walls and towers. Gray cloth with white direwolf.  
"Dragonspawn has inverted my family's colors... mocking my house even with that. Well, mockery ends today."  
"It does, Your Grace." Ser Culler agreed. "When we arrive before Winterfell and my tent is set, I wish to see Ser Brienne and you." "Your wish is my command, my queen." "I will retire to the rear now, where my advisers are." Sansa said and turned her horse down the marching column.  
One hour later, more than six thousand swords and spears encircled Winterfell. Most of Winter Town was inside that circle of siege as well, but Culler placed his command in the stone house that was on the southernmost edge of town. Ser Brienne was already there, drying herself next to hearth. She was not wearing the attire of Kingsguard but brown leather boots, grey breeches, dark leather gambeson over which she put black armor. Around her waist was a red leather belt on which scabbard with Oathkeeper hang. "Ser Brienne, I could hardly tell it was you. I'm used of seeing you in lighter colors." "This is what I wore twelve years ago, right here at Winterfell." "Mhm... that sure brings back memories." he said placing the map on the table. "I try not to dwell on the past much." she replied. "Neither do I. This year I'd rather forget. Little joy did it bring me." Brienne said nothing, her eyes were already on the piece of hide with Winterfell castle painted on it: "So, what is the plan?"  
"To attack East Gate with such resolve that will make girl usurper to commit most of her forces there while we take the castle by northern gate with ease." Sansa said as she walked in. She was now in knee cut woolen dress and leather cuirass armor of black coating. "Once our men are inside Winterfell, battle is over. Oathbreakers that serve false queen will not die for her. They'll betray her just as they have betrayed me."  
"Your Grace, should we target East Gate with trebuchets?" Culler asked. "Will that add to our ruse?" Southern knight nodded.  
"Then do it. Let the girl usurper see this is no game child should be playing."

"And so it has come to pass that Stark attacks Winterfell with Southron army." Arya said looking from the walls at the besiegers.  
Even if no banner other than white with gray wolf could be seen, it was plain this was no Northern army. Colors these soldiers wore were more vivid. Red, green, yellow, blue... be it in single color or two or three combined overcoats of men, on foot or mounted, were colors of southern noble houses, great or small. "I've attacked Winterfell with army of wildlings." Jon replied, standing next to her. "You had Mormonts and Hornwoods with you." "And she has Dustins and Ryswells." "You fought to place Stark banner back in Winterfell. She does not."  
"Well, our banners are no longer the same, Arya." Jon said. "I am glad for that. It would make great confusion when battle starts." Arya smirked.  
"Aye. It will start soon..." he agreed "...otherwise six thousand men marched from Barrowton to here in vain."  
"Father, aunt Arya..." Lyanna said as she climbed up the battlements. Girl queen wore black leather boots, dark-grey breeches, chainmail hauberk that reached her knees. Over it was brestplate and shoulder armor. Needle hung from her waist, arrow bag and Dothraki double-curved bow were on her back, in her left hand she had a shield, one that made both Jon and Arya to look. On it, on the upper half, white direwolf with red eyes was painted on grey field, next to it was Targaryen three-headed red dragon on black. Lower half was coated crimson with blue winter rose in the middle. Arya smiled: "So, you have made your own sigil." "I have." Lya replied. "Blue rose..." Jon noted.  
"My name is Lyanna, same as her and that was crown grandpapa gave her. Crown of blue roses."  
"You should not be here, Lya." Jon said. "Then you should have taught me otherwise, father." Arya chuckled. "All right, you may remain here. Should things turn for the worse, you will return to Great Keep with your personal escort." Jon said. "Where is your betrothed?" came from her aunt.  
"On the North Gate. He insisted to be there, to keep eye on the Karhold men." Arya frowned: "Well, I hope that they'll charge there.  
If not, four hundred men are hiding in Winter Town for nothing. Archers, crossbowmen, even those slingers you have among Freeflames."  
"We shall soon see how much trust our sister has in wise maester Wolkan."

"Down! Get down!" someone yelled at dark-haired queen as one more shot from siege weapon struck the walls close to eastern gatehouse, making pieces of stone to fly on all sides. It was voice of a younger man. "It is unwise to be here, Your Grace..." Robin Flint said as he came closer, his head and back lowered. "I am more than able to decide what is wise and what is not, my lord." she answered, not hiding how he irks her. "They are targeting you now, if you hadn't noticed, my queen." "The more they target me, less they target the gate." Lya hissed back. "Should they hit you,  
it's all over..." Robin insisted. She dismissed him: "Lord Robin, my father and aunt are gone to North Gate to help breaking the enemy charge, you should go there as well." "I should, but I was ordered to remain here." "Not by me." He paid no heed to her words as he was looking over the battlements now. "Archers, get ready, here they come again!" he yelled "The officers, take down the officers!" Eastern gatehouse, the largest one of Winterfell, was defended by men of Winterfell garrison loyal to Lyanna and men of houses Manderly, Hornwood, Tallhart, Flint, one could even see sigils of House Locke and Woolfield. Sunburst of Karhold was also there.

Four times besiegers charged at East Gate, each time following the bombardment from three trebuchets that were brought from Barrowton in parts and built before castle itself. Stone projectiles damaged the massive oak gate and break them open, but had no success against portcullis made of wood and iron. Still, attackers charged, shielded by volley of arrows by their own archers. They pushed a wheeled battering ram over which a roof-like cover of wooden planks was placed. After second charge, that roof was burning as oil and torches were thrown on it. Charge on the gatehouse was halted immediately and ram was pulled back so that fire can be put out. Not long after, trebuchets began to launch stones at the gate and walls around it again. "It's good, we've pushed them back again..." Robin told her, but Lyanna's eyes were on the North Gate from where sounds of battle were coming even through tumult around them. "I must go there! Winterfell is defended there!" "You cannot!" he said loudly. "You don't get to tell me that!" He stepped closer to her and nearly whispered to her: "If men on this wall see you leave, they might think you're fleeing. Can't you tell how much it means to us all to see you here with shield and armor?" Lyanna looked at him, then made a slight nod. Her gaze went eastwards now, to the Sansa's main camp from where trebuchets were shooting. "Their aim is poor... gates are large enough for trebuchet to hit portcullis..." "As King Jon has said, this gate is not the one they hope to take." Lyanna said nothing, instead she rose up and managed to hit one of enemy archers with her Dothraki bow which was greeted by cheering of men around them.  
"Young She-wolf! Young She-wolf!" Robin released arrow from his longbow as well. "I am honored to be fighting beside you, young She-wolf." "Then accompany me to the North Gate... this battle will be won or lost there." "King Jon ordered us both to remain here, my queen."  
"Don't call me that when you mean it not. Lords obey their queens." He was about to answer when another stone struck the crenellations they stood behind. Robin fell down, his head was bloodied. "Gods, no! No!" she shouted and was soon holding his head. Lord of Widow's Watch was lying as dead. "Healer! Healer!" yelled the young queen.

Angus Croft, captain of the Freeflames, emerged from darkness with his sword bloodied and crimson stains on his black overcoat that had Targaryen dragon embroidered on left chest. Behind him followed ten more of his men, all Westerosi serving in Meereen City Guard, most of them once of Golden Company. They have entered the underground passage that was built beneath the glass garden and leading outside the castle walls, many yards into Winter Town. Entrance into passage was in the glass garden, one that Sansa rebuilt during ten years of her reign after first one was ruined together with rest of the castle when Ironborn clashed with Boltons. It was known how she enjoyed having this greenhouse heated by the hot springs, where fruits, vegetables and flowers were grown. First garden had green and yellow glass panes locked in frames, but Sansa had this one styled in white and light gray, colors of House Stark.  
"Your Grace, they were scared beyond their wits once they knew we were down there with them..." Croft reported with broad smile. "Any prisoners?" dark-haired king asked. "One. Enough for what we need." "Have you told him what he must do?" "Aye..." "Will he do it?" "Oh, he will... seeing his companions die made him very obedient." "Good. Get him on the gatehouse. Strike him down should he do anything he wasn't told." "Yes, my king." Freeflames captain marched back to the doors in the ground whose outer side when closed was covered with grass and mushrooms. "Come on, you Ryswell fuck..." Angus said as soldier wearing black-bronze overcoat over his chainmail armor was pushed out from the passage. "Now, listen to me and listen well... you will climb the battlement and make that signal to your men as you planned. Don't think of doing anything brave or stupid, you hear?" Man, whose face was marked with great fear, nodded. "Good. These fine men will escort you there..." Croft pointed at six of Freeflames that were putting bloodied overcoats worn by enemies they've just killed beneath the ground.

Ryden Inmain was leaned on the turned over wagon, left on the muddy way that lead through this part of Winter Town to North Gate of Stark castle. His horse was tied to the wagon. Ryden, same as nearly six hundred men around him waited, their swords, spears, axes ready. One third of them were mounted. From where he was standing, Ryden could see how stone projectiles, some burning, slam into main gate of Winterfell, one that lead to Kingsroad. There was main of the host with which he came before the seat of Northern kingdom. He was ordered here, before gate that was turned north. His eyes went from defenders on the walls, though he could see only their helmets and spears as they were hiding behind crenelated battlements. Further behind were treetops, coated in scarlet and gold or dark-green, save one whose branches were covered in red leaves. He saw a tree like that in Barrowton. Weirwood. Tree of Northern gods. Old gods. Forest demons, as septon in his village in Westerlands would say. He was not a godly man, barely observing the Seven, unlike the man mounted on dun courser few yards behind him. All Barret Weaver wanted was to get this Winterfell campaign over with so he could return home. Or south of the Neck at least. He was a devout believer in Seven and North for him was a heathen land of strange folk with strange accents, strange ways, strange food, strange weather and strange gods. Ryden had no enmity towards this land. He saw it as a chance for new beginning. Dorne was to be such chance, but all the news that were now coming from the other end of the continent were bad. Royal army was now on the run and Ryden was very pleased that he was ferried from the mouth of Brimstone river and that he was now here, before the walls of castle of Stark queen. There were two of them now, a woman and a girl, fighting for the Northern crown. Ryden wished for a woman to win. That could give him a title of lesser lord with land and holdfast of his own.  
What stood between him and that future was this battle...  
Sudden commotion on the walls above the gate drew his attention and ended his pondering. He saw men falling down as others were rushing at the battlements, even as far as he was, he could tell they were in colors of his allies, House Ryswell. One of them climbed the crenellations and tore down the grey cloth with white wolf from the pole, he waved with it three times and then threw it over the walls in the mud. A signal. "Wake up, Barret! Now we charge! The castle is breached!" he said to his brother in arms while all around him orders for charge were shouted. Soon, five hundred men was riding or running up the muddy street, tasked to enter the castle and hold North Gate wide open for the rest of their host to march in Winterfell.

And they charged, for few dozen yards they charged. Until they saw North Gate open and men in clothes of orange coating with brown moose sigil coming out with large shields and long spears barring their entry. Roofs of the houses on both sides of the street became alive as well with bowmen wearing black with white sunburst. Barret's horse was killed under him soon after, when first volley of bolts and arrows came. Ryden was of better luck and he managed to charge at the Hornwood pikemen, yet in vain. He was soon unhorsed when spear was thrown at him from the walls. He ended on his back in the mud and as he was getting back on his feet, it seemed to him as men of Karhold, once allied with the queen he served, were pouring in from all sides in dozens. He grabbed his shield and began running away from the gate.

Ser Culler Tarwick cursed aloud, not minding that he was in the presence of a queen, but after sharp gaze he got from Ser Brienne of Tarth he uttered a humble apology. "I will act as this profanity has not left your mouth, my lord. What I would like to hear coming from you is what shall we do now..." Sansa spoke coldly, yet with traces of her being shaken by failure to take Winterfell using underground passage and North Gate. "Your Grace, it appears your maester has either betrayed you or he was forced to betray you. It matters not, what matters is that we were repelled at great cost. Nearly half of men that charged to that gate did not return to camp. I doubt many of them are still living. Those were Karstark men that came at them from the flanks, hiding as cravens in the houses of that shadow town. They seek blood for blood and they have got it." Sansa smirked: "Justice for a many times turncloak and raper... Still, answer my question. What do we do now?" Culler nodded: "We still have the numbers, more than enough to take Winterfell. Yet, it demands more time. The East Gate is reduced to a portcullis and it could be taken down by a battering ram... what I propose is to set Hunter's Gate on fire, as you've told me there is no portcullis there. Once wooden gate is burned down, we charge with our cavalry in full strength, with armored knights leading." "Hm... well thought, but they could put the fire out before it consumes the gate." "They could, but I will place many archers there to strike down anyone with even a cup of water." "Good. Though it will take many hours for ironwood gates to burn. I know how thick they are, Ser." red-haired woman said. "I intend to set all gates on fire, Your Grace.  
To make them guess which one shall we charge next." She nodded before leaving the house where command of her army was.  
She was outside now, escorted by ten Winterfell guards who came to Barrowton with her. Setting sun painted the half-cloudy sky with colors of amber and blood-red. All was quiet now. The camp of besieging army where only barking of dogs broke the silence, same as the besieged castle. Torches were now lit at the battlements and soldiers on the walls were now shadows, dark, long and menacing. Evening breeze made the large banner above the East Gate to flutter. White red-eyed direwolf seemed to sneer at her, reminding her of the shame she suffered when her throne was taken from her, of treason and plot.  
Then came comfort in notion how usurper will soon be kneeling before her, pleading for mercy. Sansa knew her brother in the Red Keep wants the girl dead. She had other plans. Dragonspawn in chains keeps the dragon mother away...  
A raven croaked from one of the rooftops and then it flew on a fence some ten yards to her right. Eyes of the bird were white, Sansa could tell that even in this vanishing daylight. She stepped closer to the raven, after she gave order to guards not to follow her.  
"Bran..." she whispered. _Sansa..._ voice was not coming from the bird, but as on the wind _...you must end this as we have agreed._  
"I am trying. Tomorrow Winterfell will be mine again."  
_Winterfell is not the true prize. Killing dragonspawn is... _  
"She was on the walls today, the girl... she will be tomorrow as well. All it takes is one arrow or stone from... though I don't want her dead."  
_Of course you do. And your way is not how you will kill them. You will ask for parlay and demand of Jon what he demanded of Ramsay Bolton.  
To fight for Winterfell and the throne the old way. One on one._  
"I am no fighter, Bran, I can't ask for such terms."  
_No. You're not. Ser Brienne is. She will be your champion._

"In your good time, healer, you might look at my arm. One of those Southron cunts cut me well before I planted my axe in his dumb head." Dalton Pyke spoke loudly before the door of chamber Lyanna was now. Ironborn insisted to be with men of Karhold who waited in ambush for enemy to begin charge on North Gate. She never saw him dressed as one of sons of kraken until today and in knee-high leather boots, brown breeches, salt-stained leather jerkin he truly seemed as another man, all his blades were bloodied and had no intention to clean them. "Why to clean something that will bathe in blood again tomorrow." he explained to wounded man of House Manderly who gazed at him with barely concealed hatred. "That Iroborn attire won't get you many friends, Dalton." aunt Arya warned him before the battle, but he didn't care:  
"It won't, but should I fall, the Drowned God will know right away I'm one of his. If I fall, send my corpse down any river that flows to the sea.  
Don't burn me here, as you have that cockless Theon."

"Wait for your turn, Pyke, I have to tend his young man here." Illeo Maegyr replied shaking his head before telling her:  
"Right now there are two maesters at Winterfell, not counting one in the dungeon, and he trusts only me to patch him up."  
Lyanna smiled before pointing at the young man lying in bed before her, with bandages around his head:  
"Kessa ziry sagon mirre paktot? (_Will he be all right? _)  
"Kessa, zȳhon bartos iksis qumblie se dōron." (_He will, his head is thicker than stone._)  
She chuckled: "Issa Jelmorvala, tolī mirre." (_He is a Northerner, after all.)_  
"Ziry vestragon naejot sagon iā sȳz ābrītsos vala." (_He appears to be a fine young man._)  
"Kirimvose, āeksio Illeo, ao sagon se sȳrje giēñatī nyke gīmigon." (_Thank you, lord Illeo, you're the best healer I know._)  
Volantene nobleman smiled: "Nyke kirimvose syt aōha rijagon, ñuha dāria." (_I thank you for your praise, my queen._)  
Illeo stepped out which was met by loud complaints of Dalton Pyke, leaving Lyanna alone in the chamber with wounded youth.  
Her eyes were on him.  
"How are you?" "Oh...thank gods...I can understand you... I've heard some strange noises before. I thought stone took my hearing."  
"Those strange noises, my ignorant lord Flint, was High Valyrian, language of my forefathers." He frowned. "You've never heard it before?"  
He slowly shook his head. "Well, that will not do if you were to be my friend." "Friend... all I say or do seems to irk you."  
"It does. Even as you fought at my side, I wished to slap you many times." "Why...?" he asked, his gaze was still blurry.  
"I don't know what to make of you, my lord... All you say or do angers me. And yet, it is good having you near." He smiled now.  
"What?" "Some would say that Your Grace truly likes me." Grey and blue eyes were as glued together. "I do." she said blushing.  
Next her lips were on his. She wanted to kiss him ever since he came to Winterfell. She knew it was wrong, yet she kissed him.  
And she let it last. "Lyanna..." he said when their lips parted.  
"No. Don't say anything. It was wrong of me to do this. A mind of a girl did this. Queen must know better."  
"It wasn't wrong..." "It was, Robin. Hallis will be my husband and I will love him as woman loves her man. I love him already."  
"As I said...he is a fortunate man..." She smiled: "And yet, my first true kiss was given to you, my irking friend. You must rest now."  
She got up from his bed and was to leave. "Lyanna..." he called her and she looked back at him:  
"Rest, Robin... with any luck, we shall have a lifetime to talk. This will be my home and you will be most welcomed guest." 

Lyanna stepped out on the courtyard, unsure if she was still blushing, when shouts came to her: "A parlay! Sansa asks for parlay!"


	91. TWO BLADES

_Winterfell, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

**TWO BLADES**

Half a mile away from Hunter's Gate of Winterfell castle they have met.  
Under white banner with grey direwolf came Sansa of House Stark, Ser Culler Tarwick, lord Roger Ryswell and lord Beron Dustin. And her.  
Beneath grey flag with white direwolf came a man she once knew as Jon Snow, king in the North, though his name was Targaryen now and he was king in the east, his young daughter, one most of the North now called their queen, Arya Stark, lord Larence Hornwood and his boy son.

_Jon Snow and his daughter are enemies of the Realm. While they live, Six Kingdoms are at peril._  
She recalled Tyrion's words before departing from King's Landing to Seagard. She was expected to kill a child if chance arises, for the sake of the Realm. She knew how wrong and vile it was to go after Daenerys Targaryen and her children in Essos. For ten long years dragon queen left Westeros at peace, hiding her new life, not caring for affairs across the Narrow Sea. Her king and his Hand acted first. To attempt assassination of her little girls and herself, was to declare war on Daenerys. And she retaliated. Through Iron Bank of Braavos she brought all trading between Westeros and the Free Cities to a halt. It lasted for nearly a year now and it was only a matter of moons, if not weeks when Six Kingdoms will utterly crumble in chaos caused by lack of money and food. Next, she used the turmoil in the Kingdom of the North to place one of her daughters to throne in Winterfell, with aid of rebelled Northern lords. What troubled Brienne the most, was the news coming from Dorne, news of thousands of king's men perished by dragonflame.  
Dragon queen has returned to Westeros and unleashed her beast on army of the Realm. It angered Brienne and brought memories of destruction of King's Landing by that same woman and by that same dragon. All of it made her to believe more firmly that Targaryens of Meereen must be removed from once Seven Kingdoms. Still, she had doubts of how death of a child will benefit the Realm.  
It was dishonorable even to ponder, to her. To King Bran and Tyrion Lannister it was the only way to ensure peace for Westeros.  
_Children grow... and with them their lust for vengeance... Daenerys was child once and all she dreamt of was conquering Westeros... it will be the same with her offspring, _ was Tyrion's reasoning. And Bran's. It was cruel reasoning, reasoning of removing Targaryens from this world, root and stem. Brienne had hard time accepting it, though there were moments as one when she learned of fate of thousands at Vaith river in Dorne, moments when her hatred for dragons was so that it would be no issue for her to kill them all, young and old.  
_Rage is no friend of honor, but cool head..._, her father told her once.  
Brienne felt piercing looks as Sansa's party was approaching the place of parlay where other side was already present.  
She acted in the same manner, giving a long gaze to all five riders under grey banner. Dark-haired man, dressed in black was there, at his left was girl of same hair, she was young with only first traces of maidenhood, her clothes were black leather boots and breeches, white knee-cut woolen tunic with high collar over which she wore black sleeveless gambeson with grey borders. Young boy with orange overcoat, mounted on roan courser, was at her left. He was of light-brown hair, of same color was hair and beard of man who was speaking to the boy while looking at Brienne. Fifth rider was woman of dark-hair in brown breeches, grey-blue overcoat and brown leather jerkin. Scabbard with curved blade did not escape Brienne. She knew that woman well.

Silence lingered between two groups of riders for a short while, though it seemed to her as it lasts for hours.  
Sansa looked at those under white direwolf sigil with utter mislike which she did not even try to hide.  
Then she spoke: "Jon, I have called this parlay..."  
"I am not the one you should be addressing, Sansa. Lyanna is the one you have to negotiate with." dark-haired man replied dryly.  
Brienne knew how much he loved Sansa once, as brother loves and shields his little sister. All that was gone now.  
What they felt for each other four and ten years ago, when she watched them reunite at Castle Black, was now replaced with...  
Brienne could not even tell what it was. Nothing. It was nothing. Love of brother and sister died and nothing was left instead.  
"Queen can only parlay with her equal. You're king, there in Essos. And a man grown. That makes you my equal. This child is not.  
I will not speak with her." Girl in black gambeson made her horse turn right: "Then this parlay has ended."  
Boy of House Hornwood followed while Jon shrugged and was about to do the same.  
Sansa' eyes narrowed before she was able to utter: "All right. I will speak to you... Lyanna Targaryen..."  
Girl pulled reins of her horse and gazed at her father's cousin: "Lyanna Stark Targaryen."  
Sansa nodded with smirk. When she was facing woman of auburn hair again, Lyanna said: "You may speak now."  
_She does not look as one of dragon's blood, but she acts and speaks as one. Indeed, she is daughter of Daenerys Targaryen _, Brienne thought right after she has heard those words. "Lyanna of House Targaryen, I have called this parlay for I have an offer for you. And your father."  
"That offer would be?" Sansa straightened up in the saddle: "It is a simple offer. You and your father shall leave Winterfell and leave North after you renounce your claim to Northern crown in perpetuity." Brienne saw how Jon smirked hearing this while his daughter remained calm,  
her face cold as ice and her eyes with glint, one that Brienne knew well, that was trait of Starks.

"Sansa of House Stark, pray tell me why should I and my father even listen to this offer. Lords of the North, all but two that are here with you today, have renounced you. You have come with borrowed army beneath the walls of your once home and you're attacking it. I did not steal your throne. You were unnamed as queen by Northerners themselves."  
"Betrayed. Not unnamed. And that treason brought you, an Essosi child to Northern throne. You do not belong here. Winterfell is my home,  
not yours. I have no issue of continuing this siege, ruining a good portion of my keep to make you leave, have no doubt of it.  
Still, there is a better way. One that will save lives and end this siege." "And what way is that?" girl asked impatiently.  
"Way that will save hundreds of lives..." Sansa answered "...way where one fights one." Lyanna chuckled and shook her head.  
"Do you take me for a jester... child?" "Tell me... woman... did you ever hold a blade in your hand? Ever in your life?" raven-haired girl asked.  
Now it was Sansa who chuckled, looking at Lyanna as she was a halfwit:  
"It will not be two of us fighting, but our champions. If mine were to claim victory, you will do as I've said. Should yours win...  
I will bend the knee before you, before Queen in the North." Brienne saw how Jon's eyes widened, same as Arya's.  
Lyanna acknowledged Sansa's words with a nod. "That would ask of us to name our champions."  
Stark of auburn hair made a slight grin: "I already have mine. Lady Commander of Kingsguard to King Bran, Ser Brienne of Tarth."  
Lyanna's eyes went to her right away and for some reason Brienne lowered her gaze.  
"You may name your champion now. Or before sundown at the latest. If you accept my offer."  
Dark-haired Targaryen looked at Sansa with defiance: "Oh, I accept it gladly."  
Brienne saw how Jon made his horse go forward: "And she has her champion..."  
"She does..." a woman's voice came "...I, Arya of House Stark shall be champion for my niece, the Queen in the North, Lyanna Stark Targaryen."  
Sansa looked at her sister letting out a silent sigh, but eyes of raven-haired woman were as glued to Brienne.  
And for a heartbeat it seemed as two grey abysses stare at her.  
"Ser Brienne..." Arya said dryly as she was turning her horse towards Winterfell, marking an end to this parlay. "My lady..." she responded. 

"Arya, what you have done was rash and stupid!" Jon's voice thundered in Queen's Chamber where five that were at the parlay have gathered upon return to Winterfell. His younger sister was leaned in her chair, disagreement marking her face. "It was Lyanna's right as queen to name her champion and you claimed that right..." Jon continued but she cut him: "...before you managed to. Aye, I did. Otherwise you would name yourself her champion. And that would be even more rash and stupid. You are a king, Jon. And a husband... and a father of four children.  
Kings do not partake in such fights." Jon countered: "Lya is my daughter. It is proper for me..." "...to be in her life for many, many years to come." Arya finished his sentence "...she is my niece. I've made an oath two years ago in Qarth, when I saw these beautiful grey eyes for the first time that I will guard her and her sister till I draw breath. And I intend to keep that oath."  
Young queen smiled at those words, but Stark woman could tell that Lyanna was uneasy. "What is it, wolf child?"  
"I have acted stupid and rash. Sansa angered me and I have accepted her offer. I should not have." Larence Hornwood, pensive as ever, said:  
"Your Grace, declining that offer would mean that you hold lives of Northerners in low regard, choosing battle over single combat. And Sansa would make certain our men to learn of that..." "Lord Larence... I want the lives of all Northerners, even those besieging this castle, to last as long as gods will it. But, I also want my aunt to be with me, with my children and their children." girl spoke and her voice trembled.  
It made Arya to embrace her: "And I shall be. Fear not." "Ser Brienne is twice your size, Arya..." girl said. "No, Lya, she is not that big."  
"They say she is the best swordsman in all of Westeros." Hallis added. "Swordsman? That she can't be..." Arya japed.  
"They're right. She is skilled with sword and strong. She could cut you in half with one blow." Jon said.  
"Seven hells, you should've told me she was Gregor Clegane with teats!" "Arya..." her brother uttered as a warning.  
"Jon, I have crossed blades with her, right here at Winterfell, when you were at Dragonstone and I was not beaten. We both would have died if that were a true fight." "That is of little comfort. And you were.. what... three and ten years younger?" "So was she!" Arya replied angrily.  
Hallis, holding Lyanna's hand, said: "I have seen her sword, Valyrian steel..." "Same as mine. My blade, young lord Hornwood, was forged thousand years ago by Rhoynar. In times when colonies of the Freehold were still friends with Rhoynish cities. Do you know how her sword was made?" When boy shook his head, she told him: "Valyrian steel sword of House Stark, Ice, after Lannisters have killed my father, was reforged under orders of Tywin Lannister in two smaller blades. One Brienne of Tarth got was named Oathkeeper. She gave an oath to my late mother that she will find and protect Sansa... and me... Trust me, all of you, I don't intend to perish by the blade my father wielded once."  
"I still think you've made a mistake. I should be one championing for my daughter." Jon told her in chiding tone.  
"You shall. But not this time.." Arya answered. "...this fight is mine." "We must talk of this. You and I."  
"All right, meet me in the Armory in one hour. Till then send me few or your Freeflames on the courtyard, tall men skilled with the sword.  
I need to practice. "

Jon has found her in the Armory, he had to cross the covered bridge coming from the Great Keep. Large room was warm, heated by two hearths and lit torches on the walls. Arya was in her breeches and shirt only, stained with sweat. She came here from the courtyards where she trained with four of the Freeflames, one at the time and all at once. It has tired her, but it was what she needed. Now Arya was pacing from one end of the room to another. On the Armory's walls shields, swords, axes, bows, maces were hung, yet many were taken off to arm the men defending Winterfell. She was trying on chainmail and plate armor and it was plain she was not pleased. "I need armor that allows me to move swift. I must be swift or I will not beat her." "How swift one can be at age of thirty?" Jon grinned. "Swifter than one who is six and thirty, brother..." Arya grinned back at him "...Ser Brienne is some nine years or so older than me. I have to wear her out."  
"I am not sure you can." he said sighing. "We shall soon know." she shrugged. "Lyanna wishes not you to die for her crown."  
"She's told you that?" "She didn't have to. I can see it in her eyes. She loves you, Arya. More as older sister than aunt."  
Arya sighed deeply, then she sat on the wooden barrel. "Jon, I was younger than Lya when father was beheaded in King's Landing.  
Since that day till my return to Winterfell three and ten years ago I've seen things, learned things, done things few men or women have.  
I wasn't your little sister anymore when you came to Winterfell from Dragonstone with Daenerys and her armies. I was... someone else.  
Arya you knew died somewhere... mayhaps seeing the Red Wedding, mahyaps in Braavos... then that someone else who lived for nothing but vengeance died as well... that day in King's Landing. What remained of me wanted nothing else but to move as far from Westeros as I could.  
So I did... For ten years seas of this world were my home. And then, in side alley in port of Qarth I have met a girl of ten namedays.  
Willful, stubborn, wild and noble. That same day I've got to know twin sister of that girl, gentle, quiet, calm and noble.  
When I heard who is their father... laugh at me if you will... but it was then that Arya Stark, one you knew before you went to the Wall, has returned..." She looked at Jon and his eyes were looking back at her with warmth. "...your girls, Jon, have helped me to find myself again.  
To be Arya, true Arya again. One that could love a bastard blacksmith who is now a great lord. One that was able to climb onto a black dragon  
and fly half a world away to find a broken man. On a dragon which burned a city whole. I didn't fly from Meereen to Antler River and back, Jon, to see you lose your thick Targaryen head fighting that aging lady knight. No. I will fight her. It must be me." After saying that, Arya chuckled:  
"Shite, now I sound like that damn red priestess..." Jon made two paces and embraced her: "No man who ever lived had a sister as I have..."  
"Stark being sister of a Targaryen..." Arya laughed "...now let me find my armor." 

When her eyes opened she was on the ground, on her belly. The mud covered most of her face, but luckily not the eyes.  
Above she could see nothing save dark grey sky. Her head and face hurt, under the chainmail coiff. _She broke my head..._ flashed in her mind.  
Then she consoled herself with notion that her face and eyes would be bathed in warm, sticky crimson fluid. It was not so.  
Metal screamed against metal as longsword removed the halfhelm from her head. It came down at her again, slashing the air. She rolled.  
She has found the strength to roll right and kick enemy's right foot with all her rage, bringing her down on her knees. Woman grunted and cursed. Soon they were both back on their feet, insecure in first few paces, but with firm grip on their swords. Valyrian longsword faced off with Valyrian curved blade. Both women were without helmets now, yellow haired knight removed it herself as narrow slit of her greathelm was of no use against agile enemy of small stature that circled around her.

They fought beneath the castle's western wall, next to Hunter's Gate. On the other side was godswood, over whose sentinels, oaks, pines, elms and chestnuts towered a tree of pale bark and red leaves. Same side that demanded single combat as mean of resolving the issue of Northern monarch proposed for fight to take place there and the other side agreed. This was part of Winterfell that looked on the wolfswood, only one to which Winter Town has not come yet. On other three sides, town has stretched its houses and streets in the shape of half-circle. Both sides agreed not to allow too large crowd to watch, soldiers defending Winterfell and those besieging it were ordered to remain at their posts, of both hosts about fifty were present of which most were Northern lesser lords and Southron officers. Those hundred men were ordered to stand no less than five and ten yards away from the fighters. Sansa came with Beren Tallhart, Beth Cassel, Culler Tarwick, Roger Ryswell and Beron Dustin.  
Culler's maester was also there. Lyanna stood with her father, Hallis and Larence Hornwood, Jojena Reed and Illeo Maegyr.  
Dalton Pyke and Artos Costayne were in the first row of Northerners.

Ser Brienne stepped out first, beneath white surcoat with grey direwolf she wore plate over chainmail, gorget and greathealm. Dressed so she seemed even taller. Oathkeeper was in her right hand. Arya came from behind the assembled fifty soldiers of her niece. Her armor was lighter, chainmail hauberk with coiff beneath cuirass. She donned vambraces and spaulders at Lyanna's and Jon's insisting. In her left hand rested the Rhoynar sword, on her right arm she wore Lyanna's shield made of ironwood with rim of iron coated white. Her face changed as she saw Stark attire on Brienne. "That I will not suffer..." she said to her brother "...House Stark has only one champion here. And that is me."  
As two fighters now stood before each other, Sansa looked at Lyanna and the girl made a formal nod which she returned and then both loudly said: "Begin!" Arya could see the mark of regret on Brienne's face, but it will not stop this tall woman to maim or kill her to bring victory for Sansa. Proof of that was longsword flashing as Brienne went at Arya but she met it with her shield and returned the favor with tip of her blade, slicing the grey direwolf on surcoat tall woman wore and scratching the plate beneath it. "Now those who are watching us will know who is Stark here." she said, looking at tall woman with a grin. Brienne smirked before her new charge, aimed at Arya's head, but she evaded it with ease and sliced at knight's swordhand from under, cutting the chainmail at her armpit. It angered Brienne and she made another cut and miss.  
Arya did as she planned, moving in circles around the bigger woman, slashing from underneath at her back, legs and belly. She moved fast and knight of Kingsguard could not follow Arya with her eyes, helm working against her instead giving protection. Soon after, Brienne took off the greathelm throwing it on the rain-softened ground with angry grunt. She was more able to follow Arya's moving now and met her blade with her own. Longsword landed on ironwood shield painted with Lyanna's sigil, leaving the wide scratch on Targaryen dragon. That made dark-haired woman to swiftly crouch down and hit Brienne's kneecap with pointed end of her shield, almost knocking her off the feet. Revenge came in another longsword blow, this time it was blue rose that was sliced off nearly whole, leaving raw wood. Arya fought in silence, with glint and menacing grin. Brienne grunted, more oft as fight lasted. Young queen's aunt avoided another looping cut from Valyrian longsword and then leaped off the ground slamming the point of her blade into tall woman's gorget. It sent Brienne stumbling backwards.  
That was one advantage Arya's sword had. Smiths in Sar Mell, thousand years ago, forged it much thicker on the top of the blade, unlike Oathkeeper whose tip could not deliver so deadly cuts. This slightly curved sword of Rhoynar was perfect weapon for Arya and that was plain in this fight. Same as longsword served Brienne when she smashed again on her opponent's shield, this time taking it off Arya's arm.  
This was paid by first blood drawn as curved blade kissed Brienne's outer left thigh.

"Arya is wearing her down..." Lyanna whispered to Jon. "Not fast enough..." he answered, looking at Arya's sword kissing Brienne's once more. Young queen felt someone squeezing her hand and she turned around. It was Jojena Reed and Lyanna frowned at her. "He is here. Watching." "Who?" "Him. The Thee Eyed Raven. I feel his gaze... You do not?" Dark-haired girl shook her head. "You're fortunate, Lya. But, beware.  
That tall woman... she is his champion. I've seen her in my dream..." Lyanna's eyes widened: "Dream of a shadow with shining blade?"  
"Aye. It can only be this... Ser Brienne." "She fights for Sansa." "And unknowing for the one that wishes you dead."  
Lyanna sighed when she saw how longsword caught her aunt's head, halfhelm flew off her head and she was in the mud, face first.  
Next her eyes were on Sansa and she could not tell was the woman of auburn hair happy or frightened that her sister went down.  
She was relieved to see Arya rolling swiftly aside and kicking Brienne on her knees. Fight continued.

Brienne charged forward, right at the point of the Rhoynar sword, which thrust into her breastplate with a shriek of steel meeting steel. Tall knight was at striking distance again and tip of her longsword landed on Arya's left spaulder, it did not cut through but strength with which this blow was delivered made Arya to go down on her knees, sword falling out from her left hand. With cat-like move she grabbed it with her right arm and slashed with half length of curved blade on the already bleeding left thigh of yellow-haired woman who let out a painful wail before ending on her knees as well. She struck Arya's face with her left hand, clad in gauntlet that made smaller woman to fall on her back.  
She leaned on her longsword to get up, her leg was bleeding profusely and she could remain on her feet only for a heartbeat before sinking to her knees again. Brienne's eyes went to Sansa and she saw her nodding contently. Arya was still on her back and Brienne crawled closer to her and now was towering over her. "Do you yield?" she asked. There was no answer, Arya's lips were bleeding and her head went aside to spit.

"Yield!" Brienne commanded. Voice came to her, but not from Arya. Her eyes widened as she heard her king. It was Bran's voice.  
_No. No yield. Kill her. You must kill her. She is my enemy._  
Brienne, still bewildered, looked at the Stark woman lying in the mud under her, then at the people gathered around them. They were all looking in silence, she could see frightened face of young Targaryen girl and face of her father who seemed ready to charge at her any moment.  
_Kill her. Serve your king. Kill her._  
Her gaze went over the walls, there was no wind, not even a breeze, but red leaves on the white tree were moving vibrantly, as whole tree was shaking. _Do your duty... Kill her. Kill that Stark. She is my enemy. She must not live._  
"She is your sister. I have defeated her already. I will not dishonor myself by slaying defeated enemy."  
Lady Commander of Kingsguard replied in whisper, yet Arya has heard her and frowned.  
_She is the enemy! Kill her. And then kill that dragon whelp!_ "No. I will not."  
_Do not disobey me, Ser Brienne. I am your king!_ voice boomed in her mind. "And I am a knight of Seven Kingdoms."  
Tall woman on her knees replied and slowly she raised her sword, holding it in both hands over Arya, painful yell of a child came to her: "No!!!"  
Valyrian longsword named Oathkeeper lingered in the air and she raised her chin high.  
Brienne's eyes were closed when tip of Rhoynar blade pierced her chin, she felt pain in her mouth before all went dark.  
Her last thoughts were of three men dear to her, all dead. _Father, Pod, Jamie..._

A heartbeat later thundering roar was heard in the sky above Winterfell, coming form the east.


	92. RHAELLA

_Winterfell, Westeros, year 317 After Conquest_

**RHAELLA**

"Cocksuckers... that's what they all are... cocksuckers." Barret Weaver spoke between two spoons of stew he ate from small wooden bowl.  
Freerider from Westerlands was sitting close to trebuchet and scorpion ballista which both were aimed at the eastern gate of Winterfell.  
Trentan Hill yawned before asking: "What are you jabbering about now?" and that made three more present freeriders to laugh.  
"Yes, laugh at me, you dumb cunt..." Barret hissed "...what I am tellin'ya is that right now them noble shites are on the other end of this fucking wolf castle solving their quarrel about inheritance in fancy way, with single combat while thousands of us here and hundreds of them inside are waiting to see which noble prick was first to stumble and shove his own sword up his arse... Fuck them all, I say." "Twats, not pricks..." Trentan told him. "What?" "Those fighters there, both are women." "Women? That straw-haired beast is no woman. I'd wager ten gold dragons she has balls twice the size of yours between her legs." "Have you licked her balls that you're so sure of that?" "Fuck you, Trentan, all right..." he sneered at Hill "...truth is these noble Stark shites could've solved all this with single combat the very first day. But no, hundreds had to die charging on this damn dark castle. Ryden would still be with us." Trentan shook his head: "Ryden was a dumb fuck who wanted to be noble dumb fuck and where of all damn place... here, in the North. Among these people... half of them look as bears have sired them with their mothers.  
Other half look as donkey fucked a heard of goats..." One of freeriders grinned: "I reckon you've told them that at North Gate when  
your arse shat faster than your legs could run. Your heels still smell." Trentan nearly jumped at his feet and pulled out a dirk dagger:  
"Tongue is much too long on you. If I see it one more time, I'll shorten it for you." Barret pulled him down: "Sit down, you fool..."  
Then he whispered to Hill: "There are three of them, you idiot, they'd carve you in pieces before you could even pull that dagger out."

Hill shrugged, still killing the man who mocked him as coward. "What happens when this fancy duel is over?" second freerider asked, acting as  
he cared nothing of his friend being at odds with Trentan. "If that she-giant wins and those who now hold Winterfell remain true to their word,  
our work here is done. They have to yield and surrender the castle, bend the knee before that red-haired wolf bitch and that is that."  
"And if not so?" "Then, all those lords inside Winterfell would dishonor themselves as treacherous liars, we go on with this siege and when castle falls, no quarter would be given to any of nobles inside." "Is that plain, ha?" man asked.  
"Plain? Taking this castle ain't a short work... not before we breach it." freerider next to him said.  
"Good thing then that lot of these Northerners may turn on their lords should they broke the word they've given." Barret told them.  
"So, it all comes down to that straw-haired bea..." Trentan was saying when loud sound came from far and from above.  
"What in seven hells...?" "Is that thunder?" man who mocked Hill asked, frowning. "It ain't no thunder... it's..."

Answer came through the thick, grey clouds. His scales gleamed even with no sunlight. Black attached itself to red across the huge body.  
Teeth as sharp and long as swords that could rip through armor filled the wide open mouth. Eyes glowed as embers. Wings that stretched leathery as bat's, stretched for many feet right and left. His tail seemed so hard it could break a castle wall as if it was no more than a toy.  
Roar came again, loud and terrifying.  
"Seven save us!" Barret exclaimed "Dragon! It's a dragon!" Trentan's face went pale, same as faces of three freeriders.  
Large winged beast flew over the encamped army made mostly of men from the South, causing hundreds to yell, curse and run in many directions. Fear, fear overcome them. As he flew near them, Barret saw a silhouette on dragon's back, he could not say was there one rider or more...  
dark wings passed over him too quickly. Dragon has soon reached the other end of their camp and turned about, letting out another roar. One of three freeriders, in sudden surge of courage, ran to the scorpion and began turning it upwards, its large bolt aimed towards coming dragon.  
"What are you doing, you idiot?!" Weaver yelled at him. "Come and help me, you fucking crave..." his words ended as a grunt when dirk dagger ended in his throat.

"That will make your tongue stop moving, cunt." Trentan Hill said grinning. "Why did you kill him, bastard?!" one freerider protested loudly.  
"For he'd get us all burned... do you see the size of that dragon? One bolt no matter how big..." Dark shadow covered the ground where they were standing, darkening all around them for a heartbeat. "Nothing can take this dragon off the sky." Barret said as he was grabbing his few belongings. "Barret, are you leaving?" Hill asked. "Of course I am. As far from this dragon as I can. If you have any wit left, you'd do the same...  
it's over, no matter how that fancy duel ended." “Where are we going? To Barrowton?”  
“Fuck Barrowton! Fuck North! I’m riding for the Twins. Time to go home, lads!”

Barret and Trentan were among first mounted men that galloped down the Kingsroad, some managed to grab their weapons, armor and provisions on their horses, others thought of nothing but how to get in the saddle and run as far from Winterfell as they could.  
Though their commanders hid the truth of what took place in Dorne from this army of Six Kingdoms sent north, wine and camp followers alike tend to loosen man’s tongue and it did not take long for nearly every man to hear how dragon made a short work of many thousands that were under Lucion Lannister, him too being charred corpse now.  
Sight of black dragon, whose shadow covered Winterfell castle nearly whole, made this host to retreat better than any command or sound of trumpet or horn. Almost every man on horseback was now riding south, small lords, hedge knights, freeriders, officers, all pushed their mounts in mindless race, not daring to turn back. They were closely followed by half of the foot; men ran down the road and through the muddy fields on both sides of it. Rest of infantry remained in the camp, as fear froze them on the spot, their bewilderment was so that they did not know where to turn or what to do.

Dragon made another overpass, it was lower this time and one of trebuchets was lifted from the ground, as it was made of paper, good twenty feet in the air, before he released it from his talons to crash on tents beneath. “Flee! Flee! You fucking idiots, flee!”  
Shouts came from one of the lesser lords from the Rills who rode on his steed from west side of the castle.  
A gust of wind nearly knocked him off the horse as dragon has returned to bring down two remaining trebuchets. Seeing siege weapons break into pieces was enough for what was left of the besieging army to run south as well, it was far from any common retreat. A disorderly, chaotic flight of men scared beyond their senses. Behind them, dozens of tents remained as well as wagons with supplies, weapons thrown aside covered the ground, while animals this army brought with them, sheep, goats and cows maddened with fear of dragon above tore down the fences where they were kept and fled into woods where none will last more than a day or two before wolves find them. Camp dogs run away as well, but most followed their owners, on foot or in saddle, in this escape of nearly six thousand men from the battlefield.

“Your Grace, we must flee! Your Grace…” lord Roger Ryswell was saying to Sansa who was standing beneath western wall of the castle she was born in. She was numb and ignorant of everyone and everything around her. She was so upon seeing how Arya lifts her sword with slight curve and thrusts it into Brienne’s throat and chin, killing her instantly. She felt the rush and joy of victory when her sister fell on her knees, forced down by the blow of longsword, and then ending in the mud when Brienne’s fist sent her to lay on her back. Sansa hoped her sister would yield to save herself, but she felt nothing for Arya. Not even when Brienne lifted her blade with both hands ready to deliver the killing blow.  
She could have shouted to tall woman knight to spare Arya, but she did not. Arya was her enemy now.  
Same as Jon. He was dragonspawn, she was dragonservant. Sansa was a wolf. Last wolf of Winterfell. Last of the Starks.  
Then sky thundered with a roar. Dragon came. She didn’t even lift her head to look upon him. Sansa’s eyes were as glued to Brienne of Tarth,  
still kneeling there, impaled in Arya’s sword while her dark-haired sister was slowly pulled out from under dead woman by Jon and a man who seemed to be an Essosi healer and placed on a stretcher to be taken inside Winterfell.  
“Your Grace!” Roger shook her finally and she was back from being absent minded.  
“We must retreat! You cannot stay here!” he was saying to her loudly. Of fifty men that have watched the single combat with them, not twenty remained. “Yes, yes…we must flee...” she said, still not wholly aware of what was happening around her.

“Sansa Stark! Your champion was defeated! Honor your given word and recognize me as your Queen!”  
Targaryen girl shouted from the other side “Or be cursed by the old gods and the new as liar and oathbreaker! Do you hear me?”  
She heard her, but had no strength to answer. She could not even tell how did she mount her horse and how was she galloping south now, passing by tens of men on foot who were running in same direction as she was. Ryswell, same as Culler Tarwick and Beron Dustin were turning back their heads to see if dragon was in pursuit of this broken, fleeing army but sky had only clouds above them.  
Beth Cassel was riding with this group as well, but there was no sight of Beren Tallhart.  
They rode down the Kingsroad for twenty more miles, for that long and more was their army stretching. Though it was not an army anymore, only thousands of men in armor with swords and spears running to save their lives. Ser Culler would bark an order at the knight or officer they would meet along the way, telling them to lead the men to Barrowton, but he could just as well be telling that to the pine trees in nearby wolfswood.  
No one paid any heed to what he was commanding. “We must rest the horses!” she heard Ryswell saying to Dustin. They came off the road and lead their mounts into the wood, west of the Kingsroad, for over two miles before they dismounted. It was about thirty of them now, along the way some riders of House Dustin joined them upon seeing their lord. All others continued their disorderly retreat southwards, caring only to leave North as soon as they can.

“What now?” Culler asked as he was wiping the sweat from his face.  
All the lords were dismounted now and sitting on a tree trunk, torn from the ground by storm that happened when most of them were only children. “What now, indeed...” Beron Dustin said “…our army is shattered. Shattered by mere sight of a dragon. And our champion was defeated.  
We have lost, my lords. In every possible way.”  
Roger Ryswell hissed: “Nothing is lost yet. True, this Southron host fell apart as it was made of straw, not fighting men, but we have our own men still. We can resist, in wolfswood, in Rills, in Barrowlands… same as Dornish resisted dragons of Aegon the First.”  
Beron laughed: “Dornish? You’re dreaming, lord Roger. Ser Culler here was in Dorne, let him tell you how they fight. Dorne stands as one.  
North does not. What chance do House Dustin and House Ryswell have against all others? You would fight in Barrowlands you say?  
Targaryen girl will send crannogmen after you and mountain clans should you defy her in the wolfswood… it is over, man. Can’t you see that?  
And… our queen has given word to kneel before that girl should her champion lose. She did not.” Sansa gave him a killing look:  
“Yes, my champion has lost. But you have seen dragon coming the same moment. Even with Ser Brienne winning, they planned to bring dragon and Daenerys Targaryen on that dragon to take the North. They lied, not me. I will never bend my knee to that girl, born in incest.”  
“Then what will you do?” “I will fight her till I draw breath… I will turn to Bran again, to Vale, to Riverlands… all are threatened by mad dragon queen and her equally mad family…” “Well, Your Grace…” Beron Dustin said with a shrug “…you will have to do it without Barrowton.  
I have no issue in bending the knee to dragons if that keeps me alive.”  
“That is treason, my lord!” Roger Ryswell shouted and grabbed the hilt of his sword.  
Beron grinned at him before giving a nod. One of Dustin men standing behind lord of the Rills shoved his spear in Roger’s back, steel tip emerging on the left side of his chest. Man’s mouth was soon filled with blood and he sunk on his knees, dead.

Short fight ensued with Dustin men easily overwhelming half a dozen men of House Ryswell, killing them all.  
Ser Culler Tarwick was sitting calmly through all that on the fallen trunk, men of his escort standing aside as well, while Sansa took shelter together with Beth Cassel behind a broad oak tree. As fight was done, Beron Dustin asked southern knight:  
“Ser Culler, do you intend to fight till you draw breath?”  
“Most certainly not, my lord, I intend to go as far south as possible. I wish to be at Fairmarket in Riverlands before this sennight is over.”  
“Wise man… that leaves us with you, Your Grace… or should I say… Your former Grace…” Beron sneered at her “…I think the best for you and for me would be to return you to your home. And your… family? Jon Snow is your blood, same as Arya Stark is. And that dragon child is your kin  
as well. What better way for me to prove my loyalty to the new Queen in the North than to deliver you in the Great Hall of Winterfell in ropes…”  
Sansa looked at him with disgust and then spit in his face all she could find in her mouth.  
He wiped his sneering face and then ordered the men who had yellow shield with two crossed longaxes on their clothes: “Seize her!”  
“No! You can’t! She is your queen!” Beth Cassel placed herself between them and Sansa, only to be beaten down by fists, sword hilts and maces. Some were kicking her even as she was lying down on the ground, screaming of pain.  
“Leave her be! Leave her! I will go peacefully.” Sansa yelled as she threw herself on Beth to cover her from blows.  
Beron then stepped in, hitting one of his men for slapping Sansa.  
“Do not harm her! She is Stark of Winterfell. Bind her hands, put her on a horse and be ready to ride back to Winterfell within half an hour.”  
Ser Culler Tarwick, same as about dozen of his southerners, watched all this uninterested.  
He was taking a sip from his waterskin as column of Dustin men with once Queen in the North was forming to ride back to the castle they were besieging that very morning. “Ser Culler…” Beron greeted him formally.  
“Lord Beron…” he returned the greeting “…how many times can one man turn his cloak?” “You did not move a finger to help Sansa now…”  
“No, I have not, but you seem to forget that she is not my queen. I am not of the North.  
You are. And this is… what… fourth of fifth time of your allegiance shifting…”  
“My allegiance is only to myself.” Culler nodded: “Good luck with the dragons, then.”  
Sansa looked at Tarwick with eyes of regret, as living looks upon the dead:  
“King Bran will see you hang for this, you poor excuse for a knight.”  
Culler shrugged: “He has to find me first. For now, I spit in all three of his eyes.”

Drogon landed on the west side of the castle made of grey granite. She never saw anything like that in her life. And yet, something felt familiar and close to her. She noticed how Muña's face darkened as they have descended from the clouds over that place. Winterfell. For her mother this was place of troubling memories. For her this was ancestral home. Home of her father, of his mother and her father and long line of lords of the North and Kings of Winter. She was in dark-blue breeches, white woolen tunic and grey sleeveless overcoat with white wolf’s head stitched on the left chest. Arrow bag and goldenheart longbow were on her back. Belt of red and black leather with Valyrian steel dagger was around her waist. She styled her silver-hair the way Northern ladies wear it, leaving most of it loose, yet in the back braided and bunched together.  
Her lilac eyes gazed down from behind her mother as dragon of black and red scales flew over the castle and came down on the host whose camp stretched from southern end of the town to its northernmost streets. She could see scores, hundreds of men leaving the camp and running towards the long, mud-stained road that lead south. _Kingsroad... this must be Kingsroad..._ It wasn't as she has imagined it in her head when she was reading of it. Road that one of her Targaryen forefathers has built centuries ago. She knew the roads of Essos, Valyrian roads and this one beneath dragon wings seemed as broad field path compared to those. Mother made Drogon to fly over this camp few times, he destroyed the trebuchets while tents were falling down by mere force of his wings as he was passing low over them. Soon, all men from that camp fled, leaving their wounded and sick. Those who could stand were waving white sheets and shouting their surrender.  
Muña turned Drogon away from the camp and the town so he could land next to western wall of Winterfell.  
When they came over the castle for the first time, she saw two groups of people standing on the field, next to west entrance, opposing each other and someone carried away on a stretcher. Dragon was too high then for her to see who those people were.

"Come, tala, time for us to dismount." her mother told her. She was in black breeches and knee-cut leather armor of black coating with red leather plates on the chest. Silver-hair was in single braid and violet eyes were alert. To her Winterfell was not home of forefathers. It was place where she was hurt once, place where she lost a dear friend. Daenerys was first to step on the ground and walk cautiously, Drogon's head was lifted high aiming at the men on the western wall who were awestruck by the notion on huge dragon merely yards away from them. One group of people has already vanished from the field. Other remained, most of them equally taken by the arrival of flying beast as men on the walls. Most, but not all of them. She recognized some men standing there, men that sailed with her aunt. She could not see her aunt anywhere, though. Nor her father.  
When her eyes met with boy in orange overcoat he smiled at her. "Hallis... it's Hallis, mama." she said.

"Muña!" She heard a voice that did not come to her ears for moons now and then same voice shouted even louder: "Rhaella!"  
Lyanna was running towards them from the western entrance of Winterfell, one Rhae knew it was called Hunter's Gate. "Lya!! Dōna mandia!"  
She shouted _sweet sister_ in High Valyrian as she was now running as well. They slammed into each other, in tight embrace, grey and lilac eyes were filled with tears, they stood so, without words as they needed no words. They were together again, that was all what mattered.  
Their mother was standing beside them, her eyes watered as well. "I've missed you so, so much..._Queen in the North_..." Rhae finally said.  
"I've missed you more... _Meereen's Delight_..." Daenerys joined the embrace, placing her arms around her twins, kissing their heads.  
Then she said: "Look, Rhaella. Look who is coming." Silver-haired girl lifted her gaze and tears went down her face once more. "Papa!"  
She parted embrace with her sister and mother and hurried to dark-haired man whose face glowed upon seeing her.  
"Rhaella..." was all he managed to say before she ran into him.  
"Perzys hen ñuha ābrar..." he said as she was in his arms "...my sweet Rhaella, forgive me for not being with you for so long."  
"No, Papa... I'm so happy to be here... In Winterfell, with you... my dream has come true... I wanted to see Winterfell for years and here I am..." she spoke with face soaked in tears. "Fire of my life, I'm so proud of you... my daughter, my queen to be... You're my delight, Meereen can look for another..." Rhaella chuckled through tears. Her father after many moons was with her again.  
"Wolves and dragons!" Hallis Hornwood suddenly let out a cheer. "Wolves and dragons!" shouted his father.  
"Wolves and dragons! Wolves and dragons! Wolves and dragons!" was now heard from those standing in the filed beneath the walls and from the guards on the walls. Rhaella saw a battle scarred shield in hands of a man who was called Artos Costayne. It had wolf and dragon and blue rose.

And when her mother saw that sigil, her face softened. What brought smile on the face of Daenerys Targaryen was Jon Targaryen.  
They embraced gently, but without kissing, that was not proper for king and queen to do in front of so many men.  
"Jon, my love..." she whispered to his ear. "Dany..." he gave her a warmest of looks "...two of us and two of our four children here..."  
"Three of five..." she said. "What..." Muña took Papa's hand and placed it on her belly: "Daeron." His eyes widened. "You're with...  
"_Aye, muh king..._" Daenerys aped his accent "...one more Targaryen prince grows in me." "We better go inside, Dany, for I wish to bathe  
you in kisses." Lyanna softly giggled hearing this, but Rhaella looked around once more before asking: "Papa, where is Arya?" 

Rhaella and Lyanna entered the chamber where Arya was resting on the bed covered with furs. Her face was bruised and lower lip swollen,  
her left shoulder was wrapped in linen bandages that went over her right breast. Her eyes were closed and she seemed to be asleep. Only seemed as she spoke without opening her eyes: "Leave me be. And tell Illeo Maegyr that I will not be washed by anyone, woman, man or child. When I decide it, I'll wash myself." Rhaella smiled: "But it is wise to wash your wounds, Arya." Eyes of dark-haired woman were open right away:  
"Rhaella?! Here?!" She went to the bed, same as Lyanna and soon two girls were lying on it with their wounded aunt, at her right side.  
Arya kissed them both on their brow: "My brave nieces... together in Winterfell... I have so much to show you, Rhaella, just wait till I get out of this bed. And to you Lya, you haven't seen half of this castle yet." "Illeo said you must not move your shoulder for few days. It's not broken, but..." Lyanna said. "He fears too much... I've been hurt and wounded worse in my life..." "I've never seen anyone fight as you did today, Arya" her sister said. "And still Brienne won..." Arya sighed "...I've got to kill her for she allowed me to..." Rhae frowned: "She allowed you to kill her?"  
"Aye... I was on my back, my sword hand useless, and she was above me with the sword... she could cut my head off or slit my throat.  
She did not... she let me kill her." "Why?" dark-haired twin asked. "I have to speak with your parents of that... but before I want to hear  
how one gets to be named Meereen's Delight. And, even more important, I want to know who is this... Alyn Velaryon..."  
Arya said smiling as she tickled Rhaella. She blushed when Alyn was mentioned. "My sweet, are you in love with this boy?" her aunt asked.  
Rhae nodded: "He'll be my husband. We're betrothed." Lyanna's eyes widened: "You're betrothed?! Already?? I'm not betrothed with Hallis yet.  
Now I truly want to meet this Velaryon boy, to see who is the one who stole my sister's heart." "I want to meet him as well..." Arya added  
"...and to warn him never to hurt you, if he cherishes his life." Rhaella looked at her in wonder, then at Lyanna who nodded:  
"She gave Hallis the same warning. That is the way of the North." Rhae frowned even more before she said in aped anger: "You two mock me!  
I came from the other end of the world to be mocked..." Chamber soon rang with laughter of one woman and two girls of Stark blood.

"I want to return Brienne's bones to Tarth. She deserves to rest with her father and her ancestors. She died as true knight."  
Arya spoke to Jon and Daenerys who were both seated next to her bed. Targaryen queen looked at Stark princess with thankful eyes.  
"You shed blood for my daughter once more, Arya. You risked your life for her. Three times you have been there for Lyanna. You're more than aunt to my children. More than good-sister to me. I want you to know that." Dany said. Raven-haired woman made a nod: "You are my family,  
Daenerys Stormborn. One of the pack." Jon was content to see his wife and his sister showing this much respect and affection to one another.  
It was not said with soft voices and watery eyes, but with firm seriousness. "Brienne had a killing blow. I've seen it, Arya."  
"She did. She couldn't do it. I've heard her... I've heard her talking. She refused a command." "Mayhaps she was talking to herself." Dany said.  
Arya shook her head: "No. Brienne said words _she is your sister_. It was Three Eyed Raven she spoke to. He was ordering her to kill me.  
He is watching us right now. I am sure of it." Jon's eyes went to the window from which he could see the top of the weirwood tree: "Aye. He is.  
Little Jojena Reed, she has the gift of greensight, she senses Three Eyed Raven's presence. She said that to Lyanna when you fought Brienne."  
Jon sighed before saying: "We must go to King's Landing. And kill that thing. He will never leave us at peace. If that is truly Night King in Bran's  
body he wants us all dead. All three of us. If Brienne had obeyed him and killed you, that would be his revenge, Arya. You killed him right here,  
in Winterfell. Or we all thought you did." Arya shut her eyes for a heartbeat: "Jon, you need an army, a true army, to march on King's Landing.  
You won't find one in the North. And gods know how my uncle Edmure will act. Same as Robin Arryn." Daenerys said: "Then it is a good thing that a true army and two fleets are to descend on King's Landing." "What are you talking of?" Jon asked. "Dornish host, more than thirty thousand strong together with banners of Gendry Baratheon will soon march on the capital of Six Kingdoms. From sea, fleet of Yara Greyjoy and fleet of  
House Velaryon will run the blockade of the city. Rule of broken king and of that traitor, Tyrion Lannister is coming to an end."  
"And there is Drogon..." Arya added. "No. I will not use Drogon against King's Landing." Daenerys said "Not this time. Not ever."

Rhaella placed small wreath of winter roses beneath the statue of a young woman. She went to the crypts alone following what Lyanna told her.  
"I have finally come to see you, grandmama. I am Rhaella Targaryen, your granddaughter. I look like grandpapa Rhaegar, but many tell me how  
I have Stark temper. Not your temper, my sister takes after you, but as greatuncle Eddard, your brother. He made you a promise once. My Papa,  
your son, told me all about it. I will make you a promise as well, grandmama Lyanna. I promise that I will never dishonor myself, that I will never bring shame to House Targaryen and House Stark. And that my firstborn son, if gods grant me one, will be named Rhaegar after a man you loved the most. This I swear to you by old gods and the new, by R'hllor and by goddess Tessarion. And when my son will be grown enough,  
I will bring him here so that he can make his promise to you as well..." Her words echoed in the dimly lighted crypt, among the pillars where dead of direwolf family were laid on their final since age of Kings of Winter. Place was cold and dark, but Rhaella felt no chill or discomfort.  
_I am Stark blood, these are my forefathers._ girl told herself as she calmly walked towards the ironwood doors of the crypt.  
When she was in the courtyard again, walking towards Great Keep, Rhaella could see how crowded Winterfell is. There were scores of men at arms in the castle and on the walls, folk of Winter Town were returning to their homes now when besiegers were gone. Everyone she met in Winterfell thus far would greet her politely and smiled, some even engaged her in small talk. Rhaella searched Ghost with her gaze, Lyanna told her that he oft would be in the courtyard, resting in some corner, but there was no sight of him. She has been in Winterfell for not more than three hours  
but it already felt familiar. Rhae decided to go to Lyanna's chamber, to sup with her and Jojena Reed, a crannog girl she liked right away.  
Rhaella know that Jo's grandsire Howland was there when Eddard Stark found his sister dying on her birthing bed.  
"Open the gates! Open the gates!" one of Freeflames shouted from the eastern gatehouse. "What is happening?" she asked loudly.  
"They're bringing her to Winterfell!" man in attire of Stark guards replied. "Bringing who?"  
"Sansa Stark! They're bringing Sansa!"

Rhaella was standing in the courtyard before East Gate when about score of riders came through, from Kingsroad.  
Thrice as many men were waiting for them with bows and crossbows ready and aiming, from the walls and in the courtyard.  
Horses trotted in, first rider carrying the large white cloth tied to a spear. One that followed held a yellow banner with crossed axes.  
_House Dustin of Barrowton _, she knew of Northern houses well. Then, a man in his mid-forties appeared in the courtyard and behind him,  
escorted with two soldiers from each side, was a woman of auburn hair, dressed in clothes of dark color.  
Her hands were tied with thick rope, reins of her mount were in hands of a man on her left.  
"Sansa Stark..." Rhaella said aloud and woman seemed to hear as her eyes were on the girl in grey overcoat now.  
Look she gave Rhaella was one of surprise, yet soon replaced with disgust and unconcealed hatred.  
_She knows who I am. She can't not. I look as my mother._  



	93. BLOOD OF THE WOLF

_Winterfell, Westeros, year 318 After Conquest_

**BLOOD OF THE WOLF**

She was naked, lying on furs next to a hearth which kept this chamber warm and illuminated. Her unbraided tresses covered her shoulders  
and breasts, but he gently moved silver hair aside so he could kiss her nipples. Moan of pleasure escaped her and she run fingers through his curly dark hair. She liked him better this way, with his hair bit longer than it was when he came back to her life. Or when he come for the first time in her new life. It mattered not now. Her eyes were closed and she let go, nothing existed in this world but sensation of lover's tongue on her bare body, touching most sensitive places. He bathed her in his kisses, just as he said he would. He did so every night since she came here. Her body arched as tip of his tongue met with her bud and she moaned louder now. Soon after, she uttered profanity in language of their ancestors... she never cursed otherwise. Only when making love with her husband. His head was trapped between her thighs while his hands caressed every part of her he could reach. Her hands were now grabbing the fur she lied upon, her body wriggled as peak of pleasure was coming, peak that made her shout another curse as her body arched as much as possible before sinking down again. Her eyes were blur but she saw his eyes looking at her, those grey lakes she loved more than anything in this world, save their children, children that all were fruit of shared love and lust, same as this night. "Skoro syt gaomagon nyke ivestragī ao pryjagon nyke lēda aōha ēngos?" she asked.  
(_Why do I let you ruin me with your tongue? _) "Kesrio..." he said placing a kiss on her lips "...syt ao hae..." another kiss "...ziry se olvie." and another. (_For you like it the most._) "Aye... I truly do." she replied. "I like when you say _aye_."  
She rubbed her nose against his: "I can't help it. I've married a Northerner." "Mhm... and you should know that your grandchildren by Lya will speak as I do." Her eyes widened: "Gods... you're right. Oh no... I can't allow that. They will be fostered in Meereen as soon as they begin to talk.  
They must learn to speak properly." "Do they now? I didn't hear you complain about Northern tongue a bit earlier."  
She frowned: "Jon Targaryen! You truly have no manners..." in a swift move she rolled on top of him. "Yield." Dany said. "What happens if I yield?" "You'll be my mount." "So much about manners. Even North agrees with your lack of modesty... and if I do not yield?"  
"I'll mount you anyway. But more roughly. Dragons bite and scratch, you know..." "So do direwolves. I do not yield."

She was lying at his side now, her arms around her, both soaked in sweat, resting on furs next to still burning hearth.  
They made love for hours and she knew it was well past midnight. She was happy. Truly happy. In Winterfell. Her being here for second time was slowly, but surely wiping out all those ugly memories from three and ten years ago. _In this very chamber, he could not disrobe me and take me as man takes his loved one. Right here. After that victory feast. And look at us now. Lovers, married, rulers. What Bastard of Winterfell and Breaker of Chains could not do, Jon and Dany Targaryen managed._ "You should be sleeping..." he whispered "...not pondering, not this late."  
"So should you." she replied. "I was asleep. Then I opened my eyes and saw you, awake with absent gaze." "Now I am looking at my comely, bare man. Is that better?" "Much better..." Jon said removing silver tresses from her face "...what were you thinking of?" "Of us. Us then, us now..." "Dany..." She placed finger on his mouth: "...let me finish, ñuha jorrāelagon. When I was brought back, when I was heavy with Lya and Rhae Kinvara told me something that I refused to accept then. How I failed to renew a dynasty with you, how we should have been as Jaehaerys and Alysanne... Now, I trust we are as them. Soon with five heirs, I think we have renewed House Targaryen..."  
Jon kissed her with such passion that she was taken aback. "You're my Alysanne, Dany..." he said when their lips parted "...do not ever doubt that. And we have renewed house of dragon, beyond even your hopes. "My hopes... For long time I believed to be the last one. That our name will die with me." "Well, you were wrong. Why do you think of that in this late hour... instead sleeping." "I know. It's foolish of me... but, there's a child in my belly and in ten days Cregan and Little Dany will have their first nameday. I feel as we're failing them, not being in Meereen with them." "No, Dany, no... we're not failing our babes. We shall go to Meereen on Drogon, to be with them on their first nameday. We must go. But, it is better for them to have absent mama and papa now, than to live their lives in fear for being Targaryen. They will never know how that is. Not with power that we shall pass on to them. Not with Drogon and Tessarion and..." "And?" Dany asked. "Well, you've told me this hatchling is a she..." "You think Drogon and Tessarion to have offspring." Jon nodded: "I do. Drogon will outlive us all, but he will die one day, in times of our great-grandchildren or their children. Our descendants must have more than one dragon. They can't remain with only Tessarion."

"They can't. But, we must be wise, Jon. You know what took place after Jaehaerys and Alysanne were gone." she told him.  
"Dance of the dragons... No, I fear not of it. Our grandchildren or their grandchildren will not fight each other for rule over Westeros. For there will be no such rule. I see different future for our five children." "Tell me of it..." she smiled, playing with his raven curls. "Each will have throne and land of his or her own. In Essos and here in Westeros. And none will envy the other. This is what I see for Targaryens of tomorrow."  
"And Stark Targaryens." she said smiling. "Aye... and Stark Targaryens of Winterfell." "Jon... what of Sansa? She is our prisoner for over a sennight now. Have you decided what to do with her?" "It is Lyanna who must decide. Same as she decided to hang lord Beron Dustin as many times turncloak even if he delivered Sansa to her. Same as she allowed Beth Cassel and her family to leave Winterfell and go to Barrowton, same as she let Beren Tallhart, who bent the knee right after Brienne died, to live in Winter Town as town's scribe." "Jon, we know all her decisions were made after counseling with you and me..." "And all those decisions were wise. She will be a good queen..."  
"You did not go to see Sansa, right?" "No. Arya and Lyanna did, the very next day she was brought here... it was not..."

"Mama!! Papa!!" loud shouts and banging on the chamber door cut him before he could end his sentence.  
"Muña!! Come quickly!!" Jon was on his feet in an instant and hurried to the door: "That's Rhaella."  
"Jon!" Dany said loudly "You're naked! Cover yourself!" He grabbed his shirt and tied it around his waist while Daenerys hurriedly put on her nightgown. He opened the door and Rhaella charged in, she was barefoot, in her nightgown and frightened: "Come, come quickly!"  
"What is it, my sweet? Are you all right?" Jon embraced her right away. "It's Jo! It's Jojena! Come with me! Please! Hurry!"  
They rushed down the hall to the chamber where their twins were sleeping together with ten-year old daughter of lady Meera Reed who became Lyanna's close friend in very short time and in even shorter time she befriended Rhaella. It pleased Jon greatly as Reeds of Greywater Watch were one of most loyal bannermen of House Stark, he was very glad to have that bond living in new generation. Chamber door were open and they saw Lyanna, kneeling on the bed over girl with dark curly hair which was shaking. "Jo! Wake up! Wake up! Jojena!" Lya pleaded, utter fear marked her face. "Mama! Papa!" she said as they have entered the room "Help her, please!". With two paces Dany was upon little girl.  
She was covered in sweat, her eyes were open yet she was not awake, and her entire body was trembling, it seemed girl was freezing.  
"What's happening to her?" Lya asked, terrified, looking at Jon and Dany. "She is asleep, her eyes are open but she sleeps." Daenerys said as she took girl's head in her hands. "We must wake her up!" Jon said. "Jojena!" Dany shouted and gently slapped girl's face half a dozen times,  
yet every next slap was harder as she wasn't waking up. Jon grabbed pitcher with water from cabinet next to bed and poured it over Jojena's face. Girl breathed deeply, as she was pulled from under water, she was awake now. Next she burst in tears and firmly embraced Dany:  
"It was him... he came to my dreams... he tried to take my mind from me... he hurt me..."  
Daenerys held the girl firmly as she rose from the bed, carrying Jojena in her arms, her head rested on Dany's shoulder, she was still sobbing. "Shhh, Jojena, it's all right now..." Dany was calming her, then she looked at Jon and he could see the flaming rage in her eyes:  
"She will sleep by my side tonight. In the morrow I want us to talk. I will not suffer this. Not this."

Jon opened the door of chamber where Daenerys and him slept since she came to Winterfell. Night before he remained with their twins,  
while she took little Reed girl with her. He was already dressed, in black breeches and overcoat of same color under which was dark-red tunic.  
Longclaw rested at his side, hanging from the leather belt around his waist. First what he heard was giggle. Still in their nightgowns, Dany and Jojena were sitting on the bed and his wife was braiding girl's hair. "Dothraki braid their hair after every victory." Dany was telling her.  
"But, I have no victory..." Jojena said. "But you do, you have won last night. Won the battle against the Lord of Darkness. And I, as Khaleesi of Dothraki, say that Jojena of House Reed has earned right to wear a braid." Girl smiled at that and clapped her hands joyfully. Jon was still at the door, watching them. "Here, I am done, my lady..." Dany said and girl of dark curly hair turned towards her: "Thank you for keeping me safe, Your Grace." Dany kissed girl's forehead: "You need not to thank me, sweet Jojena, you're very dear to me, as you are to Lya and Rhae. And you may call me Daenerys when we are alone." Girl was smiling, then she sighed: "He torments me for I have the sight, as my late uncle Jojen had...  
I wish I never got it..." "No, Jojena. Don't say that. Your sight is a gift. Is what makes you unlike everyone else." Jojena nodded. "Good. Now, go to my daughters, they'll be happy to see that you're all right." "I am going to them..." crannog girl said and hugged Daenerys before leaving.  
"King Jon..." she made a slight bow rushing through the door. "She is such a good child." Dany said as he sat down on the bed next to her.  
"She is..." he agreed. "That monster in Red Keep tried to warg into her, am I right? To take sway over her, he knew she was in the same bed with Rhae and Lya. If he were successful, he would use Jojena to... to kill our girls." Jon was nodding: "Yes. It seems that was what he tried to do.  
But, even Three Eyed Raven cannot warg into people who are thousand leagues away from him. And he knows that."  
"Yet, he tried it anyway. He tortured that little girl knowing he will not warg into her. You see what sort of monster we must destroy."  
"And we will. Bran, Three Eyed Raven, Lord of Darkness... no matter who he is, he dies. This time forever."

Sansa paced around the room she was kept in. It was not a cell in the dungeons, but not much better. Window was small, too small for any man or woman grown to pass through. Room had no furniture save bed, a table with one chair and a small cabinet. Outside, guards were placed. Westerosi men that came with Targaryen girl from the east. They brought her food, three times a day, in silence. She was not eating at first, expecting that her fate will be decided soon upon Beron Dustin delivered her to the enemy. Yet, it was Beron himself being sent to the gallows, merely hours after he bent the knee to Queen Lyanna. She managed to see his execution from her small window. He was cursing and pleading in the same time,  
but there was nothing he could say or do to escape hanging. Sansa smiled as he swung on the rope. One less traitor.  
Arya came to see her, together with girl Lyanna, on the second day of her captivity. She had nothing to say to her sister, even less to Jon's daughter. "I have no need to trade words with traitor serving a usurper. You may remain in this room or you may leave, but I will not speak  
or even look at you." They left the very next moment, leaving her content. She felt victorious when room door was locked again.  
_Jon's children are nothing to me, and if Arya were truly my sister, she would never side with them against me._

She heard door unlocking and one of the guards stepped in. "Someone to see you." man in black-red clothes said before standing aside.  
He bowed to a girl dressed in black breeches, dark-blue woolen tunic and grey overcoat with white wolf’s head stitched on the left chest.  
Girl's hair was silver. When their gazes met, she saw lilac eyes. Targaryen eyes. _Jon's other girl._  
"Lady Sansa Stark?" girl asked politely. "I am Sansa of House Stark, the Queen in the North." she replied defiantly.  
"Rhaella of House Targaryen, Princess of the Bay of Dragons." "If naught, you're a Targaryen that looks as Targaryen should look, princess"  
"You do not look as a Stark, on the other hand. Yet you are one." "What do you want?" Sansa asked impatiently. "To meet you." girl answered calmly. "Why?" "You are Arya's sister and my father's cousin. We are kin. Kin should know each other. Even when being enemies."  
"I don't see you as my kin, Rhaella Targaryen." woman of auburn hair said. "Same as I do not see you as my family, yet one cannot part himself from the blood in his veins and that blood tells that we are kinfolk. For that, I came to meet you. To learn..." "Learn what?"  
"How someone once so dear to my father and my aunt Arya became what you are now. A bitter, hateful woman."  
"Arya is not your aunt, princess." "No, in truth she is my cousin once removed, but she will always be my aunt for my father sees her  
as his sister." "Your father is your cousin as well, did you know that?" Sansa smirked at the girl.  
"I did. I know that my mother and my father are aunt and nephew." "I see that as incest, an affront to gods, old and new. And fruit of that..."  
"Cregan Stark married his granddaughters with their half-uncles. Are you about to insult our common ancestors?" Rhaella asked.  
"You're familiar with Stark family tree. Odd, I must say." "That is my family tree, same as yours." silver-haired girl countered.  
"On every drop of blood of the wolf you have, come three drops of dragon blood. You may adorn yourself with direwolf sigil but..."  
"But I am blood of the wolf. My sister as well. Tell me, Sansa of House Stark, if we're not true Starks, how is it that Ghost has bonded  
with Lyanna same as he bonded with my father when he was still a boy. My sister has wolf dreams, do you have such?"  
This left Sansa with no words, for a heartbeat. "What do you want, truly?" she managed to say. "I've told you that already."  
"Ah, yes... to learn how I have gone from naive girl to a bitter woman... I don't see myself as bitter. Or hateful."  
"But you are. You hated me ever since you've learned of me. Why? I have never done anything to you.  
You could have been to me same as Arya is." Sansa smirked: "Your aunt, you mean. Your other Stark aunt. One that would not teach you swordplay, but how to act as proper lady... how to be smart and good ruler... That kind of aunt I should have been to you and your sister?"  
"Would that be so bad?" Rhaella asked. "For me it would. Even now, when I look at you, I see your mother, the dragon queen."  
"So you hate me for who my mother is..." "I don't hate you, Rhaella Targaryen. I plainly do not wish to know anything of you.  
If only your father had never met your mother. If only she remained dead..." Girl looked at Sansa with a glint, very well known to her:  
"If only Lyanna and I weren't born... Do all your wishes include misfortune of others, Sansa Stark?" She did not answer.  
Girl went to the door. Before leaving she said: "I am glad we had this talk, cousin Sansa. I will strive never to become what you are now." 

Jon has found Arya standing outside the castle smithy which was right next to southern gate. She watched smiths at work.  
"Dare I ask why are you looking at them?" he smiled. "I am not here on purpose. Somehow I wandered before the smithy..."  
"Mhm..." he was nodding with grin. "I still have one good hand to hit you, Jon, wipe that smirk off your face." "I'm not mocking you, Arya.  
Winterfell was our home. No matter where you look, it fills your mind with memories. I remember watching Mikken how he crafts the Needle."  
"My first sword." "My daughter has it now." "She deserves it." Arya said. "You gave her Brienne's sword as well."  
"I did. Oathkeeper was made from the Ice. Our father's sword. It is only proper for that sword to be in hands of Northern queen."  
"You're right. Lyanna will love her new blade. What would Mikken give for knowledge of forging Valyrian steel."  
"Mikken..." Arya recalled "...Ironborn slew him for he refused to bend the knee to Theon."  
"Twenty years has nearly passed..." "Aye, brother, we're getting old. Few more years and we shall be miserable old shits."  
"We've been miserable shits already, being old will bring little change." Arya chuckled: "That is true."  
"I recall lord of Storm's End at this very smithy, forging dragonglass blades." Jon said. "He wasn't lord of Storm's End then." she answered pensively. "You should go to him, when all is done." "To be lady Baratheon?"  
"It isn't the worst fate one can have. Being King of Bay of Dragons is far worse." he said with chuckle.  
"I will go to him, Jon. I am tired..." Arya's eyes were looking at him now "...for the first time, ever since you gave me the Needle, I feel that I am tired, that all I want is to be in one place, at peace." "Arya, not many women or men in all of the Known World would survive what you have in these twenty years that have passed. Mayhaps not one." "Coming from a man who came back from the dead, these words have a certain weight."  
"You'll always be my little sister, Arya. I want you to be safe, happy and at peace. If place where you'll find that is Storm's End, with Gendry Baratheon, then go there as soon as you can." She shook her head: "I can't go yet. I will be at your side when we put the body of our brother to rest, the last what remained of that noble boy whose name was Brandon Stark." "You will be at my side then, but you will not take part in the battle against the thing which stole Bran's body. Your shoulder is not healed, Arya, and even when it does... your Volantene healer has doubts of you being able to use that hand as before." "You're not leaving me behind!" Arya said loudly.  
"You have done all you could for me, for my children and for Dany. I am not placing you in the van of this battle."  
"So... we're off to another battle of King's Landing." she sighed. "I hope it will be the last one beneath walls of that city." Jon said.

"When do you and Daenerys intend to go south?" "Not yet. Not before Dornish and Stormlanders lay siege from land and Ironborn and men of Driftmark from the sea. If all goes well, by the end of this moon, first in this new year, King's Landing will fall." "You hope to end it in twenty days from now." "Aye. City is lacking food for sennights, all reports say that no more than five thousand men at arms is guarding the city.  
I trust King's Landing will be in riots on the very first day of siege." "Daenerys hoped that as well, three and ten years ago. It did not come true and..." Arya said, her voice ringing with doubt. That made him say: "...and she unleashed dragon wrath over the city. It will not be same this time. People of that city will rebel against broken king and Tyrion." "People of King's Landing are cravens with no spine, Jon. Last time it were Dothraki and the Unsullied beneath their walls, now it will be Dornish and the Ironborn. They will not see liberating armies in them, but foreign enemy hosts. They could even rally around that monster and the Imp. Expect the worst from city folk of King's Landing and you'll never be surprised." He shrugged: "We shall see. Before that, Dany and I will briefly return to Meereen. Cregan and Daenysanne will have their first nameday on five and ten day of this moon, in four days. We want to be with them. Lya and Rhae will stay here, Rhaella wants to see even the darkest corner of Winterfell." Arya smiled: "Wolf in the skin of a dragon, that is our sweet Rhaella."  
Then her voice became more serious: "Jon, what will happen to Sansa? She is locked in that chamber for nearly a fortnight.  
I'm hearing all sorts of rumors. From her being beheaded before all great lords and ladies of the North to her banishment beyond the Wall  
where she'll be wildling prisoner for life..." "That is all horseshit, Arya." "Of course it is, Jon, but you know how Northerners are."  
"I know what will happen to Sansa. In a way she helped us in making that decision."

Jon entered the chamber where Sansa was kept.  
She was sitting at the table, eyes looking towards small window, the only source of daylight in this room.  
Her face was paler since he saw her last, from being locked inside the First Keep for almost two weeks.  
All else was the same. Her stance, regal as ever, her blue eyes defiant. Her face betrayed no feeling, as it was of stone.  
"Sansa..." he addressed her first. "Jon..." she said without looking at him "...when am I to expect her visit? All others have already come to see me.  
I assume she will be the last one, one that will tell me how I am to be punished for defending North from Targaryen madness."  
He sighed: "No, Sansa. Daenerys will not be coming here. She will take no part in this. This is a Stark matter."  
"Stark? You're not a Stark. You're a Targaryen, same as that girl you and those traitors from White Harbor have used to overthrow me, to steal my crown. Queen Lyanna..." she laughed "...a mummer's farce. I should have never made Larence Snow a Hornwood. I should have never trusted old Wyman Manderly. I'm paying for that mistakes dearly."  
Jon shook his head: "No, Sansa. You're paying for forgetting who you truly are.  
You're paying for not being a daughter of Eddard Stark. Remember, all those years ago, what have I told you, before I went to the Wall for second time. In port of King's Landing when we all parted ways... Arya, Bran, you and me.  
That North will have Ned Stark's daughter to speak for them. That you're the best they could ask for. And you were. For a while.  
Until your arrogance and all the things you have learned... not from father, not from your mother, but from those who were guilty for their deaths... have got the best of you. I've left you alliance with the Free Folk, you've trampled on it. Don't put the blame on Larence Hornwood  
or Wyman Manderly or on my little girl. You have paved the path of your downfall, Sansa. You. No one else.  
That very same day when ways of Ned Stark vanished from your heart and mind and were replaced with ways of Cersei Lannister and lord Baelish. Luckily for the North, way of Ned Stark, of generations of Starks before him, ways of harsh, but just and honorable rule will live.  
In my daughter and in her sons and daughters after her. House Stark will not disappear from this world.  
Aye, my children, same as me are dragons. But they are blood of the wolf. If you weren't blinded with your hatred, you would have seen that.  
Same as Arya did. She saw Starks in them. Rhaella would find in you, you as you once were, a kindred spirit just as Lyanna has found in Arya.  
But, no. You saw my children, your own kin, as dragonspawn. And nothing more.  
That is not Sansa I grew up with. That is someone who let Joffrey and Cersei and Littlefinger to defeat her years after their deaths.  
They've defeated you when you became as them.  
Arrogant, hateful, cruel schemer which craves for nothing but more power and more land and more people to rule over.  
Sansa Stark that was my sister has died long ago. I do not know who you are. And I do not want to know."

Jon could see she was shaken by his words, cracks in the stone mask of her face. He wasn't certain, but her eyes were as watery now.  
Once he would go to her, to embrace her and to comfort her. But, those days were long gone. When he, same as she, was someone else.  
"What will be my punishment?" she managed to ask "I will go with my head high before axe or rope. Be it on your hands, the blood of your kin."  
"Blood? No, Sansa. As long as you live, no harm will come upon you from me or my children or their children.  
I have committed a crime of kinslaying in my old life and nearly paid for it with my sanity.  
No rope or axe or death of any kind awaits you. I wish you to live to be ninety namedays old.  
"I am to be prisoner here, for the rest of my life, then..." she said, disgusted.  
He shook his head: "No. You will be free. To walk among the people. To work for the people who are in need."  
She looked at him, her eyes were now in wonder. He sighed deeply, taking long, remorseful look at her, before saying:  
"Sansa of House Stark, by royal decree of the Queen in the North, Lyanna Stark Targaryen, First of her name, you are to take your place among  
the silent sisters in the city of White Harbor. As silent sister you shall be shrouded in grey, with your face covered, save your eyes.  
The remainder of your life shall be one of prayers and good works. You shall bring solace to the living and peace to the dead.  
Same as all silent sisters you will take a wow of silence. You shall live in White Harbor, among the folk who follow the Faith of the Seven."  
Jon could see how she shuddered hearing this, but he did not care. He uttered a warning: "Should you ever try to leave the silent sisters  
and rebel against the Queen in the North or her heirs, you will be punished with removing of your tongue, before returning to them. "  
No word came from Sansa upon learning her fate. He could not tell was she silently sobbing or not. 

Before leaving the chamber, he laid his eyes on her one last time: "I hope you will find peace and purpose in your new life, Sansa. 


	94. TYRION

_Kingswood, Westeros, year 318 After Conquest_

**TYRION**

This was a large forest that lied across the Blackwater Rush, south of the King's Landing River Gate.  
Though to most of Westeros this entrance in the capital was known as Mud Gate. Once traveler would pass through this gate, to reach the kingsroad on the southern bank of the river, he had to pay a ferry as there is no bridge across. When he would leave the Blackwater Rush behind, kingsroad which lead all the way south to Storm's End would enter wood that also was of the king. Kingswood.  
Since days of the Conquest, it was sliced in two, with Wendwater river being the boundary between northern part of the forest that belonged  
to Crownlands and southern which was under stormlords. Tales of the Dawn Age claimed that kingswood was once one with the rainwood, forest that stretched south and east of Storm's End. This place was rich with game and hunt was good here, from hare to boar and elk.  
Forest was gods given place for hiding outlaws in its remote corners.

In days of the Mad King, kingswood was hiding place of Kingswood Brotherhood, a band of outlaws whose boldness was such that king himself had to task his soldiers to remove this threat, among which were knights of the Kingsguard, young Jaime Lannister, Ser Arthur Dayne and  
Ser Barristan Selmy. Smallfolk there took side of this brotherhood until Ser Arthur managed to win them over with actions that worked  
in their favor, allowing them cut down trees and even to hunt king's deer.  
Decades later, a song with which smallfolk celebrated the Kingswood Brotherhood was still not forgotten. 

_No man's gold was from them,_  
_nor any maiden's hand._  
_Oh, the brothers of the Kingswood,_  
_that fearsome outlaw band._

Today, axes were singing in this forest. That was not kingswood smallfolk felling trees, long gone was the brotherhood, the Mad King  
and Ser Arthur Dayne. These were men of House Wendwater, two scores of soldiers guarded threefold more of fellers. Banner with three trees,  
one with green leaves, one with red and one with bare branches lazily moved in light breeze. As tree would fall down, team of horses would pull it out from the woods, to the kingsroad where it would be left to rest, across the road. Timbers were piled this way, till they would be as high as average man, then works would move further south, nearing the Wendwater river.  
"What a waste of wood... One could build many houses, walls, boats, chairs... or burn it to keep himself warm, to cook and roast."  
one of the guards mused aloud looking at one more tree being drawn out from the woods by two chestnut coated workhorses.  
"Have you ever built any damn thing from the wood?" asked the second one. "My father was a carpenter. Wood put bread on his table."  
"And steel puts bread on yours. Not so much as before, but still both of us are eating more than these poor fuckers we must guard while they chop down oaks." "Beech. Them timbers are beech mostly." "I don't care if it's goldenheart from Summer Isles... truth is they're working for food, not for coppers or silver stags, for food." First man shrugged: "They're cutting down trees for food, two of us will not before long be cutting down Dornish. For food." "It's not the same." "How it ain't the same?" "Oak or beech can't cut you back..." second guard said.  
"No, I reckon they can't." "Two more timbers and we'll be moving one mile southwards." First man nodded: "From there we'll hear Wendwater flowing. It's good there was rain last five days. River flows strong, loud. Them on the other bank will not hear the sound of axes."  
"What in seven hells came over stormlanders to join with them goatfuckers..." second man wondered.

"What came over them? Dragon, some claim." first answered. "I don't trust that. I tell you, those dumb cunts, young lord Merryweather and that Lannister allowed to be caught asleep by the Dornish, they fucked them with swords and with cocks, to hide how dumb they were this tale of dragon burning thousands was told. Truly, dragon was not seen in Westeros for how long? Ten years? Since the days of that mad Targaryen bitch. And she is just as dead as damn Cersei is." First man's eyes narrowed as he watched another beech tree being placed on a pile and he shook his head: "Damn shame... Hells, I hope you're right, my friend, I was eleven namedays old when I watched the smoke over King's Landing, from southern bank of Blackwater Rush. I lie you not, ash was falling as snow for days. Ash. My brother japed that it were people of the city falling on our heads." "Not something to jape of..." second man said "...I remember that day too. My mother would scare my little sisters with that dragon for years, when they would not listen... dragon will come and eat you and burn our house... I tell you, it nearly made them piss themselves."  
"Dragon made men grown to piss themselves. My neighbor was with Lannister host when they were returning from the sack of Highgarden...  
he would tell us children how he soiled his breeches twice that day. First time when he heard Dothraki scream, second when dragon roared over him. He came home lacking right eye and ear and left hand. Yet, since that day he always thanked the Seven he wasn't burned." first guard told him another account of dragons in Westeros. Second guard nodded with yawn: "Time to go one mile south.  
I'll ride in the woods to tell them to come back to the road and get ready for march... Honestly, do you trust that they'll manage to tore down  
the Wendwater Bridge?" "They could if not harassed by those from the other bank. I reckon them cunts of House Fell and House Buckler will be there, mayhaps even try to defend the bridge. They're loyal to that bastard in the Storm's End. Errols and Steadmons...  
I'd say then don't give two shites for all this." Second guard lowered his voice: "I've overheard gold cloak captain saying to his serjeant how he has oil in the wagon, that his orders are to burn the bridge down if lords from the southern bank would oppose us tearing it down...  
and serjeant said that he saw greenish oil in the capital, in City Watch eastern barracks." "What..." first man's eyes widened:  
"...what you're saying? That those cunts cloaked in gold have wildfire? In their fucking barracks of all places.  
Smart as they're, first they'd burn their own arses off." "So, serjeant farts on his mouth?" "I reckon he does." first guard, carpenter's son replied.  
"No wonder he is named Fool's Tool." 

_King's Landing, Westeros, year 318 After Conquest _

"His Grace has issued orders that shall be carried out within next five days..." he said to Ser Andrew Estermont. "...Dornish host is massing on the Boneway in tens of thousands. They will march on capital within sennight or two. Gendry Baratheon has called his bannermen and most have answered the call, he will join Arianne Martell and add his few thousands to her troops. In the same time, whole fleet of the Iron Islands,  
over hundred ships is sailing to Blackwater Bay, they're in the waters south of Tarth now. And, our king has seen Velaryon fleet in Volantis.  
Lord Bael is returning home with more than forty ships. Hoping to avenge his kinsman."  
Master of Laws listened and made notes on a parchment with his quill: "Lord Tyrion, when one sums up all the numbers you've just said, it tells me that King's Landing is to be attacked by over thirty thousand from land and hundred and fifty ships from the sea. Forgive me for saying this, knowing the strength of our defenses, such odds seem insurmountable."  
"There is nothing to forgive, Ser Andrew, for they are so. At present. Yet, there are ways to better that. As you know from king's orders, we shall slow the Dornish advance to King's Landing, using the kingswood to our advantage. Along the whole kingsroad that passes through that forest we lay obstacles on every mile and even more important, bridge over Wendwater will be destroyed. That will keep Martell men on the southern bank of the river for good number of days before they build a makeshift crossing ... and that will not be liked by good number of Stormlands lords. So many men must rest and where will Dornishmen make camp than in lands of those same lords."  
"What of the road that goes from the ruins of Summerhall to kingswood, one that passes next to Fellwood castle and joins with Kingsroad and Roseroad south of Blackwater Rush?" "That is hardly a road even in good weather and rain made it impassable for wagons and heavy horse.  
I doubt Dornish will use that way to approach King's Landing. That means their main will march from Boneway over whole of Stormlands."  
"His Grace hopes that old enmity and mistrust could end with Stormlanders and Dornish turning on each other. That is very possible. Stormlands have precious little of everything to be sharing it, no matter my cousin Gendry's accords with Myrish magisters. Hardly they can sustain so many thousands of Dornish which will not be able to cross Wendwater for days or weeks even." Estermont agreed. "And with Dornish advance slowed down, that will give us a chance to harry their flanks and supply trains. Many of smallfolk from kingswood mislikes the stormlords, they will put themselves on our service..." Tyrion added "...twenty years ago I have done the same against troops of Stannis Baratheon when he was to attack King's Landing. I will do it to his brother's bastard as well..." Ser Andrew said nothing to these words, his gaze wandered away.  
"Is Master of Laws troubled with something?" Tyrion asked causing man to sigh: "...barely moon and a half ago we had victory in Dorne within our grasp. Now we are to meet their invasion of Crownlands and King's Landing... fate has played a cruel jape on us, my lord."

"Fate, Ser Andrew, has little to do with it. Yara Greyjoy and Gendry Baratheon have flocked to one they had allegiance with three and ten years ago.  
I was present when Daenerys Targaryen promised queenship to Yara Greyjoy, same as I was there when she made Gendry Waters heir of Storm's End. Dornish prince of those days pledged himself to Daenerys as well and Arianne Martell is following the suit. Together they do make a formidable enemy. Even without dragon queen." "What of our strength?" Estermont asked.  
"Casterly Rock can't give us any aid even if my uncle Damion would want to, he lost his son to a dragonflame and most of swords of House Lannister. Riverlands and Vale are ignoring king's call, Edmure Tully and Robin Arryn are cowering behind their walls, waiting out this storm.  
Lord Hightower responded, though, he managed to withdrew his host from Dorne with very small losses and it appears that his brother,  
Ser Garth Greysteel yearns still to cross swords with Dornish. He will arrive with two thousand heavy and light horse to the capital.  
That will raise our numbers to nearly eight thousand." "Dragon burned more than twice as many at Vaith river. Our eight thousand will bear no weight should she bring her beast over the capital." Tyrion nodded: "Indeed. Yet, she will not." "We can't be certain of that, my lord Hand."  
"I beg to differ, we can. She may be protected from the sight of our king, but those around her, those not shielded with sorcery of the red god, oft speak of her firm stance not to attack King's Landing as she once did. It haunts her, that day when she slaughtered this city. And when her nephew and lover shoved dagger in her heart. He was reluctant, even I have failed to persuade him that world is better with her being dead. Nearly failed. Her delusions were more convincing than all my talking. Jon Snow heard her mad talk and killed her.  
It left deep scar, deep mark on Daenerys Stormborn. Not on her flesh, though she must have it where blade pierced her skin, but on her mind.  
Pain, Ser Andrew, she feels pain each time she remembers that day. Be it for murdering thousands or for being betrayed by the man who was  
her only true love... Pain makes her to stay away from King's Landing. And that may just give us a chance."  
"Mayhaps it would be wise to return those six thousand which Ser Culler took with him to North." Master of Law said.  
"Of that and many other issues we shall speak with His Grace later today."

Knight of the Kingsguard wheeled Bran the Broken in Hand’s chamber. There was something inhuman in his features last few moons, yet no one dared to utter it publicly. It was, without doubt, face of last surviving trueborn son of Eddard Stark, but all else was different than that day in Dragonpit where he was named king of first Seven, then shortly after Six Kingdoms. Bran's face was always pale, ever since he came back from beyond the Wall many years ago, but now that pale has turned to color of ash and under dim light, it oft seemed to Tyrion that king's face has bluish glow, eyes most of all. He could not say that, even after twelve years of serving King Bran, he understood the ancient powers his monarch wielded, so he ascribed these changes in appearance of young king to price which one having such powers must pay. Yet during same few moons, Bran seemed more eager in matters of ruling than ever before and that pleased Tyrion. It was king's decision to send six thousand soldiers to Sansa Stark, his royal sister in the North, to aid her in fight against Targaryen onslaught on Northern throne. Bran played key role in taking Skyreach castle. That forced Daenerys Targaryen to use her dragon in Dorne, causing deaths of thousands and with that the defeat of the Realm.  
King seemed not very affected with loss of that many lives and failure to keep the Princedom in the fold. He was almost pleased that dragons have returned to Westeros. As he was relished that day of final reckoning was nearer with every passing day.

"Lord Tyrion, Ser Andrew, lord Rusell..." king said looking at each of them. Lord Merryweather was in King's Landing, his retreat from Dorne, though it was an ordinary flight from battlefield, was not held against him. He returned with as many men as he could embark on those ships that weren't burned by dragon and those men were now part of the host that will defend King's Landing. Young lord will not be among commanders now,  
all that Reach committed to save capital from vipers and krakens will be under command of Ser Garth Hightower.  
What Tyrion wanted to know was can the army under Ser Brienne and Ser Culler be returned from the North before city comes under siege.  
"I am afraid it cannot, my lord." king said looking at the map of Westeros on the table with little wooden figures representing raven for royal host, sunspear for Martell army, kraken for the Ironborn, wolf for Northern kingdom and dragon for Targaryens. He made a little smirk looking at Stark castle on the map, with wolf figurine still there. "It cannot... what, Your Grace?" Hand asked. "The host we have sent North under Tarwick. Yesterday it was broken beneath the walls of Winterfell and is now running down south, not as an army, but as disorderly mob."  
"My king..." Tyrion was surprised "...how can that be? All reports have spoken in favor of victory in the North, Ser Culler should have given Sansa an overwhelming advantage..." "And he did. She laid siege of her own castle, she listened to me and asked for single combat as means of resolving. But, then Ser Brienne disobeyed me and soon after dragon came." Tyrion, same as Estermont and Merryweather looked at him with their mouths open and eyes widened. Tyrion asked: "Was another royal host burned by her dragon?" "No. This one fell apart on the mere sight of Drogon.  
As we speak they are fleeing south. Nearly all six thousands of them." "How did Brienne allowed that to happen. And Culler..."

"Ser Brienne is dead, my lord Hand, killed by Arya Stark. Though it would be more fair to say that Ser Brienne of Tarth, Lady Commander of Kingsguard, refused to carry out my order and she paid with her life for disobedience." Bran said with cold, even voice. Three men at the table exchanged looks. "Your Grace, she was ever loyal to you, what might have happened..." "Sometimes, lord Tyrion, stupid notion of honor can be the death of duty. In her case it was... Ser Culler Tarwick, unlike Brienne, lacks honor and he has deserted Queen Sansa in her moment of great need. But, I know where he is headed and you will make certain, my lord, that he is caught there, put in chains and brought here. He will hang from the walls as common traitor he is." Lord Russell nodded: "He was no good in Dorne as well, Your Grace, and before that he allowed himself to be defeated by wildlings. A failure of commander, my king." Bran said nothing. He gave a long gaze to young Merryweather, before saying: "His men are mostly of the Reach, some of Westerlands. Those on horses will pass the border with Kingdom of the North within three days.  
You, lord Tyrion, will send ravens to Twins and Riverrun. Lord Edmure is not willing to send his banners to help us defend this city, but his duty is to hunt down deserters and deliver them here. All king's men fleeing North are deserters. All of them must be brought here, chained or not, to redeem themselves defending the capital. These men were ferried out of Dorne. Now they have a chance to finally meet Dornish head on."  
Tyrion nodded. Then he cautiously asked: "Your Grace, what happened in Winterfell?" Bran answered dryly: "Targaryen girl is the queen now,  
Sansa Stark is her captive." Estermont exclaimed: "That means North is lost!" "North was lost that very day Sansa asked for independence,  
Ser Andrew." king replied. "Your Grace, we all hope that capital will be defended from Dornish and the Ironborn. But, Realm will never be at peace with Targaryens in Winterfell and Targaryen allies in Sunspear and Storm's End. Those will be starting points for every new attack on us." Russell Merryweather told. "I assure you, my lord, our victory at King's Landing will remove both Arianne Martell and Gendry Baratheon from this world. That will throw both Stormlands and Dorne into chaos, one that will consume them. While in North... that Taragryen child will not remain there.  
A regent will rule till she is of age. As lord Tyrion will confirm, balance of power in the North shifts easily. Same as Sansa has, dragonspawn can lose the Northern crown as well. And unlike Arya Stark, Bran Stark has not renounced his claim to direwolf throne."  
"Daenerys will always be a threat to us. She and her children..." Tyrion warned.

"My lord Hand, even Aegon the First had to seek allies before the Conquest. I trust you have carried out my order of spreading the word of her cruelty among the smallfolk of the Realm in these six sennights?" "I have, Your Grace." "Is the city well provisioned for the siege?"  
"It is, my king, supplies meant for our host in Dorne weren't shipped there after the disaster at Vaith and Ser Garth will be bringing food from the Reach as well. Though, I must say we're not prepared for siege that will last for more than a moon." Tyrion reminded. King looked at him and then said with utmost certainty: "This siege will not last for a moon, you may be certain of that... Ser Russell, I know you've captured certain number of Martell soldiers attire during your time in Sunspear." "I have, Your Grace. They were sent as spoils of war to King's Landing.  
And some have mocked me for it." Young Merryweather gave a look to both Tyrion and Estermont.  
"Indeed, they have. Yet, those clothes will now be put to a good use. To create havoc from southern bank of Blackwater Rush to Storm's End."  
"What are your plans, my king?" Ser Andrew asked. "Master of Laws... my gazing into the past has taught me that it is unwise to fight your enemies when you can make them fight among themselves." Tyrion was nodding in agreement, pleased with his king taking this much part in preparing the war strategy: "Your Grace,even with Dornish turning on Stormlanders, there is still matter of two enemy fleets we must address."  
"And we shall. Ships will burn in the Blackwater Bay as they have once before." Master of Law frowned: "Lord Tyrion then used wildfire,  
a treacherous thing. Dangerous for one at whom it is aimed and for one who aims it." "I have sent one ship filled with wildfire at whole fleet.  
Hardly we can lay such trap for Greyjoys and Velaryons." King said, his voice even as ever: "We shall not attack enemy fleet by sea."  
"Then how, Your Grace?" "Unlike dragon queen who has two, I have many wings, lord Tyrion." 


	95. JON

_Meereen, Essos, year 318 After Conquest_

**JON**

After making few steps, Daenysanne Targaryen, Princess of the Bay of Dragons, simply went down on her backside.  
She laughed as she sat down and that made her father to chuckle. "My sweet tala, if you laugh at falling even so young,  
no one will ever bring you to your knees when you're grown." he said, though Jon knew he will have to repeat those words  
many times in life of his third daughter whose grey eyes smiled at him as he sat down next to her and took her in his arms.  
"Daize... Pa... daize." were her words. Cregan walked to him, pacing as any babe of that age does, and leaned on father's knee: "Daize."  
Jon shook his head: "Daor zaldrīzes tubī. Hemtubis... and why do I speak with you in Valyrian when you should be learning Common Tongue first... No dragon today. Tomorrow. You will see Tessarion tomorrow. She is not your pet. She is your sister's dragon. She is of Rhaella."  
Hearing that name eyes of both twins widened. "You miss your sisters, don't you? Soon they will come back to you. Rhaella and Lyanna both."  
"Nanna..." Cregan repeated. "Yes, my son. Soon they will be here, keeping you and Little Dany safe and teaching you all they know.  
Soon you will see Lyanna and Rhaella." "Ella..." now Daenysanne echoed his words. "That is right, tala, Nanna and Ella..."

Clearing of throat was heard as his wife entered the room: "You should not encourage that. Our older twins will in the end remain  
Ella and Nanna for them." "What's wrong with that?" "It is not the way of our family to change names in that fashion."  
"Oh, I seem to remember of a certain king who was known as Egg for a good part of his life." Dany's eyes narrowed: "What gave you impression  
that we shall have a debate over this. It took me some time to make peace with her being called Little Dany." "But she is Little Dany...  
just look at her, pure image of her beautiful mother." "I pray she will not be called that when she is woman grown. And I agree, her mother  
is beautiful. Same as her stubborn, ill-mannered father." Daenerys sat on thick Ghiscari carpet on nursery floor as well and now royal couple  
of the Bay of Dragons and their twin babes were all on the floor. Jon looked at her with warm eyes that made her frown with smile:  
"What?" "Mayhaps I'm saying foolish things, but when Drogon landed on this pyramid it seemed to me as coming home."  
"Well, I see that my husband is of soft heart today..." she japed "...I like you as this, I truly do, but it's not how Jon Targaryen usually acts."  
"I know. Mayhaps it's them, Cregan and Little Da... all right, Daenysanne..." His wife nodded, pleased "...have grown so much in few moons.  
Time will play its tricks on us and we will be seeing both of them with wife and man of their own sooner than we hope. Have you thought of that?" Daenerys laughed: "Yes, Jon, our lives are now so dull that I have to ponder of my life twenty years from now to amuse myself."  
She shook her head: "You're Rhaegar's son, truly you are. I wish I had known my brother, but those who knew him have told me how there was certain melancholy about him. You show that same trait. Musing of things to come in rather joyless way." Jon chuckled and leaned his brow on hers: "When one has Daenerys Targaryen as love of his life, not a single moment is joyless." She smiled in approval: "I thank you kindly for those words, _muh king_. Now, come, let us put prince and princess to their night rest. It is late for them to still be awake." 

"I will be leaving for Westeros tomorrow, Your Grace, my uncle Bael sent word from Volantis that three more ships should sail to the Narrow Sea." silver-haired boy in sea-blue tunic and grey-green trousers said as he was standing before Jon in his solar on highest level of the Great Pyramid. Windows of this chamber offered splendid view on the city of Meereen. "May I know to what end?"  
"To command on Dragonstone, Your Grace, to keep the dragon banner on the island, the only banner which should be waving over it."  
Boy was at unease, this was his first meeting with Jon, it was plain to him that Alyn of House Velaryon fears Jon almost to a dread.  
Jon already knew that men of House Velaryon will take both Driftmark and Dragonstone and that it will be young Alyn to command garrison  
on the ancestral isle of Targaryens. "How old are you?" "Four and ten, Your Grace. In three moons it will be my five and ten nameday."  
"Mhm... and you wish to prove yourself on the sea, as all your ancestors have. And in the battle, should it come to one." "I do, Your Grace, yes." "Why?" Boy frowned: "I... I'm man of House Velaryon, my place is on the sea." "Aye, but you're not a man, yet. Right?" "I will be, soon."  
"Lord Alyn, two years is not that soon. Her Grace, Queen Daenerys and your uncle, lord Bael, agreed on your betrothal with Princess Rhaella.  
I will not question that agreement, yet I wanted to see what kind of a man, well in truth man to be, shall wed my daughter."  
Boy lowered his head and Jon could see his discomfort: "If Your Grace disapproves of me and thinks that am I not fit for Rhae... Princess Rhaella..." "Have I said anything of the sort?" he asked. "No, Your Grace... forgive me for..." "There is nothing to forgive, Alyn. And no need for you to be so frightened of me..." Jon smiled at him and that calmed the boy, though not wholly. "...when I look at you, do you know what I see?" 

Young Velaryon shook his head. "I see many boys of your age, many of those were dear to me. I see a brother I've lost and a score of friends, many of them are long gone. All wanted what you want now. To prove themselves, to act bravely, to act honorably. To bring glory and not shame to their House. Aye... I see myself in you, Alyn Velaryon. I can't say I was any smarter than you're now. Yet, you must find a way to act both brave and with honor and smart. You have a betrothed that shall be waiting for you to return to her. Alive and in one piece. That girl and her happiness are very important to me. More than bravery and honor even. If you truly love her as you claim you do, it must be same for you.  
I ask you not to be a craven, for that would mean I ask of you to dishonor yourself and my Rhaella will not go for a dishonored man.  
What I ask of you is not to act rashly, but wisely. To guard your life and lives of those under your command. Are my words clear to you?"  
Alyn nodded, now looking at Jon, color in his face returned.  
"I was rash in my time, young Velaryon, at great cost of those around me and myself. I know well of what I speak...  
and as I've been told, you don't need to prove yourself much... How many Velaryons have hatched a dragon in last hundred and fifty years?"  
"Not one, Your Grace." "Not one save you." Jon said. "Your Grace, it wasn't me who hatched Tessarion. We were just there, Princess Rhaella and I.  
It was that priest who... he died as no man should..." "Aye..." Jon nodded "...he was rash as well. But, you have proven yourself to me,  
young lord, as being honest. With not taking praise where praise was not earned. I see why my daughter likes you so.  
Remain as you're now, so that Targaryens of Dragonstone and Velaryons of Driftmark can celebrate union in marriage after many, many years."  
"I shall, Your Grace, I swear it." "I am not the one you should be giving oaths to. Rhaella is. Bear that always in mind."  
"Yes, my king." "I know you shall. I wish you safe journey to Westeros, Alyn. Keep dragon and seahorse banner waving high."

"Bay of Dragons stands well, Your Radiance." Azzak zo Ghazeen told him "Not so many people are coming to Meereen from Astapor and Yunkai.  
Not since their councils are doing your and Queen's bidding. I gather best proof of Yunkai and Astapor following our suite is that Tolos and Elyria now wish to have delegation in both cities." He nodded: "And how our council manages its affairs?" "Things haven't worsened, my king.  
At first they have frowned at absence of Your Radiances, but Princes Rhaella sat on the throne in your stead and left many in wonder.  
I must say, Your Radiance, that even I have feared how shall she bear burden of such weight as ruling Meereen is, yet she excelled.  
Even in that hour when fifty Velaryon ships came beneath our walls and we weren't certain of their true intentions. She was steadfast as someone thrice her age." Jon agreed: "She surprised me as well. Yet, no matter how able king and queen and even princess of three and ten namedays are, this city must have a council able to bring decisions and make laws much swifter and easier than this one is. Same stands for Yunkai and Astapor." "Is my king speaking of elections for new Council of Citizens?"  
"I most certainly do. And I expect of you to be among new councilors. Removing these councilors is long overdue. They have spoken for people of Meereen for four and ten years, since Daenerys has left for Westeros. Time for new voices to be ringing in this pyramid, voices of new Meereen, not one from days when Sons of the Harpy still walked the city." "I wholly agree, my king, and I shall seek my place in the new council." Azzak said. "Good. When Queen and I end our affairs in Westeros, we shall have people of all three cities electing their new council."  
Azzak's face suddenly became pensive: "How shall that be done, Your Radiance?" "One who wishes to be in the council will have to gain support of as much prominent citizens as he can." Jon answered. "That will not be to the liking of once masters. There are two such in Meereen on eight once slaves. Same stands for other two cities." "True. So, it is unfair that they are now making half of the council..." Jon said "...new council will not be named by paying heed who is once master and who is once slave, but who wins more trust among the people. Not all people, nowhere in the Known World such election exist, but trust of most important of former masters and of former slaves. Your family were slavers once, true?"  
"Yes, my king, they were." "And I am certain that leading people of this city, knowing what sort of a man you are, will vote for you, no matter which of two sides they belong. Son of House of Ghazeen was nodding approvingly: "I am looking forward to such council, my king."  
"As do I, but before that there is one more meeting of this council I have to attend." 

Jon used his brief return to Meereen to visit all four barracks of City Guard.  
Two more barracks were being built, one between Great Pyramid and Temple of the Graces, while other was growing outside the city walls, facing the demon road as land way made by Old Valyria that lead to Mantarys and Volantis was called. Volantene silence was still thundering, both Jon and Daenerys said, and even with their gaze on Westeros now, they were not ready to turn their back to triarchs from the mouth of Rhoyne river.  
As Jon has planned, City Guard counted more than ten thousand swords and spears, of which every fourth was a Freeflame.  
Yunkish and Astapori guards grew only a bit slower, giving their king and queen six thousand men at arms in each city.  
"Twenty-two thousand in the host of Bay of Dragons. I intend to double those numbers this year, so that on second nameday of Cregan and Daenysanne we shall have over forty thousand trained soldiers. Largest standing host in Essos, save Dothraki but they are horde, not host."   
"They are my people." Dany countered. "Aye, and a formidable fighting force, but not a true army. With Freeflames from Yunkai and Astapor,  
we have nearly four thousands of men who are able to meet Dothraki on horseback and any infantry in the Known World. I say they would repel even an attack of Dornish spearmen, repel and break them." "I know where you want to march this large host, Jon, for moons you have that itch,  
I can tell..." his queen told him that night, lying next to him, bare as he was "...Volantis irks you, their ignoring our offer of treaty, not giving a word of acceptance or refusal." "It does. It's an insult to us. Had they refused our offer, that would mean they still recognize us. Acting in this manner, they've sent us a message that were not important to them. That is an insult. Which will get an answer it deserves. But before that,  
we must return to Westeros." Daenerys nodded: "Yes. I assume whole Dornish host is on the march. To King's Landing.  
And Gendry has assembled his banners. That will make our stay in Winterfell very short."  
He shook his head: "We're not going to Winterfell. Lya and Rhae are safe there now, fight for the North is over."  
Dany looked at him: "Where we are going then?" He kissed her: "Where everything began for you and me." 

_Dragonstone, Westeros, year 318 After Conquest_

"I am sorry for the death of your cousin, lord Bael." Jon said to captain of _Pride of Driftmark_ as they have met for the first time,  
in the chamber of Painted Table. "Your Grace, I only hope that broken king and Imp will pay for that crime." "Trust me, they will.  
As they will pay for many other crimes... tell me, did enemy garrison offered fight to you?" "None. They have scattered all over this island.  
My men are now hunting them down one by one." "Good. This island, same as Driftmark must be freed of Bran's men, as they will be our starting point for attack on King's Landing from the sea." Bael agreed, pointing on the part of table where King's Landing should be,  
as city was not there when Aegon the Conqueror had this table made: "Yara Greyjoy is in the waters of Blackwater Bay with hundred ships and nearly every man grown of Iron Islands. Velaryon fleet has retaken both Driftmark and Dragonstone. Seahorse and dragon banner wave each over its island." Jon nodded: "Those islands were home of our houses for centuries. I thank you for taking Dragonstone for House Targaryen." "No need to thank me, Your Grace, our families will once more confirm centuries old alliance through marriage of your daughter and my nephew."  
"Both young rulers and leaders of men in making." Jon added, before his gaze went back on the table: "Where is Dornish army now, lord Bael?"  
"They should be north of Storm's End, at Bronzegate, together with Baratheon banners." "So, we can expect them before the walls  
of King's Landing...?" "In three to four days, Your Grace, it takes time to move an army of such size through Stromlands, kingsroad is in  
poor shape there... yet soon we shall have a firm grip around the city, by land and by water. What of air, my king?" Jon looked at him:  
"You speak of dragon... Queen Daenerys and I hope that this battle will not ask of us to bring dragon over the city."  
Velaryon nodded before asking: "Is queen unwell? I haven't seen Her Grace since you have arrived here, on her dragon."  
"Queen is tired. She will be joining us tomorrow." he answered, though most of it was a lie. Dany wished to be alone.  
Jon's eyes went from sunspear and stag on land to kraken and seahorse in the sea, encircling the capital of Six Kingdoms.  
All he knew of warfare told him that this siege should not last long, how city was ripe for the taking. Yet, he also knew that enemy  
was not an ordinary king. Enemy was not a man, yet being of magic, magic old as First Men were as it was made to fight them.  
And that another being, one that could see past and present anywhere in the Known World.

Jon saw Dany standing on the stone stairway which descended from the castle to the sea, nearly on the same spot as she was standing  
four and ten years ago when they were alone for the first time. He even remembered the words he said then... _Amazing thing to see_...  
looking at Viserion and Rhaegal as they flew above the island. Jon did not know what to say know, so he just approached her and placed  
his arms around her waist, gently kissing her left cheek: "Who is musing joylessly now?" She put her hands over his and sighed:  
"He rests out there somewhere, beneath the waves. My child." _Rhaegal..._, flashed in Jon's mind, _...he was her child and my dragon...  
my bond with him would have been many folds stronger had he lived even one moon more... he perished taking a large part of her good heart beneath the sea... it was that day, with Rhaegal dying and Missandei captured, which pushed Dany on the path of doubt, fear, hate and killing...  
not that those cursed schemers around her did any good... Spider and the Imp..._  
"Mayhaps if I was flying with him, things would have been..." he began to say.  
"And mayhaps you would have died that day with him. Losing Rhaegal and Missandei and you, Jon... what do you think that would do to me?  
Even though by then you have ceased to love me as a woman..." He whispered to her ear: "I have never ceased to love you, Dany."  
She sighed again: "Let us not revisit those days, Jon, I beg you. It hurts me still. This place... I was born here, but this place gave me little joy.  
My mother died here, giving me life... one of my children was killed here, my best friend was caught here and murdered later,  
a man who was among my closest advisers tried to poison me and I burned him alive... nothing good happened to me on Dragonstone."  
He kissed her cheek again: "That is not entirely true, Dany. You have met me on Dragonstone."  
She shook her head: "No. I have met you in Meereen. You, Jon of House Targaryen and House Stark, I have met you in Meereen.  
Here, I've met Jon Snow. Mayhaps you think that you are him, but trust me you are not. You know who you are. He never knew who he was  
or what he wanted to be. Was he Snow or Stark or Targaryen... was he Aegon the Sixth or bastard of Winterfell... Jon, you are not that man.  
He is gone now as well, luckily for me and our four children and one that is in my belly. I loved Jon Snow, yes, I've conceived my first twins with him. But it is Jon Targaryen who has healed all my old wounds and made me whole again. Made me a wife and queen and mother again..."  
He nodded: "You're right. This place... I don't care much of it either. I remember that evening when Varys burned and when you said how  
you choose fear over love... I thank to all gods there are that we are not as we were then. Fools. Damn young fools...  
Seven hells, what an idiot I was. I should have proposed to you the very same day secret of who I truly am was secret no more."  
She leaned her head on his chest, her back still turned to him: "I am not sure that I would have accepted that proposal, Jon, I was full of envy,  
envy of how you're loved among the people." "Trusting in that love is as building on the sand, that love is shifting and not a firm ground..."  
She turned to face him: "Now we both muse on joyless things." He smiled: "In truth, I do not. It just occurred to me that two of us, all those years ago, have spent lot of time arguing and talking and gazing at each other. But we never..." Her eyebrows lifted: "No... we did not."  
Then she chuckled: "That makes us the only Targaryen couple in history of our House who did not do it on Dragonstone even once.  
"Well, wife, time to make some new, happier memories of this place." Jon said holding her firmly. "I wholly agree, husband."


	96. GENDRY

_Stormlands, Westeros, year 318 After Conquest_

**GENDRY**

“How many?” He was asking that question every day of this new year.  
Twentieth day of its first moon has already seen is midday. “Seven thousand three hundred and fifty, my lord.”  
“That is more than I hoped for, lord Arstan.” Gendry Baratheon noted.  
“Half again as many than I dared to hope.” lord of Harvest Hall admitted.  
“And fourfold less than what Arianne Martell has brought to our lands. Only larger army that I’ve seen in my life was one  
I came with to Winterfell three and ten years ago. But, this Dornish host on march commands respect. No matter how I mislike that.”  
“My lord, in days of your late father host of Stormlands was of equal size as one under Martell sunspear.  
Even now it would be unwise of Dornish to disrespect us.” Arstan said.  
“They will not. Not till we share an enemy. What will come later… when that enemy is gone…”  
“Dornish will stay on their side of Red Mountains. Should they decide to raid Marches again, that was part of our life for centuries, my lord.  
We shall be ready for them.” Maester Pylos added: “In a strange way, coming of Dornishmen in such numbers had made all our houses to rally under stag banner, even those who not so long ago spoke of you with utter disrespect. They do not dare to oppose you with so many vipers  
at their doorstep.” “Swanns, you mean? And Trants...” Gendry uttered those names as curse.  
“And Cafferens and Grandisons.” came from Ser Brus Buckler.  
“I know how their allegiances shifted when my father warred against Aerys the Second, before he broke them in battle, they have served Mad King.” “Later they’ve bled with Robert.” Arstan said. “They did and yet they’ve never truly saw me as his son, as Baratheon.  
And them rallying to me now when thousands of Dornish march through their lands… weaklings. Nothing else.”  
“Yes, my lord, they are. Still, now when you have them in your fold use them as much as you can. Let them bleed for you, same as they have bled for your father.” “Indeed, I intend to.” 

Four men were in Bronzegate castle, in the seat of House Buckler, sitting in solar of late lord Ralf Buckler.  
Castle was north of Storm’s End and south of Wendwater river, next to kingsroad. It was agreed with Arianne Martell for her host not to be coming near Storm’s End, but march northwards where it shall meet with army of Stormlands. All his sworn bannermen have sent their knights, riders and infantry in larger numbers than he expected, larger than his representatives declared many moons ago when Red Keep summoned all great lords  
of Westeros to King’s Landing, before invasion of Dorne.  
Still, all those swords Gendry Baratheon commanded now were less than one third of what stormlords could muster twenty years ago.  
Dornish were emboldened with victory over royal forces, though it was dragon who gave them that victory. They poured in Stormlands first in hundreds, then in thousands, ending with tens of thousands. Gendry’s scouts reported that no less than thirty thousand men under Martell banner are marching up the kingsroad, headed for King’s Landing. 

His own men came from all sides of Stormlands to Bronzegate. From Nightsong to Rain House, from Stonehelm to Wendwater.  
When he sent the call using riders instead ravens, as dark birds were under sway of king in the Red Keep, all his sworn houses have given as many men at arms as they could, some thousands, some hundreds, some scores. Still, over seven thousand Baratheon troops have met their Dornish allies which advanced slowly towards north. Colors of many lords sworn to Martells fluttered in long columns of horse and foot, of supply trains and wagons carrying disassembled siege weapons. Hopes, as in any campaign that lived in memory of Westeros, were high. Dornish lords and commanders spoke of swift victory at King’s Landing, of both broken king and his Imp hanged on the Mud Gate, of Realm being brought to an end before first moon of three-hundred and eighteenth year since Aegon the Conqueror forged the Realm was over. 

And, oft as many times before, hopes of swift victory and winning of war in less than a moon, melted down in steady autumn rain of Stormlands. Wendwater bridge was down, burned away whole in less than three hours during eighth night of this moon. Men of House Fell and House Buckler spoke of flames being bright and as coated in green, yet maester Pylos same as other men of Citadel who served lords of Stormlands dismissed any notion of wildfire being used. “Wildfire would have break it in thousand pieces, my lord. Wildfire is not named wild for jest, but for a good reason.  
It is savage, it crushes wood and stone and steel. And that bridge had burned for hours, not many hours, but hours still.  
Fire took its time to consume it, while wildfire would devour it as hungry giant devours a calf, in one bite.” Pylos assured him.  
“Was that wildfire or tamer one, bridge is gone now, parts of it Wendwater has taken to the Narrow Sea.  
And large Dornish host cannot move on the other bank, it is halted here for we don’t know how many days.  
They’re well provided, yet both of us know what so many thousands of men at arms can do to amuse themselves,  
when hunting loses its appeal. Stealing, looting, rape…travelling companions of every war campaign.” Gendry warned them.  
“Yes, my lord. Men who hoped for a battle and were robbed of it, tend to seek another battle, no matter how small.” Ser Brus agreed.  
“Punishment by death awaits every Martell man doing such acts. That we have been told by their commanders.  
We shall see do they truly mean it or just farting on their mouth.” Arstan said. Gendry looked through the window, towards river:  
“It is good that king’s men have withdrawn from the northern bank of Wendwater, it will make work of our sappers easier.  
Building a makeshift bridge will take time. Days, sennights even.  
That will work in favor of broken king and his Hand, to strengthen defenses of King’s Landing and bring more soldiers on its walls.  
Tyrion Lannister is no fool. He knows well that army as large as ours and Dornish combined, can’t pass through kingswood swiftly.  
And with no proper bridge over Wendwater bringing that army in Crownlands will be done… sluggishly? It that the word, Pylos?”  
Maester nodded: “It is, my lord.” "Once we move our troops across the river, we may expect attacks on our flanks and rear, supplies most likely.  
Broken king has good commanders. Word came from the Reach that Ser Garth Hightower will be awaiting us at King’s Landing.” 

“He is no better than your commanders. Nor is he better than Dornish commanders.  
The capital will fall, my lord. In one moon or two, but it will fall. Days of broken king are numbered.”  
“And then what, lord Arstan…” Gendry asked “…Who will be king then?”  
“You, my lord. First Storm King after three hundred and score years, since days of Argilac Durrandon.  
And this land, from south bank of Wendwater to northern coast of Sea of Dorne shall again be known as Kingdom of the Storm.”  
“What you have just said, lord Arstan Selmy, some would call treason.” Gendry replied.  
“And they’d be right. But only if Red Keep were to remain the royal castle of Six Kingdoms.  
Which it will not. That is what we know thus far. Targaryen queen from the east wants to destroy the Realm.  
One could name her Aegon the Unconqueror and that would be well deserved. She wants Six Kingdoms to be six kingdoms.  
You know her better than I do, my lord. Are those wishes true? Or is that only a ruse for gullible?”  
Gendry shrugged: “I know Queen Daenerys, yes, from another war. She is not woman of ruses. When you have dragons,  
you don’t need ruses or tricks. No, my lord, I trust her wish to remove the Realm from this world is true.”  
Brus Buckler said: “Then you shall be Storm King. Every land that now makes Six Kingdoms will be a kingdom of its own.  
Every land that can rally behind one lord, one king.” Young Baratheon asked: “And those who cannot?”  
“Those who cannot will break further apart, my lord, with two or three or dozen petty kings squabbling among themselves.  
That will make them easy prey for neighboring great kingdoms.” his maester told him. “That seems as tomorrow of chaos to me, maester.”  
“Indeed, it does. Unless a great council, as those in the past, is called and lords of all Westeros decide how our common tomorrow shall be,  
what kingdoms will be established once the Realm is gone, will borders be as they’re now or they will change, not by sword but by handshake.” 

Face of Ser Brus Buckler was marked with doubt: “A good future, that is how your words sound to me, maester,  
alas one must always count on men being stupid, false and evil. And such men will have their share in making such future.”  
“Mayhaps, my lord. I cannot claim to know Targaryen queen nor her king, yet what I have learned of them from you and others  
who know them tells me how they will not allow Westeros to descend in chaos. That they will steer events in more proper course.” Pylos said.  
Arstan frowned: “With house of dragon steering our hereafter in what they deem as proper course…how is that different from  
Targaryen monarch sitting in the Red Keep?” “It is and it is not, my lord…” Pylos answered “…surely Targaryens, after king Bran is gone,  
shall have their watchful eye on once Seven Kingdoms, yet they will not be our rulers. They will not make laws or collect taxes or demand men at arms for their wars. If any child of King Jon and Queen Daenerys has taint of Targaryen madness, Westeros will suffer for it far less than it did when dragon kings ruled from the Iron Throne.” “One can only pray that maester’s words come true. I shall keep my doubts.” Selmy said.  
Gendry shrugged: “This tomorrow you speak of is not in our grasp yet. Broken king and Lannister Imp are still in the Red Keep.  
Reach same as Westerlands stand with Bran. Gods only know what is brewing in the Vale. No word came from Sweetrobin Arryn.  
Nor from his uncle in Riverrun. Their allegiance could go either way, with Bran as both lords share blood with him or against Bran  
if both lords crave for kingship of their own. Surely, they know that once broken king is ousted, there will be no new king of Six Kingdoms.  
There will be no Six Kingdoms. They wait. As toothless crones, they wait for Stormlands and Dorne to win or fail. Only then will they act.”  
Lord of Bronzegate agreed: “First we take King’s Landing, then we can speak of councils, great and small and of new times for Westeros  
and will that times be good or shite.” “That is right, Ser Brus…” Gendry approved “…for that purpose, tell your men to have our horses  
ready for the morrow. I plan to ride to Wendwater bridge to see how works on that makeshift crossing go, if more hands are needed,  
we shall find them.” 

Encampment of Dornish host stretched for miles along kingsroad.  
It was hard to say was that all one camp or string of smaller ones linked with road that lead to their final goal, a large city on the mouth  
of Blackwater Rush. Some of Martell soldiers boasted that smoke of campfires surely can be seen from towers of the Red Keep.  
Was that true or not, no man in this vast camp could not yet testify. Once castle of Targaryen kings still was not under sunspear banner.  
Truth was that air was filled with pale smoke from camp fires which counted in thousands.  
One whose nose has already met with cooking fashion of southernmost Westeros would right away recognize the fragrance of  
Dornish snake sauce, boiling in many pots. Same as men, horses counted in thousands as well, most of them were native breed of Dorne,  
sand steeds, yet there were destriers, coursers, palfreys and rounseys. Many of those animals were returning home, as their riders japed,  
since these horses once carried knights and riders of the Realm during invasion of Dorne. Scores of pack mules were with this large army as well.

For whole two miles, both west and east from this stretched camp first lines of trees were felled to serve many purposes, from firewood to banner poles. Siege engines were still asleep on the wagons, disassembled for easier crossing of both rivers, Wendwater and Blackwater Rush. When sun would find its way through the clouds, it would make hundreds of spear tips to glow. Men with round shields and curved swords moved left and right as busy ants, thousands of them. Scores of others were part of this camp as well, pages, squires, servants and camp followers, women whose trade was linked with any army camp as death was linked with life. Some Stormland lords have passed through this camp with their escort and were taken aback with Dornish camp followers, good number of them was homely, but even those were far prettier than any whore these stormlanders have ever seen. Their lusting ended with gaze, as they were reminded how words of well-known song _The Dornishman's Wife_ stand for whores too. 

West of the kingsroad were larger tents and pavilions of knights and high lords, from afar it seemed as grazing heard of sheep, sheep whose wool was of many colors. Before each waved a different banner. Lord Flement Warder of Whitecourt in eastern Dorne, a lesser lord, sworn to Martells of Sunspear, stepped out from his tent and right away his attention was drawn by loud voices coming from larger tent some forty yards away, tent of Ser Andrey Dalt. He waged for a while where to go, should he walk away from the noise or should he pay a visit to his camp neighbour who seemed to be even angrier than usual. No one could tell with certainty, but Ser Andrey was rumoured of being guilty for death of a sellsword who bedded lady Sylva Santagar. Lady of Spottswood, for years being married to a man old enough to be her grandfather, craved for a good fuck, as those lacking respect for Sylva would tell this story. She got what she craved for from that sellsword and lost her heart and her wit for that man.  
When he died, killed in an ambush laid by men of broken king, she cried bitterly. When men began to talk, of how on that day Bran’s men were nowhere near the spot where her lover fell and that it was jealousy of Ser Andrey Dalt which killed him, she cursed the heir of Lemonwood removing, even in thought, any possibility of her becoming his wife. That was not what Andrey expected as he believed that bedding a lowborn non-Dornish sellsword was nothing more than a pastime for Sylva. His intent of uniting Lemonwood and Spottswood by marriage with lady Santagar were now as possible as king Bran having sway over Dorne.

“Where are they? Where are those fools?” Ser Andrey shouted at one of his serjeants.  
“We do not know. They went hunting yesterday morning and still haven’t come back. Only their horses.” man answered.  
“And you do not find that odd? Horses return with no riders?”  
“It is odd, my lord, yes.” “How do those fools plan to return to this camp? On foot?  
From a forest they do not know. Most of them have never seen a proper forest till coming here.”  
Serjeant did not know what to say, which further angered heir of House Dalt: “Make yourself useful, serjeant, take ten men and ride in kingswood, find those fools, bring them here for I intend to flog every single one. It is one thing to go hunting, desertion is another.”  
Leave now and don’t come back without those five fools.” Ser Andrey said loudly.  
“Troubles, my lord?” Flement asked entering the tent. Andrey Dalt was younger than him, almost young enough to be his son.  
He was dressed in black trousers and tunic with large purple shield on his chest, shield displaying lemon fruits.  
This clashed with white linen tunic and dark gold breeches, colors of House Warder which Flement wore.  
Younger man smirked: “Troubles? Only for idiots who went hunting for deer, but ended hunting for some cunt in kingswood.”  
“You assume they are fucking with womenfolk of these parts, Ser Andrey?”  
“What else, lord Flement. Five of my riders have been gone for two days nearly and horses have returned without them… damn idiots.  
I wonder how pussy of some wood wench can be sweeter than those we have with us in this camp…”  
Knight of House Dalt fumed much to Flement’s hidden amusement.  
“I agree with you wholly, Ser Andrey, but some crave to taste foreign things, food, wine, women…”  
“That tasting will prove costly for them, next what they will taste shall be a bullwhip, twenty times it will kiss their bare backs…  
Seven fucking hells, my lord, I wish we were beneath the walls of King’s Lading right now. This delay does nothing but dulling our men.”  
“No man sane in his head can argue with that reasoning, Ser Andrey.” Warder said before leaving. 

As he walked back to his own tent, patrol of dozen soldiers bearing sigil of House Dalt on their clothes rode towards  
the southern edge of kingswood, where their brothers at arms went the day before without returning.  
Lord of Whitecourt minded his own affairs and has nearly forgotten of five missing men, who were presumed to be seeking  
a company of women in kingswood, among the smallfolk who lived there.  
“Foolishness…” he said as he supped with few other noblemen in his tent “…those living in kingswood are folk of their own,  
same as orphans of Greenblood are, preferring to be left alone. I fear those horsemen of Lemonwood might affront them.  
That would put us at odds with lords of this part of Stormlands and soon with Storm’s End itself.”  
Gareth Sand, commander of his guard, let out a laugh: “So what of it, my lord? There’s four times more of us than them here.”  
“Yes, Gareth, that is true. Yet, us showing lack of respect for stormlords could turn them against us,  
chase them back to broken king and then your fourfold more becomes only twofold. Hightowers would march into fray in a blink of an eye.  
And we are now in foreign land, Dorne being hundreds of miles away. We’d fare worse than broken king’s army did few moons ago.  
Seeking a woman flesh to fondle in these woods is wrong. And damn stupid…”  
“Lord Flement is right, from what I saw thus far, Stormlands offer pussies that are same as their weather.  
Cold and fickle, yet not nearly as damp...” his neighbor, lord Entos of House Odalric from Bloodgrove agreed with him.  
His words filled the tent with laughter.

Next morning Flement break his fast with ale, fried bread and sausages.  
He was about to go to the smith of Whitecourt castle who was with him on this campaign as Flement’s armour needed slight repairing.  
He did not make more than five paces when mounted men came galloping down the kingsroad, passing between tents so fast that other soldiers had to throw themselves aside so they would not be run down. He knew faces of some of the eight riders that were halting their sand steeds before the tent which flew the banner of lords of Lemonwood. Ser Andrey’s riders they were, men he sent to find that hunting party whose return was long overdue. As he saw that some of them are missing as well, Flement decided to walk to the Dalt tent, leaving his talk with his smith for later.  
Ser Andrey stepped out, in his shirt and breeches, he was still barefoot and lord Warder knew that heir of Deziel Dalt had woman’s company in the tent, one or mayhaps more camp followers made sure that this ill-tempered man slept better last night.  
“Have you found them?” he barked at the serjeant whose face was marked with horror and that was not caused by Ser Andrey.  
“Dead... all dead...” man answered, his voice trembling like leaf on the wind “...butchered...”  
His commander grabbed him by the collar of his gambeson: “Who is dead? Speak as a man, not as damn halfwit!”  
“Beasts, my lords, beasts have killed them! And attacked us! In the woods.” Man replied loudly, his eyes widened as he were a madman.  
“What beasts? What are you saying, you babbling idiot!” “Boars! Boars, my lord! Boars killed them all... I lost four of my men. And those five...  
We have found them... all torn apart... their bowels hanging on bushes. Heard of boars. Scores of them...”  
Ser Andrey pushed man away: “Are you drunk? Or gone mad? We have boars in Red Mountains... has anyone ever seen boars attacking men in heards?” Man fell on his knees, broken by what he saw: “Those were boars, my lords. Boars... with tusks coated in blood and eyes as pale as milk!” “Has that wood taken your mind?”  
“No, my lord...” another man from the patrol said “...we all saw them. Tens of those beasts, charging through the forest.”  
“Charging where, damn you...” “North, Ser, to Wendwater bridge.”  
Dalt had enough of it: “Take them away! All eight of them! And put them in chains till they come back to their senses!” 

“We have met, once before.” Tall and muscled man of black hair and blue eyes said to a man of pale blond hair and dark blue eyes.  
One wore dark breeches, pale purple gambeson over the chainmail hauberk, with embroidered sword and star.  
Other donned surcoat of golden colour with black crowned stag over his plate armor.  
“We have indeed, you were twelve then, if my memory serves me right.”  
“I was. And you were five and ten, lord Gendry.” “Yes, that I was, lord Edric.”  
“And we rode with the Brotherhood without banners, both of us.” “It seems as it was a lifetime ago.” dark-haired man said.  
“For it was. Nearly twenty years have passed, since we tried to help the smallfolk of Riverlands. From the warring five kings.”  
“A fool’s errand it was... in the end. Many of the Brotherhood became same as those they were fighting against.” Gendry said.  
“Some would say that it is the fate of all who fight evil. In the end evil takes them as any other contagion.” Edric replied.  
“One could say that is the case with you, my lord. I’ve heard accounts of your actions in this war.  
You weren’t named _the bane of the Reach_ for being gentle.” “I was not gentle raiding the Reach.  
Nor was I cruel when there was no need to be. Only a commander of men at war. Same as you are now, lord Baratheon.”  
“Aye, same as I am now...” man wearing a stag sigil agreed.  
“It was cruel to deliver that many mercy blows to our own men... and kind in the same time.” Edric mused. 

Gendry of House Baratheon, commander of Stormlands army stood with Edric of House Dayne, commander of Dornish cavalry on south bank of Wendwater river. All around them, corpses of boars were scattered. Some beasts were struck down by spear, some by arrow, some by poleaxe. Edric counted over three score of dead animals, lying in mud or in shallow water, coating the riverbank in crimson. He never saw anything like this, nor did lord of Storm’s End. Boars attacking men in heard that counted many dozens.  
Sixty boars were slain at southern end of makeshift crossing that sappers from Stormlands were building. Yet not before they have claimed thrice as many men in their ferocious and, even for wild beasts, mindless assault on workers that were laying down beams and planks to finish making this substitute bridge as soon as they can. Nine scores of men were killed or maimed as nearly a hundred of boars emerged from the woods and charged at sappers and other builders, all of whom were taken by utter surprise.

Soldiers which have guarded the workers, men of House Fell and House Errol, were also attacked and all those that weren’t in full armor have suffered ghastly wounds on the lower part of their bodies, wounds that no maester could bind or heal. Carnage lasted for bit more than half an hour, till both Baratheon and Dornish heavy horse has arrived together with archers and crossbowmen to fight off the raging boars. Another strange thing, unrecorded in chronicles of Westeros happened. As first arrows and bolts flew towards them, beasts, covered in blood and entrails of men they slew, suddenly halted, all at once, all as frozen on the spot, making the kills easier for men at arms. Some boars fled back into kingswood, but even those were standing for a while as made of wood or stone, beasts seemed as lost, not knowing where to turn or where to go. 

“What in seven bloody hells happened...” Edric cursed aloud slashing a dying animal with his sword  
“...boar is no craven, but never have I heard of this animal to come in dozens against men at arms and seek battle.  
As madness visited upon every cursed one on them.” Gendry answered: “Not upon them, lord Edric. Inside them.”  
When he saw lord of Starfall frowning, Gendry asked: “Have you ever heard of skinchangers?”  
Edric shook his head: “I am man of Dorne, we don’t breed such where I come from.”  
“Neither do men of Stormlands nor of Flea Bottom, for that matter. You will find such kind in the North and beyond the Wall.  
Skinchanger is a man with gift that makes him able to enter mind of beasts, with legs and wings.  
Wargs they call them, those that can get sway over wolf or dog.” Edric’s eyes narrowed and he gave Gendry a questioning look.  
“You seem as about to call me mad, lord Dayne.”  
“No. I would never call a man who wields warhammer as you do mad... not to his face, at least...  
no, lord Baratheon, I do not think you’re mad. Some other who has not witnessed what I have twenty years ago,  
you know of what I speak as you where there as well, would surely discard any possibility that those able to enter the mind  
of beast walk among us. But not me. I respect magic for what it is, no matter what it brings to world of men...”  
Gendry made a nod, before delivering blow with his warhammer to a large boar that was squealing nearby, crushing the skull of the beast.  
“Is that what we have faced here...?” Edric asked “...a skinchanger?”  
“I can’t think of anything else. As you’ve said, boar is formidable animal when defending its life, hells, it has killed my own father,  
King Robert, but to attack men with no reason. That was a skinchanger. That was Bran the Broken.”  
“He has such powers? To make animals which keep away from men to act so strange?”  
“Dorne same as Stormlands does not use ravens for moons now. You do know why is that, lord Edric.”  
Blonde Dornishman now had face of a man who came to understand it all: “My lord, taking sway over one raven or ten ravens is one thing...  
making one hundred boars to...” “Our once king calls himself the Three Eyed Raven for five and ten years now. He is the greatest of skinchangers, he can take sway over any beast that flies or swims or crawls.” “Cow and sparrow alike, you mean...” Edric said.  
“Yes, them too, but such men mostly choose beasts of fang and clutch. Wolfs, bears, eagles... those that prey on other living things.”  
“You seem to have a great knowledge of... skinchangers... for a man who is not Northerner.” Edric noted.  
“My maester is blessed or cursed, it is hard to tell which sometimes, with great curiosity and wish to learn.  
He told me how maesters which served with the Night's Watch made records on stories of skinchangers among the wildlings.  
And he made certain to get hold on all such writings. Bran is without doubt a very powerful skinchanger. Mayhaps even most powerful of all.”  
“Sorcery... sorcery of olden days... that is what we face now.” “Aye, we do, lord Edric.”  
“What are you going to tell your men?”  
Gendry chuckled: “Half of them would see me as a rambling madman, other half would believe me and run to their keeps and houses to hide.  
Most would kill every animal they own, to be safe. I will not tell them anything. And I advise you to do the same.”  
Edric softly cursed, then nodded: “I will advise the same to my princess. But, an attack as this one could happen again.  
There is no other but to dig a moat here so that our works on this crossing may go unhindered.” “Moat here and around our camps.”  
“Seven fucking hells... sappers now have to dig a damn moat before they could proceed with this makeshift bridge.  
Indeed, broken king will fight us on every step till King’s Landing.”  
“With beasts and men...” Gendry sighed before freeing one more dying beast of his pain.  
“...on every step. I fear what we saw here today is only the beginning.” 

_Hammerhorn_ and _Iron Lady_ sailed along the coast of Massey's Hook, followed by six smaller vessels, longships of the Ironborn.  
Bulk of the fleet has already gone northwards, to Blackwater Bay, to lay blockade of the capital. "Someone has to..." Yara Greyjoy said to her captains, mocking the failure of Dornish and Stormlands armies to come under the walls of King's Landing as intended. Arianne Martell and Gendry Baratheon had two possibilities, to cross Wendwater and continue their advance through kingswood or to order retreat as far south as Summerhall and then march westwards through fields and low hills to reach Roseroad. That was dismissed right away by both lord of Storm's End and princess of Dorne, aside from offering retreat south for tens of miles, it meant for two armies to enter the Reach, an enemy land with House Hightower and their bannermen willing to fight the Dornish. So, nearly forty thousand soldiers under speared sun and crowned stag remained on the southern bank of Wendwater, waiting for new crossing to be made, delaying the land siege of King's Landing. Yara was not to delay her actions and over hundred warships of the Iron Fleet and smaller longships sailed past the isle of Tarth determined to appear in waters before the capital of Six Kingdoms in less than a week. Fleet of Iron Islands moved along the coast of Stormlands and Crownlands as one long convoy of ships, stretching for miles. _Iron Victory_ was in the vanguard, along with _Sea Bitch, Maiden's Bane, White Widow, Lamentation_ and _Iron Dawn_ From ashore, men of broken king watched their advance as Massey's Hook belonged to Crownlands.

To reach King's Landing from the south, ships had to sail around this peninsula that was eastern boundary of Blackwater Bay. North of Massey's Hook were Dragonstone and Driftmark, while southwest were kingswood and Wendwater. Ironborn on the ships could see, even with naked eye, mounted men of House Bar Emmon and House Massey keeping watch of their advancement. They could not care less. Bulk of the royal fleet was burned and sunk by dragon, two moons ago on anchor before Sunspear, not even score of ships remained. Velaryons were enemies of the broken king now and Yara knew they will be coming with fifty ships of their own. There was nothing that Bran or Tyrion Lannister could do to protect the capital from the sea. 

_Iron Lady_ was passing along the shore of the Massey's Hook, she was about halfway between Stonedance which belonged to the Masseys and Sharp Point, the seat of Bar Emmons. "Soon, friends, soon you will see the lights of King's Landing. We pass this point and we sail into Blackwater Bay." _Iron Lady's_ captain was telling his crewmen as he strolled from prow to stern, equally pleased as any Ironborn in this fleet. Times were good for those under kraken banner. All were sure that third victory, after one in the North and one in Dorne, will be claimed.  
"Oh, what a sack lays ahead of us, men. Sack of King's Landing. Iron price shall be paid many times."  
His was paid only an hour late, same as most of his men have paid theirs.  
Those that survived and were taken aboard ships which came looking for them all said the same account.

"Leviathan! Leviathan sunk all six longships and pushed _Hammerhorn_ in the shallow waters to break on the rocks."  
"There are no leviathans in these waters!" Yara yelled at those who were telling her what survivors have said.  
"Not this far south. They breed in Shivering sea." she added from her knowledge on the largest living thing in the Known World.  
"My queen, every single crewman that has survived, no matter how many namedays he has or how many teeth in his mouth, say the same...  
A large grey bull, some claim seventy feet long, came from the depths and smashed into first longship, lifting her in the air as it were a toy.  
Whale acted as possessed by demons and made short work of our longships.  
Then it went for _Iron Lady_ and made sure warship breaks on the rocks beneath the Sharp Point."  
"How many men did we lose?" she asked. "Six longships went down with all hands. Men of _Iron Lady_... only half of them are left.  
_Hammerhorn_ lost many men as well including captain... scores of lives were lost."  
She nodded before exclaiming: "What is dead may never die." "What is dead may never die!" all those around her echoed.  
"Send order to all our captains. They are to sail closer to the shores of Blackwater Bay, in shallow waters, where this...monster cannot attack them!" Yara took a short breath before uttering: "Signal both the _Iron Dawn_ and _Dagon’s Wrath_." "Where shall you be sailing, my queen?"  
"To Storm's End. I want to see for myself why two armies are sitting with their arses in the mud, while fucking leviathans are killing my men."


	97. DAENERYS

**DAENERYS**

_Dragonstone, Westeros, year 318 After Conquest _

She looked at her king slightly lifting an eyebrow. They were alone in Chamber of the Painted Table.  
His attention was on the figurines of ships, stags, speared suns, all around place where King’s Landing now stood.  
All around, but none too close. He felt her gaze and looked back at her:  
“Yes?” “We’re alone in here and staring at that table is of no use… once this table was used for dining as well… and for…”  
Jon frowned: “Here?” “Mhm…” “Now?” “Mhm…”  
There was a devilish smile on her face and he went to her, soon they were sharing a passionate kiss.  
“Gods, Dany, it is same as when you were with Cregan and Daenysanne. You’re twice as lustful when pregnant.”  
“Was that a complaint?” she grinned gently biting his neck.  
“No. Merely a fact…” he said slowly unlacing her dress “…so, we’re to defile the Painted Table.”  
“Yes… and we will not be the first…” came the answer as her fingers were unbuttoning his doublet. 

When both were in their nameday suits, Jon sat on the table and Dany straddled him.  
They made love in slow pace at first, trying to keep quiet as they could. There were many guards standing in the hallways of Stone Drum tower.  
It was a futile effort, passion she and Jon felt for each other would always made them oblivious of all around them and chamber soon echoed with sounds of woman and man sharing lust in utter abandon. She grabbed his hair with both hands as her haunches rose and fell, gone was the slow pace. His hands were firmly around her waist, making her to move quickly and wildly. She kissed him and then bite his lower lip, which made him to bite her neck in return and she uttered, trembling with passion: “That is right… no shame and no restraint… this is… how… dragons… mate.” Dany was gasping now, she made loud sounds that surely were heard outside the room. She could not care less, her entire being was overtaken by crest of pleasure. Jon’s hands went after her hair, pulling silver tresses as he spent himself, making his wife to moan loudly again. Then both slumped down on the table their ancestor made to look upon the continent he was about to conquer, glistening with sweat.

Jon began to laugh loudly which surprised her: “What? Why are you laughing?” “My arse right now rests on the damn Riverrun of all places…”  
“Lord Tully will not like that, not one bit.” she laughed now as well.  
They were lying on their sides, gazing at each other with eyes of unadulterated love.  
“Promise me one thing, Dany…” he said playing with her hair “…that we shall be doing what we’ve just did twenty and thirty years from now.”  
She kissed him: “That I need not to promise. I already swore that on our wedding day. And I will keep that oath. I will keep your nights warm,  
Jon Targaryen. And days as well. We can only hope that aging will be kind on us.” “Aye, ñuha tolvierun…”  
She smiled hearing those words: “My everything? You’ve never called me that before.  
I have pleased you well, it seems.” Dany said with grin, but he said nothing.  
Instead, he stared at the chamber ceiling and smiled: “I doubt Aegon the Conqueror would approve of his own blood defiling this table.  
I dare say even Torrhen Stark would mislike this manner of disrespect.” Then he laughed again.  
“Jon… this is second time this evening that you laugh…” “You don’t approve?”  
“What I do not approve I you not doing it more oft. Here or in Meereen. So, work on remedying that, your queen commands.”  
“As Your Grace wishes.”  
She placed gentle kiss on his scarred chest: “My dragonwolf… I hate to say it, but we should get dressed, it is supper time.  
Our absence will be noted by lord Velaryon. He’ll be our family by marriage in four or five years. I don’t want to insult him.”  
“Well, if sounds coming from this chamber only a while ago have not insulted him, nothing will.” he jested.  
“King bedding his queen cannot be an insult to anyone, Jon. Lord Bael knows that.”  
Daenerys said and laughed. Sound of that made her husband’s face to glow.

They descended in the Great Hall of the Stone Drum tower after refreshing in their bedchambers, garments and hair impeccable,  
Jon wore his usual black trousers, doublet of same color with pin that displayed red dragon and white direwolf, joined together in a circle,  
on his chest. Dany was dressed in ankle cut light brown dress, with stitched red scales on her sleeves.  
In the hall, lord Bael Velaryon was seated together with some of his bannermen and captains.  
There was another man present who upon seeing Targaryen couple coming went to his knee right away and said in High Valyrian:  
“Ñuha dāria, ñuha dārys.” Jon did not know who that was, but she remembered this man of light-brown hair and dark violet eyes and asked:  
“Aelyx hen Celtigar Lentor… skoros maghagon ao naejot Zaldrīzesdōron?  
Eman ryptan hen ao issare lēda se azantyr hen āeksio Gēndrī Barāthēon”  
(_Aelyx of House Celtigar, what brings you to Dragonstone? I’ve heard of you being with the host of lord Gendry Baratheon?_)  
“Īlen, Aōha Dārōñe. Ziry jikagon nyke kesīr lēda udra syt ao se Dārys Jon.”  
(_I was, Your Grace. He sends me here with a message for you and King Jon._)  
“What is the message, lord Aelyx?” Jon asked in Common Tongue.  
“Lord Gendry is with Yara Greyjoy and Arianne Martell at Bronzegate, they will hold a war council there.  
Our effort to lay siege of King’s Landing has not yet given fruit, Your Graces.  
Wendwater is not yet bridged over, it’s been over two sennights since works have begun.  
It is hard to build even a makeshift crossing when both men and beasts challenge you.”  
Some of men seated at the table chuckled, but soon their faces were serious again, after Bael Velaryon gave them a stern gaze.  
“Beasts, you say?” Jon asked.  
“Yes, Your Grace. It began with boars killing dozens of workers, then bear came every night to kill Dornish horses and men tending them.  
Before hunted down, bear claimed many lives, with horses scattering all over countryside. Then boars returned, and moat around camp so large as one of Martell army is takes time to dig, again a price was paid in lives of men. We’re three days shy of the moon’s end and not one yard closer to King’s Landing than we were.”  
“Blame it on the boars…” came from one of Bael’s captains. “… same as Ironborn blame it on the large great whale which swallows men and longships alike.” Jon looked at that man: “It is easy to make mockery of things one does not understand. Or does not want to. Yet, be certain that boars attacking army camps and whales preying on ships is no tale of drunk frightened men who are seeing things in the dark. One sitting in the Red Keep, he has powers as no king before him had. And by what lord Celtigar is telling, he uses them against armies who rightfully want to destroy him.” Bael smirked at his captain, once more telling him with his look to be silent.  
“When shall this war council take place, lord Aelyx?” “Overmorrow, my queen.”  
“That is not enough time for you to return to shores of Stormlands.” she said.  
“No, Your Grace. It took me good six days with a swift small sail ship to reach Dragonstone. I will sail back with first light tomorrow.  
It is good thing that king’s men don’t hold sway over mouth of Wendwater I’ll go upstream as far as I can. On the southern bank are Baratheon men.” “I wish you safe travels, lord Aelyx…” Daenerys said. He bowed and sat down to finish his meal.  
“Lord Bael…” she turned to head of House Velaryon next “…King Jon and I shall leave for Bronzegate after supper, on the back of a dragon.  
Are your warships in Blackwater Bay?” “They are, my queen, yet keeping distance from the city same as Ironborn fleet is. Seas of this world are filled with all sorts of creatures, big and small. There is something big and hostile in Blackwater Bay and preys on ships. Ironborn are ugly, wicked lot, but no cravens.”

She supped with Jon, Bael and Aelyx, other men have left the Great Hall.  
“I trust our forefathers look kindly upon us now. Targaryen, Velaryon and Celtigar at the same table as allies.  
As it was in days of Aegon and his sisters, as it should have been for all times.”  
Words of lord Velaryon brought approving smile on her face: “Indeed. When did our three houses, children of Old Valyria, met as we have?”  
“Before any of us was born, I guess.” Jon said.  
“Next time it will be in King’s Landing.” Bael said with certainty in his voice.  
“In King’s Landing, where House Celtigar will renew oath to House Targaryen.  
We kept faith with Baratheons as they’ve taken Dragonstone, but now dragons are back.” Aelyx added.

_Bronzegate, Westeros, year 318 After Conquest _

“Gods damn it!” she heard Jon curse as they entered the yard of Bronzegate caste.

It was a short flight; it took them less time than from Meereen to Port Yhos. 

Night was still upon kingsroad and castle of House Buckler when dragon landed for his riders to step on the ground and he was back in the air again. Drogon went north and west and she knew he will feed on sheep or cows on pastures of the Reach. Heh knew those parts, four and ten years ago he brought doom to Lannister and Tarly forces that were returning from sack of Highgarden. When he is fed, dragon will return to Stormlands and rest, in some hidden place. _What if he finds Summerhall… place of great tragedy for my family. _  
Her pondering came to an abrupt end as Jon cursed loudly.  
Reason for was in the yard, doing water dance by the light of torches. Yet, it was nowhere near elegance Dany once witnessed.  
“Good to see you too, brother.” Arya Stark answered, lowering Rhoynar sword she held in right hand.  
“I thought we agreed you will stay in Winterfell. With my daughters. Why are you here?”  
“We never agreed on any such thing, Jon. Lya and Rhae don’t need me there. I’ve shown them all that one of Stark blood must know  
of Winterfell and I left for White Harbor. Day after you flew off to Meereen. I’ve been here not even for a day.”  
“I’ve told you that this battle you will not take part in.”  
“No, what you told is that my place is not in the van of it. And Bronzegate is far from the van.  
Of which we hope to be at the walls of King’s Landing. Once when Wendwater is crossed.”  
Dark-haired woman smiled to Dany: “Queen Daenerys.” “Princess Arya.” she smiled back.  
“Some men of this castle have told me that in summer time when there is no rain for more than fortnight, rare as that happens in Stormlands, water of that damn river is so low on some places that woman could cross it and her skirt would stay dry. But, it rains almost every day this whole moon. There is lot of irked men with swords and spears on kingroad, Dornishmen and Stormlanders alike.” Arya explained.  
“Is Gendry Baratheon here?” Jon asked. “Aye. Sleeping.” Hearing this, Dany smiled and nodded to her good-sister.  
“Yara Greyjoy is here. Arianne Martell too. And my old companion from the Brotherhood without banners. Edric Dayne.  
Your milk brother from Dorne.” “My… what??” Jon frowned which caused his wife to chuckle.  
“He told me, nearly twenty years ago how two of you had the same wet nurse, though four years apart.” Jon shrugged.  
“Well, in truth he called Jon Snow his milk brother, not you. He doesn’t know his milk brother and king of dragon cities is one and the same.” Arya grinned. “I’ve met him, lord Edric... last moon in Sunspear…” Dany said still smiling “…and some things he told me reminded me of you… is milk of Dornish women so strong?” Arya laughed aloud: “I have to be there when two of them meet… I haven’t had a good laugh since I left Winterfell.”  
Jon looked at her with a Stark glint, he was still angered: “Yes, since you’ve done what I told you not to do.”  
Arya returned the glint: “You’re my brother, I love you as I love myself, but you’re not my father or my king. I don’t have to obey your commands.” He shook his head: “I should have told Lyanna to order you to stay. She is your queen now.”  
Arya laughed again: “Do you truly believe that Lya would do that? More likely she would ask to go with me.”  
Jon sighed: “Aye, you’re right about that.” “Good. Now as that is settled, we may go inside. You need to rest.” Arya said.  
“In the morning, we wish to see lord Gendry.” she told her. “Oh, he will want to see you as soon as he learns of your arrival.”  
“I gather Princess Arianne and Queen Yara will want to meet with us as well.” Dany said.  
Arya smirked: “Queen Yara… her face darkened the moment she saw me.” “Why?” Dany and Jon asked in the same time.  
Dark-haired woman looked at them, surprised at first, then it dawned on her: “Of course… you weren’t there that day.  
One was dead or just brought back in Essos, other was in the dungeon… I speak of that day in Dragonpit, when Bran…  
that cursed creature in Bran’s body was made king. Yara Greyjoy spoke in favor of you being killed by the Unsullied,  
I said to her that if she says another word, I’ll cut her throat.”  
Jon said: “I know that she asked for my execution on that council, I did not know you threatened to kill her for it.”  
Dany smiled: “Then it is fair of me to say that Yara also does not know of one Jon Snow being Jon Targaryen, king of the Bay of dragons.”  
“She does not?” Jon wondered. “She knows that my husband is half-Stark, son of Lyanna Stark, but she never learned of Jon Snow  
being son of her and Rhaegar.” Arya chuckled: “I gather this will be one war council to remember.”  
Jon was not amused and he let them know that: “Rather than laughing of who knows and who not of who I am and am not,  
bear in mind that campaign to free this continent from abomination in Red Keep is not going well. Not at all.”

In the morrow, upon learning that Jon and she have arrived, Gendry called the war council for the third hour after noon of that same day.  
Lord of Storm’s End had his breakfast with Targaryen couple and she could tell how glad he was to finally see them both.  
“Your Grace…” he looked at Jon but he cut him: “I don’t recall you calling me that very oft when we were on Dragonstone or in Winterfell  
all those years ago… Jon will do.” Gendry nodded: “All right… Jon… I am very pleased of Queen Daenerys and you coming here.  
For a long time, I wanted to meet you both. Arya told me of your life in the east, of prince and princesses you sired.  
House Baratheon offers you hand in friendship and alliance. When we first met, we spoke of how our fathers fought together,  
I believed then that you’re Ned Stark’s son. It appears that my father killed yours. And they were second cousins. As your third cousin,  
I swear to you and to Queen Daenerys that never again shall be enmity between House Baratheon and House Targaryen.”  
Gendry extended his hand and two men were now shaking hands and looking at each other approvingly.  
Then he turned towards her, bowed and kissed Dany’s hand: “My queen…”  
“Cousin Gendry… as two of us are cousins as well I see no need for formalities, you may call me Daenerys…  
I too hope that dragon and stag will renew friendship and bonds that we had before fate pit our families against each other.”  
“We hope the same thing, my que… cousin Daenerys.”  
Jon smiled: “And I hope that two of us will be bonded in another way, by my Stark side. Has she yielded already?”  
Gendry sighed: “No, not yet. But I can tell she ponders of it. I want nothing more than Arya to be Lady of the Storm’s End.  
Mayhaps it is a fool’s hope…” Jon replied: “No, it is not. She wants to find a place where she will finally be at peace.  
But you must be patient, my friend. No one decides for Arya Stark. No one but Arya Stark.”

Ser Brus Buckler, lord of Bronzegate, did not have to consult the chronicles of his family to know that never before in history of their keep so many were crowned heads was hosted under its roof. Council that his Lord Paramount called has shown that clearly. King of the Bay of Dragons, Queen of the Bay of Dragons, Princess of Dorne, Queen of Salt and Rock, Princess of the North. All seated in the castle hall and looking at each other, some kindly and with approval, others with doubts, even with open disdain. Ser Buckler was glad that in truth is was Gendry Baratheon who was hosting these people which all seemed to have common issues from the past. 

“I admire your ability to forgive, even such crime as queenslaying and kinslaying is, my queen.”  
Yara Greyjoy told her with face still bearing mark of bewilderment when she learned who dark-haired man at Dany’s side truly is.  
Two women stood at the far corner of the hall, Yara gazed at Jon who was at the table speaking with Arya.  
“To let Jon Snow back into your life, to bear him four children… if it were me I’d cut off his cock and balls, before slitting his throat.  
I guess we’re not the same.” Daenerys shrugged: “I guess we’re not. And his name, his true name is Jon Targaryen.  
That man you mentioned is long dead. Died when my husband at last became that what he was born for.  
A dragon king. I hope I need not to speak more of that matter.”  
Yara nodded, but her stance towards Arya had not softened at all.  


Lord Edric of House Dayne greeted her and Jon both as they know each other for many years. He was a polite man who never spoke unless he thought long and well before it and Dany could tell how Jon took liking to lord of Starfall. Dornish princess came to greet them as well and by the nature of gaze she gave him; Daenerys could tell Arianne is undressing Jon with her eyes.  
“Queen Daenerys, your king is very comely man. As Targaryen should be. That dark hair and grey eyes, trait of his mother’s family, actually make him even more handsome… and knowing that he fathered four children, he must be very virile.” Dornish ruler told her when Jon went to speak with Gendry. Dany, not liking this sort of talk, replied: “Yes, Princess Arianne, indeed he is. You may only imagine how it is to have blood of the dragon and blood of the wolf running in the veins of your lover. I gather only a woman that shares blood with him can meet his appetites. It would be too much of a task for any other woman to bed him, I assure you. It could claim one’s life and I am not jesting.”  
Arianne’s eyes widened as Dany walked away grinning.  
“Your Graces, Princesses, my lords, if it pleases you to take your seats…”  
Gendry invited them, struggling with court protocol, much to Arya’s amusement.  
His guests did as he asked and were now all seated at the table.  
Large, detailed map of Stormlands, Crownlands and northern Reach, painted on skin of grey cow, was stretched before them.  
“We can begin with our council…” he said next. “Not yet, my lord.” came from Princess of Dorne.  
Arianne went to the entrance of the hall and clapped her hands twice saying: “We need you here.”  
Soon, a dark-haired woman, small in stature, wearing red robes entered the hall and bowed. “A R’hllor priestess.” Jon noted.  
“Rila of great temple in Lys…” Daenerys told him. “You know her?” he asked.  
“I do. She was first to tell me that I am with child. She told me how he will…” “He will… what?” Jon’s voice was marked with unease.  
“It matters not, my love. Not every R’hllor priest is good in seeing things that have not yet happened.”  
Priestess bowed to Daenerys and Jon as she passed them by: “Ñuha dāria, ñuha dārys.” “Voktys Rila.” Dany nodded.  
Yi Ti woman walked around the table pouring oil from clay jar on the stone floor.  
Lord of Storm’s End and Ser Brus watched what she was doing with widened eyes, while others barely paid any heed to the ritual Rila was performing. After she made a circle of oil around them, priestess produced small vial containing crimson liquid and emptied it drop by drop as she paced around the table again, blood meeting with oil. Then she went on her knees and uttering the words in High Valyrian passed her small hand over circle of oil and blood. Instantly, fire was lit around those sitting at the table, flames burst nearly six feet high. Rila rose up, bowed again and walked out. “Is this red woman going to burn my keep down?” Brus asked, turning left and right to look at the flames.  
“Trust me, Ser Brus, this fire, once it goes out, will leave not even a mark on these stones…” Yara Greyjoy told him  
“…these flames are necessary for they hide us from Bran the Broken. His powers and powers of the red god clash as…as cold and heat do.”  
“As ice and fire…” Gendry was nodding. “Or death and life.” said Arianne Martell pensively.  
_Is it so… _Dany wondered _...are Lord of Light and Lord of Darkness two forces opposed and yet bound together as life is bound with death…  
or just two rulers fighting for dominance…?___

_ __ _

_ _

_ __ _

“Friends and allies…” Gendry spoke again “…I thank you for answering my call to this council.  
All of us here have one aim, to remove Bran the Broken as ruler of Six Kingdoms. And later to tear apart the Six Kingdoms.  
Our plan to be in King’s Landing before this moon is over will not come to pass. Bran not only has men fighting for him, but takes whole command over beasts of the wood and turns them into dangerous weapon. He managed to delay us in crossing the Wendwater for many days now, yet our sappers assure me that no morethan three days will be needed before that makeshift bridge is finished.”  
“Good! About bloody time. Poles of our tents are growing roots.” Arianne exclaimed.  
“I agree, Princess. This delay made Bran and Imp to bring all reinforcements they could in the capital and to replenish their supplies.  
Those defending the city will not starve. That is certain.” Yara commented, her voice marked with discontent.

“Once our men are on the northern bank of Wendwater, we must march hard to King’s Landing.  
We must be out of kingswood as swift as we can. Not even one quarter of kingswood is on this side of the river.  
Miles of that forest lie ahead of us and tens, if not hundreds of beasts that Bran could use against us.” Edric Dayne said.  
Yara smirked: “I’ve heard those stories of boars charging at your men. What damage can that beast do to knights in full armor?  
You have nearly forty thousand soldiers. No boar, no matter how many of them are there can halt a host so strong.”  
“Most of our men are not knights in full armor or horsemen of any sort but infantrymen…” lord of Starfall replied  
“…and rest assured, boars when broken king uses his sorcery to make beasts do his bidding, will charge at horses with ease.  
Luckiest of steeds will only be spooked, but I’ve seen what tusks can do to their legs. Oft you must put horse down after that.”  
Jon asked: “Lord Edric, those are not boars or bears or no matter what animal doing broken king’s bidding, it is him inside the animal  
using their strength and savageness to fight us.”Arianne looked at Jon: “King Jon, you’re of wolf blood as Bran is.  
You know better than any of us here, save Princess Arya who is also Stark, how skinchangers wield their powers. And how to fight such men.”  
“Bran is not a man, not for years now. He is… something ancient and made with only one purpose, to end the realms of men.”  
Dany saw how Yara turned her head away from Jon, which made her earn Dany’s cold gaze.  
_Yara will not disrespect Jon like this._ “Three Eyed Raven, you mean?” Gendry asked.  
One that sits in the Red Keep is one you and I faced at Winterfell three and ten years ago. One Arya killed.”  
“The Night King?” Gendy blurted. “Aye.” Jon nodded. Queen of the Iron Islands chuckled: “So, one who commanded an army of tens of thousands of dead was killed by her…” she gestured with her head towards Arya “…as whole of Westeros was told, but in truth he did not die, he found a new body. It is great luck of us all that he found a body of a boy in wheel chair and not someone akin to men sitting at this table.”  
Last sentence she uttered mockingly.  
“He could not…” Arya told her “…Bran was marked by the Night King.” “Marked?” Yara aped wonder.  
Arya grinned back at her: “Forgive me, I forgot that Ironborn oft need more time to grasp the meaning of words.”  
Yara fumed and was about to reply, but Daenerys was quicker: “All right. Queen Yara, I understand your doubts.  
Three Eyed Raven, Night King, all dwelling inside the body with broken back. But you may be certain of that whale attacking your ships is Bran,  
taking sway even over such beast as leviathan. We know what we obstacle we face. Does anyone know how to remove it?  
How we move our army through kingswood safe from Bran raising scores of beasts against it?”  
Hall went silent right away as all present came to realize they do not know. 

Silence lasted for what seemed to Dany as hours and it was just as troubling as earlier debate.  
“Fire.” One word echoed in quiet hall. “Lord Dayne?”  
“I was told by lord Gendry that skinchanger suffers when animal he’s taken sway over is killed.  
Broken king never stays inside boars when we begin to kill them.  
When he leaves their minds, boars act as they should nearly right away and run away back in the woods.  
Bran will never make boars charge through fire unless he does not want to feel pain himself.”  
Jon nodded: “You’ve been told right, lord Edric. Many years ago, beyond the Wall I’ve seen a skinchanger who nearly went mad  
when his eagle was killed and he was inside the bird when that happened. Aye, fire could do it.”  
“How?” asked Arianne Martell. Edric answered: “We burn one mile of the forest from both sides of the kingsroad, from upper bank of Wendwater  
to the northern edge of kingswood. That will keep broken king away. Any beast he’d send against us will burn before coming  
at our men that will march up the road.” Arianne nodded, same as Gendry: “Now we have to find a way to burn so many miles of kingswood.  
Or have we found it…” He turned to Daenerys. She nodded: “You have, my lord… when will your armies be ready to march northwards?”  
“The very same day crossing is finished.” Dornish princess said. “Stormlands banners as well.” Gendry told her.  
Dany smiled contently:“All right. I’ll see that Drogon burns the way to King’s Landing for your men.”  
Jon shook his head and she noticed that: “My king?” He sighed before saying:  
“Tens of thousands marching up the muddy road through the forest that burns on their left and on their right for miles ahead…  
that is too great of a risk. Should something go wrong, kingswood could become a fiery trap for host of Dornish and Stormlands.”  
“Do you propose another way of action, King Jon?” Arianne asked. 

It took him a while to answer as he was looking at the map laid before on the table. Only then he said: “Part your forces.  
March on King’s Landing with two columns. Aye, one can go up the kingsroad and woods can be burned to keep Bran’s beasts away.  
But, sending an army of nearly forty thousand in a single column through kingswood…I have to advise against it.  
I would not otherwise, but taking all into account, I must.”  
“So, you would delay?” Yara said, this time looking at Jon, yet with barely hidden enmity.

_She hates Starks, that is plain… _Dany thought_ …that is her matter entirely.  
And she is only to learn that Bear Island must be returned to the North. I care not if she likes it or not.  
Once home of Mormonts will not remain under kraken banner. That I swear. _  
“Nothing of the sort, Queen Yara…” Jon’s voice was no less hostile towards kraken daughter “…what I advise is one army marching  
up the kingsroad and other, one that will move swifter, to take the roseroad.” Arianne misliked the idea: “Roseroad!  
That means we have to retreat for miles southwards and then march into the Reach. We’ve thought of that already and dismissed it.  
Reachmen are Bran’s lackeys, they would not suffer us marching through their lands…”  
“…with impunity...” Jon agreed “…aye, that is to. And dismissing that was only wise thing you could have done.  
But now you have a large dragon on your side. And no matter how lord Hightower is loyal to Bran, he will not risk his knights and soldiers burning, not after he barely got his army unscarred from Dorne.” Olive-skinned smiled at him now, approvingly and playfully at the same time:  
“Yes, that somewhat changes the rules of the game.”  
_Is she truly so wanton…_ came to Dany's mind_ …now I am certain she would try to bed Jon if he were here on his own._  
Others were in agreement with Jon’s proposal now as well.  
Edric Dayne leaned over the map, his finger went from Bronzegate to the south, then westwards. He reported to others contently:  
“Your Graces, my princess, apart from heavy horse of lord Gendry, our and Stormlands cavalry can ride hard along the southern edge  
of kingswood, passing Fellwood and Fawnton castle, we would reach roseroad many miles away of any holdfast with men at arms.  
Then we turn north, to King’s Landing.” Arianne approved as her eyes were on Gendry Baratheon now: “My lord? What say you of this?  
It is King Jon who has proposed this, but we have the final saying, our men will be marching on the Red Keep, taking one road or two.”  
“I agree with what King Jon proposed. And with what lord Edric said.” came the answer.  
“When will your men ride to roseroad?” Arya asked Edric and Gendry both.  
“We must rally all the light horsemen; pack supplies on the mules as we will not have wagons with us… not before tomorrow’s midday.”  
Gendry said with Dayne nodding. “Very well. Lord Edric Dayne will lead the Dornish cavalry to King’s Landing.” Arianne said.  
“And Ser Brus Buckler will ride ahead of Stormlanders.” Gendry added.

“Good. Ride. Ride as quickly as you can...” Daenerys told them, her voice ringing with utter seriousness.  
“…ride to the capital, for any further delay makes Bran and Tyrion look more and more powerful in the eyes of the people of King’s Landing  
and of Six Kingdoms. If I were one of city folk, I’d say that my king and his hand have blocked the Dornish on the Wendwater and chased the kraken fleet far from Blackwater Bay.” Yara Greyjoy said: “That is an issue we have not even discussed yet at this council. You’re all of green lands, yet I tell you that King’s Landing cannot be truly taken without an attack on the walls from the sea. If Bran has sway over great whale  
in Blackwater Bay, many of my ships will be sunk or damaged before that cursed leviathan is killed. Fleet of whalers we’re not.”  
Dany told her: “No and you don’t need to be whalers.”  
Ironborn queen nodded with grin as she did grasp the meaning of Dany’s words.

_Blackwater Bay, Westeros, year 318 After Conquest _

In the distance he could see towers of the Red Keep. King's Landing was less than ten miles away.  
_Sword of Orkmont_ sailed towards capital of Six Kingdoms, of the Realm against which Iron Islands were warring for nearly two years.  
She was a longship of House Tawney from the Orkmont island. Captain Lenwood Tawney was at ship's bow, his eyes as glued to the water.  
In past weeks any vessel with kraken on the sails would fare baldy after approaching King's Landing less than it was wise. And for any longship it was wise not to sail into this cursed bay. Cursed with a creature which did not belong here, whose true underwater home was many leagues away, in the Shivering Sea, in the bays of northern shore of Essos. Leviathan. Largest beasts that swims. Largest living thing of the Known World. Large enough to sunk any longship and damage any warship of Iron Islands. Even a triple-decked war galley would fare badly against this raging whale, many of Ironborn captains have said. Some of lesser wit and even lesser knowledge of the world claimed this is no ordinary whale but an underwater demon that serves the raven king. Lenwood cursed this creature no matter what it truly was.  
"Fucking whale should be in Shivering sea, sinking ships near New Ibbish or Nefer. Not here, not lingering in Blackwater Bay and not letting us climb the walls of King's Landing." _Lamentation_, a warship from the Iron Fleet was at his starboard, falling back by half a length of longship.  
_Lamentation... of all the ships in the Iron Fleet, Yara ordered me to sail with Lamentation. Is that foretelling how this will end?_  
Those were Lenwood's thoughts upon learning what warship will _Sword of Orkmont_ be escort of. When he saw her, _Lamentation_ rekindled some hope of this sailing to Blackwater Bay not being utter folly. Warship had scorpions on bow and stern, adjusted so their bolts can serve as harpoons. Some in his crew did not believe scorpions will make any difference. "Whalers come close, very close to spear these beasts.  
A scorpion bolt shot from far away... it will not even graze the thick skin of this leviathan." said one of his oarsmen.  
Lenwood feared of the same, but he was the captain. His was to flog the cravens, not to take their side.

"There! There! Leviathan!" lookout on the mast shouted "Off the starboard bow!"  
It made most of his crewmen to rush at the starboard side, some even leaving their stations.  
"Get back! Get back, you sons of whores!" he shouted at them, before grabbing the nearest man and throwing him to port side of this longship. "Dumb cunts! Get back before I flay the skin of your backs!" he yelled walking from bow to stern, though his eyes also gazed in direction lookout called. _Is that whale after us or Lamentation..._ burned in his mind as beast was coming from same side where warship was  
_ they have scorpions at least... we can only sit and prey this leviathan will not send us to Drowned God. _  
"Steady men... steady... aim your bows and spears..." he tried to rally his men, though he knew arrows and spears will be of no use.  
He could see the whale now, as it came near and was passing underneath longship. A huge dark shadow below the waves, it seemed to be long and wide as _Sword of Orkmont_. It caused dread in his crew, their faces spoke of it. His men stormed the walls of White Harbor without fear, fighting as demons, but sight of this monster from the depths took their courage away. Leviathan passed under _Sword of Orkmont_ and was making a turn. Lookout yelled: "Beast is after _Lamentation!_" Lenwood hurried astern. Large grey whale went away from the ships for quarter of a mile, then turned about and now, aiming at the warship it closed on her fast. Leviathan was close to the surface, slicing through waves faster than anything Lenwood of House Tawney ever saw. _No hull can sustain this monster. It will break that warship in two. And make short work of us with nothing but its tail._ were his thoughts as he watched warship shooting scorpion bolts at raging grey bull. Not more than two pierced the thick skin of this beast.  
From where he stood, it seemed to Lenwood that even tenfold more would not suffice to halt this charge.  
"They're fucked. _Lamentation_ is fucked..." he said aloud, not caring anymore will his crewmen hear him or not.  
Even sky darkened over him now. And shrieked. His eyes went up and he saw scales and wings, large, larger than that monster in the water.  
Lenwood Tawney was here, in Blackwater Bay, many years ago, when winged beast with scales broke the Iron Fleet.  
Sense of dread overtook him as he remembered that day.  
He was no more than a boy, a lookout on the mast, when ship beneath him was shattered by dragonflame.  
What pulled him out of those dark thoughts was cheering of his crew caused by a sight of a burned leviathan disappearing under the waves. 


	98. THE RAVEN AND THE IMP

_King's Landing, Westeros, year 318 After Conquest_

**THE RAVEN AND THE IMP**

"People of King's Landing! Hear the words of your king!" a crier shouted in the Eel Alley, on Visenya's Hill.  
He wore white shirt over dark-blue trousers and sleeveless overcoat with raven wings over his chest, drummer that followed him was dressed the same. Two men of City Watch were their escort. This group came from the Hook where crier was delivering message for better part of the morning. This crier, same as thirty others all over the city, brought king's words to people of capital of Six Kingdoms. And he was doing it for nearly two moons now. Task of all these criers was to make certain that as many ears as possible hear what took place in the Realm.

"People of King's Landing! Treachery, oathbreaking, lust for murder and lust for rule are on the march against you!  
Murderers and plunderers of Arianne Martell want to sack your city and rape your womenfolk!  
Reavers of Yara Greyjoy want to burn your city and sell your daughters to slavery across the sea!  
Oathbreakers, Velaryons of Driftmark sail with them seeking revenge for their lord, a traitor!  
Robert Baratheon's bastard lusts to bring stag kings back in the Red Keep, stag kings that brought wars to Westeros!  
And every one of those criminals serves the same master. A madwoman! Mad King's daughter! Dragon queen!  
A murdered who burned many thousands of innocent men, women and children of this great city!  
She lusts to do it again! For vengeance as free men of Westeros have ousted the cursed Targaryen dynasty!  
King Bran calls you to take your stand against treason, against bloodshed, against madness! King Bran calls you to arms!  
An army can falter, an army can lose, an army can flee! But not the people! Not men and women defending their home!  
This city is your home! Fight for it! Fight so that your women will not be defiled by Dornish filth or kraken scum!  
Fight so that your children will not suffer as slaves in mines and brothels across the Narrow Sea! Fight for them!  
Fight with swords and spears, with bludgeons and knives, with teeth and nails! But fight! Defend King's Landing!  
Do not let vipers and krakens and stags to claim the day! Show the mad dragon queen who you are! Fight! Fight!"

Crier was shouting before some two score of people.  
Some were drunk and paid no heed to the noise he was making as their ability to comprehend what he was telling has drowned in ale and bad wine. Some were half drunk and though message crier shouted was clear to them, they stared at him with either dull gaze or with a smile of a halfwit. Yet most of men were sober since times when smallfolk of King's Landing could afford to spend their coppers in taverns and inns of Eel Alley was long gone and they were coming here to trade with innkeepers or among themselves, though innkeepers and tavern owners were most pleased when trade was done with them. Gold, silver or copper coins were not used so oft in this trade as it was barter, goods were exchanged for goods and capital of Six Kingdom was lacking nearly all things grown or made by man. Wheat would go for chopped wood, mutton or pork for fruit and vegetables. Led by greed, innkeepers would barter small quantity of pricey goods for twice as much of any goods that city folk offered and then again barter that goods with those in need of it under conditions favorable for them, making sure to stock certain amounts of all the goods they bartered with in their storage. A notion of coming siege loomed over everyone in King's Landing for they knew what siege does to a city and its people. Anyone handy in matters of selling or exchanging goods or services did his best to make provisions for days when all will be hiding in their homes, from manses near the Old Gate to shacks of the Flea Bottom. Hiding from all that will rain on the city, stones from trebuchets, large bolts from ballistae, fire arrows... Others lacking such skills pondered on answering the call of Bran the Broken. Serving in his host meant to get clean clothes, food on the table and place to sleep. Many have already joined the City Watch.

Lucon Tanner, once of Gin Alley in Flea Bottom, now of River Row, living near King's Gate, grinned at king's crier and his escort.  
He was a man of four and forty or five and forty, his own mother was poor source of information on when he was exactly born. A man of stern features he was, dark hair with only few hairs of grey, face as carved from stone. Lucon was once a man of City Watch, he joined when he was barely seven and ten. For nine years he served with the gold cloaks, wearing chainmail tunic coated in color of gold and scale armor and helmet with aventail. And the gold-colored cape which gave that other name to this host of King's Landing.  
He was paid good and on time which did not remove the temptation of becoming corrupt on certain occasions. Lucon had to tread carefully though, his younger brother Karl made a name for himself as well, he was a legend of sort among the smallfolk of Flea Bottom.  
In truth he was nothing more than a cutthroat.  
That reflected badly on Lucon and his standing in City Watch. When Karl has finally spent his luck and got arrested, instead of losing his head, he chose to take the black and was shipped off to the Wall. Where he has most likely died as Lucon always told his family:  
"Night's Watch was disbanded when war between wildlings and Stark queen began, if that fucker was still alive, he'd find his way back  
to Flea Bottom by land or by sea. He's dead. Long dead, I dare say. Forget of ever seeing that cunt face of his."  
With Karl gone North, he hoped for his climb in the ranks of City Watch which would bring him higher pay. Yet, fate had played cruelly with Lucon and in that night battle against Stannis Baratheon on the Blackwater Bay, as he charged through the Mud Gate, sword slashed his right arm from wrist to elbow, making his swordhand useless and his soldiering days over.  
Nine and ten years have nearly passed as he was living as fishmonger, he used all the coins he saved to move from Flea Bottom to River Row and to start his new life. Once he reeked of sweat beneath the chainmail and armor of City Watch, now he smelled of fish. He didn't mind. Money was good. And he grew to like the dead fish staring at him more than living man's equally dull gaze. Lucon survived another attack on the city, this time King's Landing fell. This time it was burned away as never before in its scores of years long history. Lucon survived, instead of fleeing in the city as thousands of _fucking idiots_ did, he took his family outside the King's Landing, on the lower bank of Blackwater Rush. From there, as many hundreds of others did, he watched large, black dragon turning capital of Westeros into ash.

He was seated on a wooden chair, whose one leg was shorter than other three and every time he would swing due to it, curse left his mouth, curse that marked him as one of Flee Bottom. HIs son, Rud, was with him, a boy of five and ten. _Eager to think and speak with his fists, instead of mind and mouth..._ Lucon would say for his son. Today was the same, as boy was restless and it was plain he wants to fight against all king's enemies. Rud nearly raised his hand and declared himself as new soldier of His Grace, King Bran, First of his name, but he grabbed son's overcoat and pulled him so that boy had no choice than to kneel down, next to his seated father.  
"Stay low and be quiet, you damn fool." Lucon hissed at Rud's ear. "Father, I wish to defend the city..."  
"You want to defend the city? You? Ha! What a jape..." he laughed "...let me tell you, boy, what will happen to you as king's soldier if enemy captures you. Stormlanders will slit your throat. Dornishmen will slit your throat too, but before they'll rape you...  
yes, a man can rape another man as well, boy. Should you fell in hands of the Ironborn they will slit your throat as well,  
but first they'll carve out your liver and ate it raw before your very eyes." "I am not afraid of any of those cunts!" boy protested.  
Lucon hit the back of his head: "Only a man grown can curse before his father. Are you a man grown?" Boy shook his head.  
"Now listen and listen well... you liked these words, ha? What crier said of defending women and children.  
I've heard those words twenty years ago, at Mud Gate. From king's Hand, from the same man who's Hand today.  
I trusted 'em then, but not today. And you should not either. You won't charge through Mud Gate or any gate of this city.  
I charged with shield and sword, I did. When I lost use of my right hand, that was it. There was no more use of me...  
City Watch thanked me with saying to fuck off from East Barracks back to Flea Bottom. After nearly ten years, boy.  
So, I shall have no more of that shite of you fighting for those that can't fight themselves. Saving the weak. Fuck that.  
What you will be doing is to come with me to tourney grounds. Is that understood?" Now, Rud was nodding.  
"Good. I plan to fell some trees there, saw it, chop it and trade it for money or food." Lucon explained.  
"Father, how can we pass through King's Gate with axes and a bow-saw and return with chopped wood?"  
Man with right arm slashed below elbow laughed at his son: "My once brothers in arms can be bought as any other whore."

Tourney grounds was a field right outside the city, as large as Visenya's Hill was. All around its edges grew trees, in shape of a full circle almost. It all belonged to the Crown, but as king Bran cared not of tourneys and jousting seldom were those held during his reign. A proper tourney, one at which knights from all corners of the Realm gathered was held six years ago, on seventh day of seventh moon of seventh year. Lucon remembered it well. He sold a lot of fish that week. Yet it was not earning that made him not to forget that tourney. It was fever that came from across the Narrow Sea few days before. He was not affected, three of his workers were and his good-brother. Disease lingered for less than a moon, claiming dozens of lives in the city and Crownlands and then vanished. Since then no tourney took place and last great gathering of people this field saw in last sennight of eleventh moon of last year when lord Monterys Velaryon was trialed and hanged there.  
_What sort of a dumb fuck kills a highborn hostage knowing his army or fleet is still fighting him in great numbers..._ Lucon mused then.  
He picked three oaks on the southern edge of the grounds, trees few years older than he was, knowing it will take him and Rud few hours  
to cut all three down, saw it and chop it. They came on a covered wagon, one he used for transporting fish, this time to carry chopped  
oak wood to Eel Alley where he'll trade it for food. He aimed to barter it for salted beef or salted pork, he already made certain that his family  
is well provisioned with salted cod, he lived of selling it along with other fish. Felling trees on tourney grounds would otherwise be punished with flogging for those doing it once and losing the axe hand for doing it second time. Lucon japed that he's already lost his true axe hand and how his once brothers in arms now have defense of the city to prepare instead of chasing after tree fellers.

Rud and him were chopping the branches from first cut down tree, they were alone on the grounds and cared little of the noise their axes were making. First patrol of gold cloaks was at King's Gate and that one was already bribed to turn their gaze away when Tanner's wagon would reenter the city. Lucon was determined to get as more food as possible for his family, he was already hiding it on the attic of his house, in the cellar, some even in barrels beneath ground in the stable where he kept his horse. That same animal suddenly neighed, after grazing in silence ever since they came here. Another neigh came, from the western edge of tourney grounds, one that made man and boy to look.  
Along the tree line, riders advanced in slow canter. First Lucon saw about dozen of them, but soon there were more. Fourfold more.  
Tenfold more. Almost mile away from where they stood. "Are those Reachmen?" his son asked. "I can't tell..." he answered at first, though he knew from War of the Five Kings how knights and freeriders of the Reach look, not as these men did. Riders saw them and one was pointing his spear in their direction, but they were riding towards north side of the tourney ground and further. "Look at those horses, papa, they must be very pricey." Rud noted. Lucon's face changed that very moment. "Sand steeds! Those are sand steeds!" he exclaimed.  
"What does that mean?" his boy asked. "That means you're looking at Dornish cavalry, boy. That means we run from here as fast as we can."

Ryman of House Peckledon, a page of the Red Keep, knocked on the door of chamber where Hand of the King had his meals and slept.  
Only after half a dozen knocks came "Enter!" from inside. Page entered the room and observed Tyrion Lannister tucking shirt in trousers.  
"Good morrow, Ryman... it is morrow, right?" "Three hours are till noon, my lord, it is morrow yet some would argue on how good it is."  
"Shed some light on those words, if you will..." Tyrion said as he donned his light brown doublet "...what made this morrow not to be good?"  
"Dornish have arrived beneath the walls, my lord. Thousands of riders. And with them Baratheon banners. They're now setting camp stretching from Lion's to King's gate. People of Fishmarket and those that have houses outside the walls are fleeing to Mud Gate in scores and plead to let them in. Enemy is not after them, not yet at least." Tyrion made a slight nod as he was putting his boots on.  
"My lord, it seems that you've already known this." Ryman told him. "His Grace saw how enemy rides up the roseroad and crosses the Blackwater Rush. That is light horse beneath our walls, Ryman. They have no siege engines. And save those in Fishmarket and in quays, city is safe from them. Mud Gate remains closed." "My lord, will they burn the harbor?" page asked. "That depends, Ryman."  
"Of what, my lord?" "Of where their fleet will be used against the city. Stannis charged at the Mud Gate as army came from the sea on ships. Northerners, Dothraki and the Unsullied took the city by Gate of the Gods. We shall see how this uncanny alliance plans to take the city.  
And how they shall fail in taking it. Ryman, Small Council will meet within an hour, have lord Estermont and Ser Garth Hightower informed of it.  
Before that I will speak with the king." "His Grace remained in his chambers for last three days, lord Tyrion. Mayhaps he is unwell again."  
"You, same as I, can only assume of that. Go now and make sure that council gathers as I've said." 

Chambers of King Bran the Broken were not in Maegor's Holdfast as every king of Seven Kingdoms had since days of third Targaryen king.  
His chambers were in a tower that was closest to royal gardens where his new weirwood tree stood. For king to easier descend from this tower, Tyrion had it equipped with a winch cage, in all but size same as one he saw at Castle Black, one that Night's Watch used to go to the top of the Wall. Winch was manned by servants of royal household, one had to be there in any given time of day. Tyrion now used it to go to Bran and report him of enemy coming beneath the walls. He hoped that king will be willing to receive him as Bran was absent for three days.  
"Your Grace..." he addressed his ruler who was on tower's balcony which offered view on the Blackwater Bay and the southern bank of Blackwater Rush. "Lord Tyrion..." king replied, not turning his wheel chair to face him. "Are you all right?" "I am now. Though last three days and nights...  
were not pleasant." came the cold, distant answer. "Were you ill, Your Grace?" "No. Wounded would be the proper word."  
"Wounded?" Tyrion wondered. "What I am, my lord, sometimes has a price. But, we shall not talk of it.  
You've come to tell me how Dornish and Baratheon light horse has come under our walls."  
"I have. Small Council will meet in an hour." "Good. Meet. Prepare defense strategies. But before that, lord Hand, look southwards."  
Bran lifted his hand to kingswood across the river: "What do you see, Tyrion Lannister?" He walked to the edge of the balcony and his gaze went where king's finger was pointing. "What do you see, lord Tyrion?" "Smoke, my lord. Smoke rising from the south." "She is here."

"Daenerys Targaryen?" Lannister asked. "And her dragon. She is burning the path for rest of Dornish and Stormlanders to pass."  
"She's burning kingsroad?" "She has to. Same as she had to kill my whale. Her allies had some issues with certain animals."  
Tyrion looked at Bran and his eyes widened, he fought to hide his bewilderment. Bran's face was even more of that pale bluish shade he had for moons now, king's eyes were that of a man who had not slept for days. "Her allies. Those she promised to get them all crowns of their own."  
Bran continued to talk in cold voice: "And that she can do only if Six Kingdoms are no more. Her war is not only against me. Or you.  
She's warring against the Realm itself. Against that what Aegon the Conqueror has built. She wants it undone. She wants it gone."  
"Daenerys sees the Realm as threat to her and her family." Tyrion said "She will do all she can to remove that threat."  
"That is true. Realm that we rule is threat to her. And to rest of the Targaryens. Realm without us is not. Still, she wants to destroy it."  
"This might sound stupid, Your Grace, if she were to succeed in removing us, why to remove Six Kingdoms?  
"Why? For it is Six Kingdoms, not Seven. For Iron Throne is gone. For she knows that Westeros is not her home.  
She does not want to rule here. And if Targaryen will not rule over Six Kingdoms, then Six Kingdoms need not to exist."

"Her daughter has taken North." Tyrion said. Bran looked at him as he were a fool before giving a reply:  
"Her daughter has taken nothing. Sansa Stark in truth has lost the North. Northern lords invited Targaryens of Stark blood  
to be their new dynasty. No one will invite Targaryens to rule Six KIngdoms. Not even those who now war at her side.  
Not Arianne Martell, not Yara Greyjoy, not Gendry Baratheon. She knows that. And she does not want to take Westeros  
as conqueror. So she speaks of this need to remove the Realm as true wheel is Six Kingdoms itself." Tyrion nodded:  
"I have listened her speak of breaking the wheel back in Meereen and when she came here, to Westeros. I believed in that goal."  
"Yes, I remember of you telling Grey Worm how choosing a king from the ranks of all highborn is breaking the wheel she wanted.  
That day in Dragonpit. I've never asked were those words true or merely appeasing commander of the Unsullied with sweetened words."  
"Those words were sincere, Your Grace." Tyrion answered. "So you truly believed in breaking the wheel, you truly believed in her." Bran stated.  
"I did. I hoped she will bring the better world." "Which was to be brought by a young girl on the wings of a dragon. Were you truly that naive?"  
Hand's eyes narrowed: "I wanted what I thought was best for the people." "Yes. You loved her wish to break the wheel... You loved her."  
"I did. I loved what I thought she was. Yet she was something else..." "And now you both hate her and fear her with same fervor." king said.  
"I do. I hate her as I have hated any tyrant. And I fear or what she might do to the people of Westeros," "And what she might do to you."  
Tyrion was about to answer, but Bran cut him: "Pray tell me, lord Hand, what do you say on dying? Dragon queen brings death, be sure of it."  
“Your Grace, I've said to my brother once how death is so terribly final, while life is full of possibilities. I still stand by those words."  
Bran's eyes narrowed: "Not all lives are filled with possibilities, not all deaths are final. Hers was not. Unluckily for us."  
I will speak of this no more. Have you done as I have told you with the Alchemists' Guild?" 

Tyrion nodded: "I have, Your Grace. They are very grateful for being summoned to work for Red Keep after so many years.  
I must say, my king, that I am wary of that work." Young man in the wheel chair said with coldest voice: "Their work brought down  
Wendwater Bridge. Their work will defend the Realm. Their work and good advice I have given them, advice that I have found centuries ago,  
in the knowledge of pyromancers of old." "As you say, my king. Now, with your leave, I will go to Chamber of the Hand.  
Small Council will have a meeting soon." "You may leave, lord Tyrion. I expect you and lords Estermont and Hightower on the walls this evening."

Wisdom. That was the title which one who wholly belonged to the Alchemists' Guild of King's Landing bore. Wisdom.  
One who was wholly learned in arts of alchemy. One who was member of this old order of pyromancers as most of folk of Westeros called them.  
It was said that Alchemists' Guild was older than one of maesters of Citadel. Alchemists claimed to have all sorts of ancient knowledge, even one of making living creatures of flame. Those were only stories. What was known and proven they could do was the substance, as they call it. Wildfire. They would make it in the seat of their order, in Guildhall that was located on the Street of the Sisters, close to Visenya's Hill.  
Guild called wildfire the substance, some said wildfire was cousin of dragonflames. When dragons were gone from Westeros, wildfire became dear to some of Targaryen kings and princes, those that had taint of madness, Aerys the Second most of all. He even named a pyromancer to be his Hand, albeit only for a fortnight. With Mad King gone, during years when Robert Baratheon was sitting on the Iron Throne prominence of the Guild was gone as well, their numbers dwindled. Later, as Robert's brother Stannis disputed the rule of Joffrey Baratheon, alchemists once again served the Iron Throne when wildfire was used against Stannis' fleet. Yet, in memory of the people of King's Landing one day was bound with wildfire the strongest, when Cersei Lannister blew up the Great Sept of Baelor. Last time green flames were burning in King's Landing on the day when dragon flew over the city and burned scores of houses down, including those under which wildfire was stored since days of Aerys the Second. Nearly three and ten years later and six years more since Stannis' fleet was broken by wildfire, member of the Alchemists' Guild was in the Red Keep, standing on the walls next to the king in wheel chair. Wisdom Munciter.  
He was a man of sixty or so namedays, of grey hair and trimmed beard, dressed in dark-blue hooded robes tied around his waist with a thick rope. He was a young man when Rossart, the Grand Master of the Alchemists' Guild, was given lordship, placed on the Small Council and later made Hand of the King. The Mad King. One that Guild fondly remembered, as any group of men would remember the one who elevated them to power and prominence. Munciter now served new king and was hoping that better days were coming for the Guild. This king seemed to have nearly equal interest in the substance as Targaryen kings did. Not only interest, but he had gift to see the olden days, scores of years ago, before this city even existed, days when alchemists have also roamed the world. Munciter was impressed by this king.

"Your Grace." came from mouths of three men who came to the walls of Red Keep.  
Tyrion approached king with Ser Andrew Estermont and Ser Garth Hightower. "My lords..." Bran acknowledged their presence "...as I know you haven't met him before, I present you Wisdom Munciter of Alchemists' Guild. Wisdom Munciter, you stand in presence of lord Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King, Ser Andrew Estermont, Master of Laws and Ser Garth Hightower, commander of all king's swords in the city."  
"Indeed, we have not met, this pyromancer and I." Ser Garth said. "That stands for me as well." Estermont added. "Not for me. We have met before." "Yes, we have, lord Tyrion. Many years ago. I was not of grey hair then and your face was not scarred. You came to Wisdom Hallyne.  
Seeking wildfire. And Guild has provided it to you. Enough of it to burn away scores of ships and save the city."  
"As I recall of those days, it were Lannister and Tyrell swords which saved the city." Ser Andrew said.  
"Without wildfire, my lord, city would fall hours before coming of that relief host." Munciter countered.  
"Mayhaps. Mayhaps not. What I am certain, we cannot expect such relief host now." Tyrion said regretfully.  
"Your Grace, is this pyromancer here with a reason?" asked Ser Garth Hightower, lacking subtlety as ever. He was a true soldier.  
Only chatting he tolerated was chatting of blades that clash. Coming to this part of the walls, on the other end of King's Landing, was a waste of time for him. Dornish were not at the Iron Gate which was eastern entrance to the city, but facing two of three western gates.  
"He is, Ser Garth. With a good reason. Tell me, my lord, how many men do you have under your command?" king asked.  
"Two thousand I brought with me, five thousand of City Watch, some fifteen hundred men of Crownlands.  
If I add to that city folk that has joined us, it comes to about ten thousand men at arms, Your Grace." Garth Greysteel replied.  
"Stannis, my lord, attacked King's Landing with twenty thousand on land and ships. Eight thousand opposed him..." Bran said. "...eight thousand held this city before relief came, tens of thousands of men sworn to Casterly Rock and Highgarden. That will not happen this time, as Hand already said. You have ten thousand facing forty thousand of Dornish and Stormlanders. And couple of thousands of the Ironborn.  
No help will be coming to us. So, we have to help ourselves. And for that we need Alchemists' Guild."  
"We're speaking of wildfire, if I have understood it right." Tyrion said, looking at Munciter who nodded:  
"Yes, lord Tyrion. We speak of wildfire. Of sorts." Upon saying that he reached in his robes and produced a clay bottle. It was example of rough pottery. Seeing in, all three men made a step backwards uneasy with manner in which Munciter was handling that one-pint clay bottle.  
"Are you a halfwit? Or a madman?" Ser Garth barked at the man in dark-blue robes "You want us all killed? Only a man not right in his head would twist and turn bottle with wildfire as you do." Pyromancer nodded: "If inside were wildfire as you know it, indeed I'd be a madman to handle this bottle so, but in this bottle is not that same substance which was known of being unstable and treacherous. No, His Grace whose grasp over memory of Westeros is absolute, gave us the needed knowledge he saw in the past when alchemists of old had made wildfire, made it to be ruin of any foe, but harmless to one using it as ale or milk. And that is what I am holding here, my lords. A bit less wild wildfire."

King looked at his Hand, his Master of Laws and commander of King's Landing with face that said nothing of how he felt, but there was certain glow in his eyes: "Do you understand now, my lords, why I have summoned the Alchemists' Guild? I will defend this city with bettered wildfire. With casks of it shot from our catapults on the enemy we'll keep them away from our walls." Tyrion said words of approval: "If pyromancers under your guidance have managed to improve the wildfire, that is something we all are immensely grateful for. Yet, I have to note that enemy can remain outside reach of our catapults and still have Kings Landing under siege from land and sea. We all know that prolonged siege, one lasting for many sennights is not something this city can endure." Estermont and Hightower nodded, confirming what Lannister just told. Bran nodded as well:  
"Yes. When one knows what you know, that may appear so. When one knows what I know, things differ greatly, my lord Hand... Wisdom Munciter, place that wildfire on the wall." king said to the alchemist. "Yes, Your Grace." man replied and hurriedly did as Bran request.  
Tyrion noticed how clay bottle has thin rope firmly tied around its neck. Looking at the bottle, he did not saw Bran closing his eyes and when  
he opened them again, they were white. He was about to speak to Bran again when a large gull came, flying low over their heads.  
Bird caught the rope with the beak and flew away with it. Tyrion made few quick paces to the edge of battlements and bird was there, flying over mouth of Blackwater Rush, bottle hanging from its beak. Then gull dropped it over rocks on southern bank of the river.

Rocks were soon engulfed in green flames. Bird made a loud sound before flying towards open sea.  
Bran's eyes were no longer white and he said: "My lords, you may now picture in your minds how scores of birds as this one was,  
gulls, crows, hawks fly carrying wildfire and releasing scores of bottles on the heads of our enemies, on their horses, on their siege weapons,  
on their ships and boats. Words of those that have gathered them against me and the Realm are _Fire and blood_.  
That is what they shall find under walls of King's Landing."


	99. BESIEGERS

_King's Landing, Westeros, year 318 After Conquest_

**EDRIC**

This place was nothing as his memories of it were. It seemed much smaller to him now.  
Nine and ten years ago, when he was here last, his namedays counted twelve. World seemed larger to him then.  
To a boy who squired for lord from Dornish Marches, husband to be to one of his aunts. Lord who took part in the joust and was defeated by a warrior priest, one that later uttered the words prayer to his strange, eastern god and that lord after perishing from mortal wounds, was brought back to life. Six times. Both men died. far away from these grounds, in the north, fighting wights, the dead that were made to walk again,  
by powers of a different magic. Others that twelve years old squire saw that day were all long dead as well. King Robert Baratheon, who watched   
the tourney drunk on the dais, his Lannister queen, all her children, Hand of the King in whose honor that tourney was held, he was the man  
his aunt Ashara loved, Jamie Lannister, Barristan Selmy, Knight of Flowers Loras Tyrell, who tricked that monster Gregor Clegane riding on mare in heat that ended with Mountain nearly killing Loras if it weren't for Sandor Clegane facing off with his brother. All dead. 

Tourney grounds never hosted so many horses, ever since this large field outside the walls of King's Landing was turned into place where tournaments took place. Edric crossed the Blackwater Rush twenty miles westwards of the city, using a ford that few would dare to cross with six thousand riders of Dornish host and half as many of Stormlanders. Nearly nine thousand of light cavalry was crossing Blackwater Rush for good part of the day and both Edric and Ser Brus Buckler knew that those in King's Landing will be told of their presence on northern bank of the river, even without power of sight which broken king wielded, as many but not all, believed. All reports Edric was given spoke of not more than ten thousand defenders on the walls of King's Landing, commanded by Ser Garth Greysteel of House Hightower. Edric, same as lords of western Dorne had unsettled score with that man and what better occasion for doing that than under the walls of capital of Six Kingdoms.  
Yet, Edric knew that nine thousand of light horse is not an army that will take King's Landing. Ser Brus knew that too.  
"Without siege weapons and infantry, we're no better than Dothraki. No one will meet us on open field, not even Greysteel would dare to ride against us with his knights in full armor for he does not have enough of them to break us. Till our main arrives, it will be so that we cannot enter the city nor anyone can leave." Buckler said with Edric agreeing. Still, both men had their camp guarded with long line of spikes and hedgehogs, logs with sharpened spikes, it stretched from Lion's Gate to King's Gate. Ser Garth Hightower was a brave and bold enough to do something as daring to charge at encamped enemy with city garrison. Daring that would be, but foolish as well. Dornish light cavalry were also mounted archers, counting hundreds of double-curved bows, enough to throw back any charge Greysteel could lead against them.  
"He can't afford to lose men, no matter the itch he has to fight us. If he had brought more men from the Reach, he would seek battle in the open field. But, his brother saw fit not to send too many of Reachmen here. That failure in Dorne taught Baelor the Breakwind a lesson." Edric said to Buckler as they have toured their camp on horses. All around them were small tents, many scores of them offering place of rest and shelter from rain to many hundreds of men. Lord of Bronzegate looked at the city walls, less than a mile away, there were men on the walls, they appeared so small to him from where he was now, but he knew that many of them will fight to bitter end. Not that much for love of broken king as much as for their hatred of the Dornish. And the Ironborn. Ser Brus was certain that on the other end of city walls, one that looked upon Blackwater Bay, fight will be equally bitter. Stormlanders were least hated among the folk of King's Landing and Crownlands,  
but now they bore mark of traitors in their eyes, not taking part in the war against Dorne, yet joining Martell princess against King Bran.  
"Seven hells... even here I can smell that cursed city..." Ser Brus said, leaning in the saddle of his courser "... I only can't tell is that hate, fear or shite..." Edric chuckled: "All of it, my lord. Those with mind of a poet would say that King's Landing reeks of those that sit in the Red Keep."   
"Lord Dayne, once we threw out those that now sit in the Red Keep, what then? Have you asked yourself of that?" Edric nodded:  
"I'm not much into ruling, Ser Brus, and games which come with it, but we shall bleed here for a good purpose. That this city will never again be seat of any king." "Dorne will be kingdom of its own then..." "Princedom, my lord. Yes, we shall rule ourselves. Same as Stormlands will."  
Buckler shrugged: "I wonder will such times be better that what we have now?" Dornish lord replied, gazing at the King's Gate:  
"I reckon we shall know only when we begin to live in those times, Ser Brus."

One of Dornish horsemen approached them. A man of House Fowler as his overcoat featured blue hooded hawk on silver shield.  
"My lord Edric, three of those river rats are coming here under banner of truce." River rats. People who were caught outside the city walls when Dornish and Stormlander horse came before the city. Only few among them were of City Watch and those, upon seeing numbers of the enemy, have thrown their weapons and armor, some even putting common clothes. Others were fishermen, harbor workers, traders, all whose life was bound to the mouth of Blackwater Rush. For first three days, they were hiding in the houses along the river, in the Fishmarket and the quays, avoiding patrols which Edric has sent to scout that end of city walls, all the way to Mud Gate. These patrols paid no heed to men hiding there, save capturing few of those that were less clever in choice of hiding place. As fourth day of siege was passing, it seemed that city folk that was hiding on the northern bank of Blackwater Rush has decided to try their luck with the Dornish. A small delegation appeared.  
All were of smallfolk, or that was what their attire said. Oldest and tallest among them was holding a walking cane on which someone's white shirt was tied. They walked slowly with faces telling of fear they felt with every pace. From each side, two riders accompanied them with spears pointing at them. As they have approached Edric and Ser Brus, three men bowed. "You may speak." Edric said.  
"My lord, I am Mykal Rush, a humble merchant of King's Landing quays..." man holding a makeshift banner said which made Ser Brus to cut him: "...ah, seven hells, why is that all of you merchants always present yourselves as humble..." "I can't speak for others, but I truly am humble, even more so since trade ended with Free Cities." Mykal replied in meek tone. "And these two with you, are they humble merchants too?" Edric asked.  
"No, my lord. Man on my right is Jos Broom, simple quay worker and to my left...Bander Slate, fishmonger."  
"Have they no tongue so you have to speak for them?" Ser Brus asked. "No, my lord, I speak for all us from the river bank."  
"Then speak." Edric said. "My lord, we're no men of war, but simple folk, workers, fishermen, traders. Mostly men, but some women and children are there as well. We're no enemy or threat to anyone. All we ask is chance to leave, to flee." Mykal told him.  
"Flee where? Your king has closed his gates for you. You can't flee to the sea, krakens await you there. Where would you flee, merchant?"  
"Inland, my lord. Up the Blackwater Rush, as far from this doomed city as we can." Edric laughed: "Doomed, you say? Mayhaps it is so. Doomed.  
A foul place of foul men... what say you, Ser Brus, should we let these river rats to flee?" Buckler shrugged: "Rats always flee first, they say..."  
Edric leaned in his saddle towards Mykal: "Listen and listen well, _humble merchant_, all of you will be allowed to leave the river bank,  
you have three hours to do so. Anyone who remains, his or her life will be forfeit. Go now tell those hiding there to assemble in one column  
and march westwards along the river." Mykal Rush and two men nodded and bowed, merchant was uttering many words of gratitude.  
"Waste no time, river rats. Surely you can smell the smoke coming from kingswood. Rest of our army is coming and they will be crossing Blackwater Rush before sundown of this day. Leave before battle begins." lord of Starfall said. As three men left, escorted by Dornish lancers,  
Ser Brus noted: "We're too kind." "Kind? They march inland where most of them will live off grass and leaves, those that don't become prey  
of the bandits. We're not kind, Ser Brus. We're just removing obstacles on our path. With this people gone from the riverbank, Mud Gate will  
be easier to attack. Not many armies that have besieged this city did attack all seven gates at once." "No, not many armies did that.  
My lord Gendry told maester Pylos to look at the chronicles of old wars. Not once since Dance of the Dragons were all city gates charged  
at same time. This will be first time, lord Edric." "Well then, Ser Brus of House Buckler, it appears we shall make history." 

**ARYA**

They lay naked in the moonlight, this night brought clear skies, sound of flowing river came from not far away.  
Gendry's arm draped over her waist. Arya lent in for a kiss, one she wanted to last forever, but after a time she withdrew to gaze at the face she loved so much. Gendry glided his hand over her skin to her face, brushing away small leaf. "Are we in habit of this?" "Of what?" she asked. "Lovemaking outside." "Hmm, once in Winterfell, once in rainwood and now here... is that a habit? We've done more oft on a ship..." "We did..."   
he sighed which made her frown: "That sounded as if you were toiling every single time." "No, it's... I want two of us as we are now every day."   
"Well, your father was a man of great appetite when it comes to bedding women. That sort of reputation he had." "Aye, I've heard such stories.  
I am not like him. I want to bed only one woman. This woman." He grabbed her by the waist, pulling her up close against his chest.  
His hand gently went through her hair, as he looked at her in a way she knew had never looked at anyone before, not even mother of his children. Her eyes were as candles now, lit with passion and want. He kissed her on the back of her neck, her breathing quickened as the gooseflesh rose on her skin. Not the kind that one gets in the cold, but the kind one gets when nothing else matters except right here and now.  
"A woman wants that as well..." she whispered to his ear, before her kisses covered his face again "...a woman wants to be a wife."  
Blue eyes gazed wide at grey eyes: "You want..." "I want to be your wife, lord Gendry of House Baratheon. But I'll never be your lady."  
He kissed her passionately: "It's all right. I don't need a lady. For I am not as other lords. I need you, Arya. As you are. Arya of Storm's End."  
"Arya of Storm's End... I like it..." she said placing kisses on his chest. She could feel his manhood swelling again and she offered herself wholly. 

She was still naked when she helped Gendry put his sleeveless surcoat of golden color with black crowned stag over his plate armor.  
"There, m'lord..." she japed "...now you'll help me to dress." He kissed her left shoulder: "I wish your left arm to be as it was."  
She sighed: "I wish that too, but this shoulder suffered a blow of Valyrian steel. It did not cut me, but bone was broken. It'll take time to heal."  
"Can a broken shoulder defeat Arya Stark?" he asked gently wrapping his strong arms around her. "No, but I fear time can." she mused aloud.  
"Time?" was next what he said. "Forget that I mention it. Put that chainmail on me, we must ride hard to catch with the van of your banners."  
Arya was now in dark leather boots and breeches of same color, Gendry helped her to don chainmail shirt and cuirass armor over grey tunic.  
"I feel as a bloody child..." she hissed "...and I have to put my overcoat as well" Gendry took it out from the saddle bag on Arya's horse.  
"Yes... about that... this rag will not do." he said looking at weathered piece of clothing of grey color. "That rag are the colors of my house."  
"And you shall wear the colors of your house." he answered and then walked to his horse, pulled out a bundle from his bags and walked to her. "These colors." Bundle was in truth a sleeveless overcoat that was now before her eyes. One half was of gold, the other of grey coating,  
black stag and white direwolf were embroidered on front side, rampant facing each other. "Half of it are your colors, Gendry."  
"And yours. For these are colors of Arya of Storm's End." She smirked: "When did you have it made?" "The day you left Tarth for second time."  
She felt the fabric with her right hand: "You paid for the best, it seems...m'lord." Then she smiled: "What are your waiting for? Put it on me."

They rode up the kingsroad, passing along the stretching columns of infantry and supply wagons. It seemed as whole of Dorne is on the march. And Stormlands as well. Last time Arya saw that many sigils was at the tourney which was held in her father's honor. Nearly twenty years ago. Scorpions of House Qorgyle, golden hand on black and red of House Allyrion, then one of the sigils she was disgusted by ever since learning it as a child, that of House Blackmont, black vulture with a babe in its claws. White sword and falling star crossed on lilac shield was next, footmen of her friend Edric Dayne, red cockatrice of Gargalens, it took her time to remember that golden quil on green stands for Jordaynes of Tor, Toland banner waved its green dragon biting its tail, Mandwoodys with their crowned skull, Ullers in yellow and crimson, three black leopards for House Vaith and a single spotted leopard with an axe of House Santagar, Wyls were there with their black viper biting bare foot, lemons of House Dalt clashed with portcullis of Yronwoods. Some sigils she did not even knew, those of minor houses Blackram, Odalric, Casgar, Warder, Silkhead, Cassien.   
And orange shields with gold spear that pierced a red sun, House Martell.  
Arya grew up being told that all Dornishmen are small and swarthy, with black hair and small black eyes. That was not true at all.  
First she learned of that when she met Edric Dayne. Now, as she rode past thousands of Dornishmen she indeed saw those of olive skin and black hair, those whose skin was even darker that marched under Uller and Qorgyle banners, but also there were those of fair skin, of brown  
or blond hair and blue eye, men of eastern Dorne, of Red Mountains where blood of First Men and Andals had not met that of Rhoynar.  
It was the most colorful army Arya ever saw. Dornish armor was enameled as no other in Westeros, inlaid with burnished copper, shining silver, and soft red gold, many of soldiers had their helmets adorned with long scarfs, in Dorne it served its purpose, shielding helmets from the sun. Here, under cloudy skies of Crownlands, it was only a meaningless fashion. Every Dornish lord who saw her curved blade, seeing that it was Valyrian steel forged in Rhoynar fashion gazed enviously at it, wondering how that weapon even exists.

Gendry's host, albeit lesser in numbers was no less impressive sight. Banners of marcher lords loyal to him were there, lighting bolt of House Dondarrion and brown shield with wheat stalks of House Selmy, blue-green banners of House Wylde, a haystack on orange field of House Errol, sleeping black lion of Grandisons, _same as their loyalty to Storm's End was asleep_, as Gendry japed not trusting lords of Grandview, white and purple of House Hasty, roosters of House Herston, a black locked book on shield of pale blue of House Kellington.  
Arya smiled at sigil of House Lonmouth, it displayed red lips and skulls, words of this house were _The Choice is Yours_.  
House Morrigen of Crow's Nest marched on King's Landing as well, their blue banners with black crow in flight fluttered in the column,  
same as those with great white owl of House Mertyns. Sigils of Tudburys, Wagstaffs, Wensingtons, Whiteheads, crossed quils of House Penrose, white fawns of House Cafferen of Fawnton, another family of stormlords in which Gendry did not have much trust.  
Most of his bannermen were loyal to Gendry Baratheon. Not only had he kept Stormlands out of the failed invasion of Dorne,  
he even negotiated trade with Myr that saved his lands from the fate that struck rest of Westeros, save Arianne Martell's Princedom.  
They all answered the call, save those who weren't called, houses as Swann, Trant and Caron. Lord of Storm's End had no trust in them so no riders were sent to Nightsong, Stonehelm and Gallowsgrey. Lord Gulian Swann knew that his son, Donnel, was prisoner in Storm's End for nearly a year now and that made him obedient, Carons had no true strength without Swanns and House Trant was alone in their defiance to Gendry in northern Stormlands. House Seaworth was not marching to King's Landing, Arya noticed.  
Gendry told her that he will not ask of Davos to give any more of his sons to House Baratheon than he already did. "He lost four at Blackwater Bay and has only two left, no matter if they're men of my age now. That old smuggler will bury no more of his blood fallen for Storm's End.  
He has done enough in his time. For House Baratheon, but also for your brother and for Daenerys as well." "Aye. he did..." Arya agreed.

Stormlander and Dornish column stretched for miles up the kingsroad, its rear was barely across the Wendwater while its van could see the roofs on towers of the Red Keep. To their left and their right, kingswood was burning, trees and bushes alike, disappearing in flames, smoke filled the air and it was hard to breathe but army of two kingdoms marched on. As he was passing them by on his charger, men of Stormlands cheered to their lord: "Gendry! Gendry!" and "Fury! Fury!" Arya liked that, seeing how men of Stormlands stand by Gendry, once bastard from Flea Bottom, not last man grown of House Baratheon. His son Orys was still a child, yet to have his eight nameday.  
"Lord Gendry..." Arianne Martell said as they have caught up with Dornish princess, merely couple of miles south of Blackwater Rush.  
She was riding on her dark sand steed dressed for battle. She covered her head with chain coif and richly ornate halfhelm with orange silk scarf wrapped around it. Her breeches were of dun color, dark-yellow gambeson under the cuirass armor also ornate in Dornish fashion,  
she had an orange coated round shield with engraved sunspear. A curved blade of Dorne, scimitar, hung on her saddle, she wore a spear  
on her right shoulder, on her back there was a bow and quiver with two dozen arrows. She was a true image of a horseman from the desert.  
_Or horsewoman_, as Arya mused. "Princess Arianne." Gendry greeted her by kissing her hand. Her face glowed with content as he was saying:  
"Soon this great army behind us will be crossing Blackwater Rush. We shall turn west when we reach the riverbank, lord Dayne has found a ford twenty miles to the west, our sappers are already there, assembling a floating bridge from turned over barges and boats Edric captured in city harbor. Thus far, my lord, all goes well." "Will those barges endure our supply wagons and those with siege weapons?" he asked.  
"We shall send them across first. River is rather shallow there and currents are weaker, men on foot would not need that bridge at all."  
"There is nearly thirty thousand men in this column, it will take days to bring them across." Gendry said. "It will..." she agreed "...for that we need to bring trebuchets and catapults across the river, we'll be hitting the city and its walls all the time while our men are crossing.  
King's Landing will have no respite, that I swear. They will remember the day when Dorne came at their gates."

**YARA**

"They are bombarding the city!"  
She shouted to Meldred Merlyn from the crow's nest of _Iron Victory_ as she looked through far-eye. Glass lenses in bronze tube gave her clear view of how burning projectiles from trebuchets fly over city walls. That was all she could see, even from mainmast which was the highest place she could now be. Meldred was also on the mainmast of _Reaper's Wind_, two ships were leading the rest of Iron Fleet, _White Widow, Iron Vengeance, Maiden's Bane, Iron Wind, Lamentation, Kraken's Kiss, Sea Bitch, Reaper's Wind, Warhammer, Dark Wind, Iron Dawn, Dagon’s Wrath, Nightflyer, Orkwood Glory_ and thirty more warships sailed towards King's Landing carrying five thousand Ironborn warriors.  
Yara had thrice as many vessels, yet most of those were longships and most were not properly manned.  
War in the North was paid costly by Iron Islands, more than four thousand warriors were lost fighting on the side of Free Folk.  
Warring in Dorne claimed not even eight score of lives, her men needed not to fight on land and Yara did not allow enemy to lure her  
into sea battles she could not win. Fifty warships, smaller than galleys of green lands yet three times the size of a common longships,  
came to Blackwater Bay and were aimed for the walls of capital of Six Kingdoms. Fifty more ships sailed in same direction, those with silver seahorse on sea-green shield, fleet of House Velaryon which fled to Essos when they have abandoned the broken king and declared  
for House Targaryen, their allies of old. Monterys Velaryon, head of this house, Lord of the Tides as his title was, was trialed and hanged  
for treason, but all the might of Driftmark on the sea and whole of House Velaryon managed to escape to once Slaver's Bay where alliance  
with dragon queen was renewed. Dragon queen and her king.

Jon Snow. King Jon Targaryen of Bay of Dragons. Yara could not fathom how any woman can forgive her killer, not only forgive but bed him  
and bear his children. "Targaryens are strange folk." she said Arianne Martell that night in Bronzegate, but even Princess of Dorne was taken  
with dark-haired dragon king. She was not. He was still a Stark, same as red-haired queen Ironborn fought in bloody battles.  
There was also another Stark woman present, one that looked as Jon Snow, one whose threat Yara did not forget.  
One does not easily forget when cutting your throat is mentioned. Yara killed men for less. She could not kill Arya Stark.  
That would made Targaryens her enemies. And wolves of Winterfell were at each other's throats anyway.  
Sansa Stark was overthrown and replaced with daughter of Daenerys and Jon Snow whose name was now Targaryen.  
Dragons have taken Winterfell, under direwolf banner, but daughter of dragons was now Queen in the North.  
Yara laughed when she heard that for the first time. North could not suffer the shame of defeat by wildlings and the Ironborn and queen  
which has lost that war could not keep her crown. Two Starks became monarchs after that day in dragonpit, one was no more.  
Now it was time for the other. Bran Stark. Three Eyed Raven. Broken king. He was known by many names. One sufficed for Yara. The enemy.  
The enemy who without as much as blinking an eye allowed his own sister to take the largest part of the Realm and declare her own kingdom.  
And in ten years he never asked Iron Islands or Dorne how they look upon future of Six Kingdoms. Not once he called her or Arianne to Red Keep. Though he knew well of their discontent which was brewing for years. Iron Islands and Dorne were sharpening swords and waited.  
Today, three and ten years after that council at Dragonpit, both Iron Islands and Dorne were at the gates of King's Landing to end broken king.

"Queen Yara! Queen Yara!" Meldred shouted from the mainmast of _Reaper's Wind_. "What is it?" "I see that fucking gate from here!"  
"The Iron Gate?" she asked. "Aye. And the Rosby road!"  
Yara directed her far-eye east of Aegon's High Hill upon which Red Keep stood and saw it. The Iron Gate. One of seven gates of King's Landing.   
Iron Gate was on the north and east part of the wall, opening way to Rosby road that lead travelers to Rosby along Blackwater Bay.  
"When we surround the city, all the gates will be charged at once..." Arianne Martell said that night in Bronzegate castle  
"...as Iron Gate are closest to the sea and bear iron in its name, it befits sons of kraken to storm that gate."  
Yara agreed: "Indeed it does. And I promise you all that Iron Gate will be breached first. One thing I need is Velaryon fleet to sail with us and hit that gate with catapults and scorpions from their ships. They're larger than ours and my ships will not come that close to the walls as we'll be landing five thousand Ironborn on the shore beneath Rosby road." "Can it be brought down by ship catapults? That gate?" Princess of Dorne asked. "It need not to be..." Yara answered "...but Velaryon stones and bolts will chase king's men away. Ironborn will burn that gate down.  
Same as Dornish and Stormlanders should do with other six. Don't fail or my men will face Greysteel's heavy horse alone.  
You know well enough we do not fare well against mounted knights on open field. All gates must be charged upon at once. Or city will not fall."  


"Helm, take her as close to shore as you can! Men, get boats ready!" she was giving orders when she came down from the mast.  
_Iron Victory_ turned starboard, towards the northern coastline of Blackwater Bay. All other ships with kraken on their sails followed.  
Their aim was to come ashore a mile or two from Iron Gate and march hard on the city walls. Yara saw the resolve in her men and already pitied any foe who would oppose them. Notion of kraken banner planted on the Red Keep brought evil grin on her face, it was present now as she was waiting for boats of her flagship to be lowered in the water. Leather jerkin, brown quilted tunic and woollen breeches were on her, same as throwing axe and dirk dagger. Wind coming from inland carried smoke both from kingswood that was still burning and from the city as two besieging armies were targeting its walls with flaming projectiles. Scent of battle, she called it. Though it was not whole.  
There was no smell of blood. _Not yet_, she thought grabbing an oar of the boat that will take her ashore.  
_Reaper's Wind_ was last to follow and Yara saw Meldred shooting a fire arrow in the air towards Velaryon fleet that was off the port quarter.  
Warships and galleys of Driftmark isle were rushing to the eastern part of city walls, where Iron Gates stood.  
South of it, on a hill towered once royal castle of Targaryen kings. Castle that two armies and two fleets were after.  
Yara watched vessels with seahorse sails passing by, she could tell the flagship, _Pride of Driftmark_ and some others.  
Galleys _Lady Rhaena_ and her sister ship _Lady Baela_, named after two granddaughters of Corlys Velaryon, then mayhaps the largest warship  
of Driftmark, the _Nine Voyages_ followed closely by _ Queen Rhaenys_. There were some ships for which Yara knew right away they were built  
in Essos. Closer in size to her own warships, but swifter, mayhaps once pirate ships captured or bought when whole of House Velaryon was  
on the waves, sailing to their refuge in Meereen. One of those ships was even named _Meereen's Delight_ which Yara found a bit odd.  
She was still in the boat when first burning projectiles from catapults on bow deck of Velaryon flagship were launched at the Iron Gate.  
Her own men row hard and coast was becoming nearer with every pulling of oars. Yara rallied her men as she was rowing with them:  
"Soon we shall be ashore! Soon we shall plant our axes in the Iron Gate of King's Landing! And in the heads of raven's servants!"

Her boat reached the shallow water and they rowed no more, men were preparing to disembark, grabbing their blades and shields.  
One of the crew placed the shield on his back, coated purple with bloody moon as he was man of House Wynch of Iron Holt from isle of Pyke.  
"Teats of a fucking mermaid!" he cursed drawing her attention. "What?" she frowned.  
His hand was pointing to the sky and that made Yara look up. "I've never seen that many gulls in all my bloody life!" man uttered in wonder.  
Her eyes were now wide as well. Above them, what seemed as hundreds of birds were circling and what Yara found most strange, gulls were eerily silent. That was uncommon for gulls, Yara knew them all her life, on Pyke and on the seas.  
Then, as led by an invisible hand, that large flock of birds surged downwards, flying fast at the ships with kraken and seahorse on their sails.   
There was something in their beaks, in every single one. Yara wished her telescope was on her, but soon there was no need of it.  
As gulls flew over two fleets, it seemed as large drops of green rain are falling on their sails and their decks.  
Green rain that turned into green flames. Yara, same as other Ironborn on the boats watched that in bewilderment.  
_Wildfire... Gulls throwing wildfire on ships... Gulls..._ Queen of Salt and Rock cursed loudly, her voice echoed on all sides:  
"Bran the Broken! I will feed you with your own lame, dead cock! Do you hear me, your fucking cripple!"


	100. DRAGON, DWARF AND BROKEN KING

_King's Landing, Westeros, year 318 After Conquest_

**DRAGON, DWARF AND BROKEN KING**

Ser Humfrey Hightower, youngest brother of lord of the Reach, rode on his destrier down the goldroad, towards east. Towards King's Landing.  
He was south of the place where God's Eye river flows into Blackwater Rush. He arrived on the road there after three days of riding through fields and across low hills of northern Reach. Humfrey was not alone. Horse and foot were behind him. Eight thousand strong. Goldroad was covered in shields and banners now. House Footly, black and silver, House Shermer of Smithyton with copper nails as sigil, House Roxton and their golden chains on blue shield, Caswells of Bitterbridge with their yellow centaur and Lorent Caswell, who fled from Dorne or that is how he was mocked behind his back, House Kidwell and their black banner with ivy, House Meadows of Grassy Vale whose soldiers had to carry that _womanly sigil_ as Humfrey called it , green with flowers of many colors. Appletons were with him as well, same as both red and green Fossoways, those of Cider Hall and those of New Barrel. House Rowan of Goldengrove provided more men than any other house that marched with Humfrey, that should not be a wonder since lady Rhonda Rowan was married to his brother Baelor, lord of the Reach. And many lesser houses were in this column as well.  


Ser Baelor Hightower was not too eager to send men for defense of King's Landing. Reach has already lost many of their sons that night when dragon came over the river Vaith and from thousands of Reachmen only bones and charred meat was left. True, other half of the army Ser Baelor gave to the cause of quenching Dornish rebellion managed to retreat from western Dorne and bit less than twenty thousand men have returned home. Red Keep asked for aid now as whole might of Dorne and of Stormlands was on the march to take the capital of Six Kingdoms. Lord Paramount of the Reach honored is allegiance with King Bran by sending to King's Landing his brother, Ser Garth Greysteel, man who has returned to Oldtown with all his battles won and yet with war lost. With him went two thousand mounted men, armored knights, light cavalry and freeriders. Baelor deemed that was enough, but then raven came to him from his brother claiming that king has a weapon powerful enough to ruin all that comes before walls of King's Landing, by land and by the sea alike and that which was not done in Dorne will take place at the mouth of Blackwater Rush. Head of House Hightower was doubtful of that at first, but then he tasked youngest of his brothers, Ser Humfrey,  
to call banners of northern Reach and cautiously advance towards capital, not rushing into the battle that was to begin there. Lords of northern Reach were still mourning their fallen at Vaith and only a prospect of vengeance to Dornish made them more willing to answer that call.  
In the end, nearly eight thousand gathered at Tumbleton which was where Humfrey's host was to rally before marching north and east, to King's Landing. Youngest of Hightower brothers obeyed his Lord Paramount yet he did not miss a chance to tell Baelor what he thinks of sending more men to King's Landing. He had doubts and not at all small ones of this new campaign.  
"My lord, is it wise for more swords of the Reach to be given to King Bran? We've given tens of thousands that are ash now. Dorne will come before capital with all they have. That bastard in Storm's End will join them with all he has. Even if I were to lead ten thousands still the foe will outnumber my host and that behind the city walls two to one. No other kingdom will hurry to aid our king. Westerlands can't muster even a decent two thousand, Edmure Tully hid that what returned to him alive from Dorne and will never give it to anyone, Vale is now only a bit more than a jape of an army. Bran stands alone and still we're the ones that rush to his beckoning. I am not savvy in ruling, brother, but were truly is that good which comes for us being so loyal to broken king?"  
Baelor nodded respectfully: "You have told me all the reasons why we should not send our banners to aid Bran and his Lannister Hand.  
Yet, our brother Garth wrote me that Bran, using whatever power there are in that Northern sorcery he wields, will deliver death from above.  
Death in many green droplets. Many, many green droplets." Humfrey frowned: "Droplets?" "Yes, many droplets on many wings."  
"Was Garth drinking some bad wine there? That what he wrote is beneath lyrics of a drunk poet in cheap tavern." Humfrey grinned.  
"You will understand it when you see the walls of King's Landing. If what Garth wrote me is true, then Arianne Martell will rue the day when  
she marched out of her desert. And Reach after that could take all of Red Mountains and flow of Torentine, from its source to its mouth.  
And Dornish Marches. Stormlands will be divided after this battle of King's Landing, among us and Crownlands." Baelor told him grinning.  
Grinning as a man who knows something that other man does not: "Ride to the capital, my brother, should all go well there, you'll have a holdfast of your own in sennight. In Dorne or in Stormlands." Humfrey shrugged: "It seems I'll be riding towards indisputable triumph, brother.  
I am wary of promises of triumphs." "And that is only wise thing one can be in regard, Humfrey. For that, you shall advance slowly through north of the Reach and down the kingsroad. Leave your men far enough from King's Landing, take only few of lords and officers to ride with you and you'll behold how Dornish taste what our men have at Vaith river. A glorious sight that shall be."  
Humfrey nodded, more out of respect for his lord and brother than for being convinced in what will come to pass at King's Landing.  
He smirked though as he recalled: "That yellow bitch from Tarth is there... at King's Landing, I will ask that duel from her again."  
Baelor shook his head: "Brienne of Tarth is now bones and bones cannot take your challenge, Humfrey. She died in the North."  
"One less whore in this world then." younger Hightower spat. "She was a highborn lady and first sword of Kingsguard." Baelor reminded.  
"She hanged my men... and for what? For delivering justice to some village wenches who gave their cunts to Dornish raiders."  
"You were too harsh on the lowborn while you fought with horsemen of lord Dayne. He surely is besieging King's Landing.  
Mayhaps you'll have a chance to deliver justice of the Reach upon him." head of House Hightower said before parting way with him.

"For sun and for spear! To them, the victory!" rider shouted in the night. He was on a white sand steed, his scimitar flashed high above his head.  
"Unbowed, unbent, unbroken!" came from the darkness behind him, yelled by many hundreds of voices "Unbowed, unbent, unbroken!"  
Then it started. The battle of King's Landing in the year three-hundred eighteen after Aegon's Conquest.  
First burning projectile illuminated the night, then second one, then third... two dozen projectiles flew toward walls of KIng's Landing. From Dragon Gate on the northern side of walls to King' Gate on the southern side, Dornish siege weapons were deployed in a shape of crescent.  
All taking part in this first, night bombardment, all targeting at once five city gates, five of seven. Sixth gate, those that were named River Gate but people of Westeros called them Mud Gate were fired upon as well, but from three heavy trebuchets of Stormlanders, who placed them on the southern bank of Blackwater Rush.  
Projectiles slammed into gatehouses and walls around them, some flew over and fell on the city houses. West Barracks of City Watch were burning as was nearby Street of Seeds and Cobbler's Square. East Barracks of City Watch, that was close to Dragon Gate was aflame as well. Houses of Street of Silk, those right beneath the walls were being hit as well, their shared same fate with houses of River Row on the other side of King's Landing where burning stones were falling hard on Mud Gate, reducing many house on Fishmonger's Square to rubble.  
"Make a night that will burn in the memory of this city." Arianne Martell commanded to lord Tremond Gargalen "blood of my family has coated this place. Blood of my aunt Elia and her children, blood of my uncle Oberyn, blood of his paramour Ellaria and of their daughter Tyene.  
They say how North remembers. That may or may not be true. What is true is that Dorne avenges." 

Bombardment lasted for a good part of the night, crews on trebuchets were replaced with new ones, but very brief were times of respite when nothing would fell on the city. If not trebuchets of any size, then it were scorpion ballistas that launched their large bolts on the walls. Larger siege weapons were fewer in number and their assembling took nearly three days after being brought before the city when head of the main column of Dornish and Stormlands host crossed Blackwater Rush and joined with men of Edric Dayne and Brus Buckler. Siege that till then was held by lightly armored cavalry which pose no true threat for the city was now a tightened grip around King's Landing.  
Large trebuchets were placed so that at least one was facing one of six attacked city gates and unleashed heavy stone blocks at it, save Iron Gate that was to be bombarded from the sea by Ironborn and Velaryon fleet. Other Dornish trebuchets were smaller type of this weapon, able of launching projectiles not heavier than hundred and fifty pounds to a distance of nearly two hundred yards. Each of those, manned by skilled crew, was unloaded against city walls nine or ten times in one hour. Princess of Dorne ordered three or four of these smaller weapons before each of city gates and to hurl stones or burning projectiles one trebuchet after another. Old Gate, walls around it and part of the city right beneath those walls were hit five and thirty times in one hour, that is how fast Arianne's men could unload and reload their siege weapons.

"Keep your dumb head of a whore down!" Ser Bernarr of House Gaunt barked at one of king's soldiers on gatehouse of Lion Gate  
"First one of you that gets killed by those Dornish boyfuckers, I'll kill him again! Didn't you hear what I've just said!" he grabbed another man  
by his belt and threw him down. "Keep low or none of you cunts will see the light of morrow's day!" his voice echoed over gatehouse.  
"I wish they'd attack already, Ser..." young boy wearing a red sea lion on black and white shield, sigil of House Manning, said as he was crouching behind battlement. Incessant bombardment by Dornish left trace on him, Bernarr saw that he is shaking.  
"And I wish you were a whore from Lys that licks cock and balls as she were a tomcat. Yet, you're not and there's nothing I can do about it.  
Same is with your wish. Dornish will attack when they see fit. Not when you'd like them to. What you must is be alive when they come."  
Boy nodded and kept on shaking. _Green boys and men old to be their fathers, some even are their fathers..._ Bernar mused _...half of the army defending this city looks as that._ Then he cursed aloud as fire on the wall north of gatehouse, caused by burning projectile, was not yet put out. He rushed there, keeping as low as he could. His eyes briefly went from walls to the city streets, he saw how further north, between Lion Gate and Gate of the Gods, houses are burning more and more. Flames that were feasting on West Barracks of City Watch have spread further on all sides. No one dared to fight that fire, not with projectiles falling all over that part of King's Landing. Fire has already consumed small sept which stood in the street south of the West Barracks. Further north, flames made Cobbler's Square to appear as it were midday.  
"What in seven bloody hells are you doing! Put that fucking fire out already! It's a welcome light for Dornish, the more it burns, the better they aim at us. You there, pass me that bucket!" he shouted at soldiers who were failing to douse that fire.

"Call the archers forth!" Tremond Gargalen ordered to one of his serjeants "And pass the word along our line. Quietly."  
Lord of Salt Shore watched as men armed with double-curved bows came forward and were nocking arrows, in silence,  
under dark of that night. Before that, trebuchets and scorpions were silent for over an hour, their crews were resting now. Gargalen knew what will end of bombardment bring in King's Landing. Men on the walls and men on the streets and squares, all wanting to put out fires that were now burning in dozens of places across the city. Gareth Sand, guardsman of House Warder was aiming his bow at the Lion Gate, same as men he commanded, and waited. Waited for a fire arrow to be shot high in the air. That was a signal. Signal for many hundreds of Dornish archers  
to shoot. Their arrows flew towards the walls and over it. Death came with arrows for many on the walls and on the streets of King's Landing,  
Gareth Sand nocked another arrow and aimed at Lion Gate again. At first, he thought of releasing it at battlements over the gate, hoping that it will find way to some man of broken king. Or not. He had more arrows in his bag. Then his gaze was drawn by moving shadows on the walls north of the gate, there was a fire and shadows belonged to men who tried to put it out. Gareth saw one man who seemed to be commanding the others and his arrow had a new target now. He released it. Mere moments later, arrow has found upper left thigh of Ser Bernarr Gaunt and brought him down on his knees. Knight from Crownlands was among lucky ones. Dornish arrows raining down from the dark, night sky claimed many, soldiers and smallfolk alike. After such action of Martell archers, people of the city left houses and landmarks to burn.

Dawn has found sky over King's Landing filled with smoke, some parts of the city nearest to walls were still burning, to one looking at the city from one of its three hills it would look as half-circle of charred wood and stone. That half-circle was now emptied of city folk as they have fled further into the city, crowding streets from Eel Alley and the Hook in the south to Street of Seeds in the north. People of Flea Bottom have found source for a jape even now, as no siege weapon could reach it, that at last it paid off to have a house in poorest part of King's Landing.  
First rays of the sun brought sounds of trumpets and drums. Dornish attack on the city was to begin. Trebuchets were first to act, launching stones at the gates. Men of Stormlands were massing at southern edge of Tourney Grounds, ready to charge at King's Gate and Mud Gate, that same gate Baratheon banners attacked twenty years ago with Stannis. With projectiles flying over their heads, rows of men were advancing slowly now, covering themselves with shields. Belfries towered above them, as high as the walls of the city, covered in hides of newly slain cattle. As they have been wheeled forward, water was poured on siege towers to make them more resistant to fire as it was certain that fire arrows and burning oil were awaiting them. Drawbridges on these towers were already half lowered.  
Behind each belfry and there were ten of them coming at the walls, hundreds of spearmen under Martell banner marched in perfect order, keeping formation even as first volleys of arrows began to rain on them from battlements. Baratheon men did the same at two southern gates. Almost all footmen that have besieged King's Landing were sent into battle.  
At King's Gate, Stormlander commanders have readied a battering ram mounted on a wheeled support frame to be used in breaching the gate. This ram was capped with steel point made in shape of a stag's head with small horns.

"King's Gate and the Old Gate are poorly defended, my lords. The very moment one gate or both are breached, all our cavalry will pour into the city and ride to Red Keep. Removing everything and everyone on their path." Arianne Martell said before lords of Dorne and lords of Stormlands assembled in her tent pavilion "It ends today. All of it. This will be the last day of King Bran. Last day of last king sitting in that damn red castle. Last day that this stinking city is capital to anyone. Today we remove king from King's Landing. Once and for all." "Once and for all!" shouted all her lords, dressed in their light woven overcoats and robes displaying sigils of Dornish houses beneath which there was chainmail, scale and lamellar armor. Lords of Stormlands were in plate armor, standing behind Gendry Baratheon who said: "We're not here to sack the city, Princess. Smallfolk bears no guilt if their ruler is no good." "They do when they choose to serve that no-good ruler till the very end." she replied.  
"It would be a grave mistake to allow our men to pillage King's Landing." Gendry insisted. "There will be no pillaging, my lord.  
I know you are of this city and that many you knew still live here. Yet no quarter will be given to any of the smallfolk that would stand against us when we enter the city. This you may be certain." Dornish lords were all nodding approvingly, yet not all with same eagerness. Lords Wyl, Qorgyle, Blackmont and Manwoody were far more receptive to the notion of cutting down people of King's Landing than Edric Dayne or Daeron Vaith who nodded with no true zeal. Not all Gendry's bannermen were unkeen of sacking King's Landing either. Many among them have lost older brothers, uncles, cousins when Stannis Baratheon came to remove the crown from his false nephew's head.  
Same as for Arianne, King's Landing for them was place which deserved to be purged with steel and flame.  
"My Princess! My Princess..." shouts came from outside the tent. Ser Manfrey Martell, her cousin once removed and castellan of Sunspear, stepped out and said loudly to a messenger, mounted on sand steed: "The noise you are making disturbs Princess as she holds war council. Speak, don't shout." Messenger whose linen overcoat, once of checkered dark and light green, was now smeared with stains of sweat, blood  
and ash. He uttered in tone of excitement: "Ser Manfrey, my lord Trebor of House Jordayne has sent me with a word for our Princess.  
The Old Gate... we have taken the Old Gate!" Arianne Martell rushed out from her pavilion, placing ornate halfhelm on her head:  
"What in seven bloody hells are we standing here for! To the Old Gate! Mount up, Dornishmen!"

King Bran was sitting on the northern, smaller balcony of his tower, from which he had a view of the whole city.  
He sat there for most of the night, wrapped in fur blanket, watching with dull eyes how enemy siege weapons bombard walls of his city.  
Or that is what King's Landing was supposed to be.  
Heavy stones, hurled from large trebuchets, smashed into gatehouses with pieces of brick and stone flying around, tearing flesh and breaking bones of those who fought under his banner. Scores of smaller, burning projectiles flew through darkness as some gigantic fireflies before falling on the battlements and beyond, bringing fire to the city, from northern to southern end. He saw all that with his own eyes and through the eyes of creatures that served him. An owl flew over the walls during night, from Mud Gate to Dragon Gate. He was in the bird  
and he saw it all, how Dornish bombardment takes toll on the walls and men at arms, on houses and on people of capital of Six Kingdoms.  
He could not care less, in truth. They were not important. Only thing that mattered is for him to stay on the throne, though there was no throne now, save one he was sitting in. To stay on the throne and wait for autumn to pass and first true winter since he was made king to come.  
Winter was his domain, his throne and his realm. And Citadel reported that it will take place at last. He only to wait for a few moons more.  
With winter the starving people of Westeros will be dying like flies. For that he was even thankful to dragon queen. Her ruining of trade exchange between western and eastern continent of men amused him. Starving people will die. Death was his domain, his throne and his realm. _Winter is coming_, were words of that cursed family whose offspring was this body he was trapped in.  
Whole saying should be _Winter is coming and death is coming with it_.  
That many corpses in the winter when he will truly regain his whole power for him meant only one thing...  
his army will march again and this time that army will raise in the south, among men that knew little of magic of children of the forest.

Bran's owl passed over battlements, it now flew above the camp of large host that came to end his reign.  
This encampment stretched from Dragon Gate in the north to Fishmarket beneath the southern city wall. Only gate that was not under attack was the Iron Gate. And he knew why. Gazing the sea waves through the eyes of a cormorant in the early morning of that day, he saw two fleets sailing from Gullet into Blackwater Bay, fleets with kraken and seahorse on their sails. An ominous grin came to his face.  
He stayed on that small balcony all night, as his owl came back and he was no longer in the bird. He was asleep, if him taking rest could be even called that, he paid no heed for sounds that were still coming from the city beneath Red Keep, of projectiles slamming into gatehouses,  
of house roofs surrendering to fire, of smoke and ash that night breeze blowing from inland to the sea brought to Red Keep.  
Bran was gathering his strength for the morrow. Day of the reckoning. Day of the raven.  
It weren't ravens that he used first when dawn came. It were gulls. Gulls from all over Blackwater Bay, he took sway over every bird he could find in the air, in the coves, on cliffs and rocks of that bay. All those gulls, scores of them, went up in the air, circling as they've formed a truly vast flock, circling in silence before turning towards Red Keep, all at once, as one large cloud made of wings and feathers.  
Gulls flew above towers of royal castle and the briefly landed on the roof of Maegor's Holdfast only to be in the air again, aiming towards incoming enemy ships that were now only few miles away from the Iron Gate. Each bird now had a rope in its beak on which a clay bottle was hanging. Eyes of the king of Six Kingdoms were white again, he was looking this world using eyes of many.  
And those eyes told him how it is time to rain wildfire on warships of House Velaryon and of Iron Islands. So he did. Gulls circled in the air and then Bran made sure that this large flock flies over those ships and then scatters in all directions, making sure that there is no ship whose decks weren't hit with at least one bottle with wildfire. Those that came nearest to the walls of King's Landing were all engulfed in green flames.  
Only one third of Ironborn ships was not burning in shallow waters before the coast over which Rosby Road lead to Iron Gate.  
And every other Velaryon ship was being abandoned now. True, Ironborn have landed two miles out of the city but there will be no bombardment of Iron Gate from ships. _They'll bled themselves good trying to take Iron Gate_, king knew, same as he knew that Garth Greysteel will charge his heavy horse on the Ironborn to break their lines and throw them back into sea. 

"Your Grace!" he has heard a well-known voice "Your Grace!" and rushed paces over tiled floor of the balcony.  
"Yes, lord Tyrion?" king answered. It was second half of third hour after dawn. Bran knew very well what Hand will say.  
He has already circled over the city, using the body of a goshawk from northern edge of kingswood, and saw sunspear banners planted  
on the Old Gate, same as he saw battering ram of Baratheon host breaching the King's Gate and mounted enemy coming at it.  
"Your Grace..." Tyrion spoke excitedly "...it is time to act! King's Landing is breached! Our men will not be able to stop their charge  
through any of gates they've taken!" "Indeed, they will not. On the other hand, our birds shall." king replied pointing at the sky.  
"Your Grace..." Lannister said but Bran was quicker: "Have you arranged it all as I have demanded of you?" "I have, Your Grace."  
"Wisdom Munciter has prepared what he was told in ruins of Dragonpit and on the plateau where Great Sept once stood?"  
"He has." Tyrion nodded. "Then, you may remain calm and watch what shall take place in mere moments. Till then,  
feast your eyes on the southern balcony. I assume that sight of ships burning with wildfire will bring you memories, my lord."  


"Fuck me! That ain't no cloud! Those are fucking birds!" exclaimed Dornish soldier who wore sleeveless dun tunic with embroidered sigil  
of black scimitar on white-blue shield. He was spearman of House Tyde from Coral Keep, one of the houses of Broken Arm of Dorne,  
all bannermen of House Nymeros Martell of Sunspear. Coral Keep was easternmost Dornish castle, nearest to Stepstones.  
He stood over dead Hightower soldier he just speared at the walls of Gate of the Gods. When Reachmen fell, large shadow covered the gatehouse. At first Dornishman thought it was a wind driven cloud, but sky was clear that day and only a light breeze blew from inland.  
As he looked up, he saw so many birds as never before in his life. Ravens, crows, hawks, there were even eagles that dwarfed all other birds  
in that flock which must have counted ten scores or more. Birds made no sound and even with battle echoing around him, man of House Tyde could hear only their wings as they went over the walls to Visenya's Hill, where once Great Sept of Baelor stood.  
Five and ten years have passed since Cersei Lannister has blown it away and only white marble plaza, surrounding gardens  
and statue of septon-king Baelor Targaryen, First of his name, was left as remainder of one of three largest septs in all of Westeros.  
No attempts were made to rebuild the Great Sept, even in best years of reign of new king.  
He was not of Faith of the Seven, lords around him cared little for it and smallfolk was content to have belies full.  
New High Septon, one that was finally elected from the ranks of Most Devout on seventh day of seventh moon of seventh year since Great Sept was destroyed, he preferred Starry Sept in Oldtown to be his seat, as it was before arrival of Aegon the Conqueror.  
King in the Red Keep, one who came from the North and who by many accounts was wholly into beliefs and sorcery of old gods was not to High Septon's liking. King Bran and Faith made sure their paths do not cross and that unwritten and unspoken accord stood for all these years.

Birds have covered wholly the plaza of white marble and gardens around it, as dark feathered cover fell upon the top of Visenya's Hill,  
yet it did not take too long for that immense flock of birds to be in the air again. Soldier of House Tyde was now fighting its way through the gatehouse and no longer looked at the sky. Had his eyes remained on the birds, he would now see how flock, high above the hill named after Conqueror's older sister, is now parting in two. One part went south, it flew over Muddy Way, over Mud Gate and turned westwards to Tourney Grounds. Birds of many sorts flew in most unnatural way, one after another in straight line, each carrying clay bottle in their clutches,  
save larger birds of prey that carried sealed clay flagons. When above the encampment of armies that have attacked the city, bottles started to fall on the ground. As this long line of birds was passing over tents, pavilions, wagons and siege weapons, trace of green flames remained behind them. Large Dornish trebuchet was hit by a flagon from clutches of an eagle and it was soon reduced to shards by wildfire.  
Bran's flock flew to the north, following the line of Dornish and Stormlander camp, then it turned east again to drop their cargo of wildfire  
on tents and siege weapons that were facing Gate of the Gods, Old Gate and Dragon Gate.  
Rest of the birds were flying in opposite direction, from Dragon Gate to the west and then south, along the city walls, releasing dozens  
of clay vessels on men at arms that were charging at battlements, on infantry, on cavalry which was already entering the city through both  
Old Gate and King's Gate. Bottles falling from the sky, from clutches and beaks of tens of birds, broke on the ground, on the rocks,  
on siege towers and crenelations, on armor, helmets and shields of men at arms, green liquid sprayed all over and soon turned into green fire that devoured men and horses alike with screams of utter agony echoing from one end of city walls to another.  
Two fiery crescents were now burning side by side, from Tourney Grounds to Dragon Gate, one reducing the camp of Martell and Baratheon bannermen to ashes, other alongside and on the city walls killing those bannermen in hundreds giving them most gruesome death imaginable. Between two crescents, were cramped thousands of soldiers, horse and foot, who before birds of broken king have arrived, have already breached the city. Victory seemed within grasp. Now, it was terror and fear.

Princess of Dorne looked both ways, behind her camp of her host was burning and with it all those that stayed in it when bulk of Dornish army went to take the city. Before her, men of Princedom were dying under and on the walls, their armor and flesh and bones consumed by wildfire. Their shrieks of pain, pain beyond anything imaginable to the mind of a man, to her was as hundred blades were piercing her very soul.  
She saw them burning on the siege towers, living torches falling of the battlements, men whose helmets were melted with their sculls,  
horse and rider torn apart by green flames. Air was soon filled with stench of burned flesh.  
Her soldiers began to flee from the walls in dozens, only to see how high wall of fire is raising behind them as well.  
Arianne looked up in the air and saw how birds are again gathering above the city, again in one massive flock and then slowly descending  
to south and east from Old Gate, to Rhaenys' Hill. It dawned on her that very moment what was to follow.  
Princess urged her sand steed forward, her footmen were moving from her path, she could see fear on their faces, and shouted to Edric Dayne and her kinsman Manfrey: "To the city! To the city!" "We cannot! The walls are on fire! Hundreds will die!" Edric shouted back.  
"Thousands will die if we stay here! It's broken king! He trapped us between two fires! Those birds will return!"  
Arianne yelled back at him and then turned her horse towards burning Old Gate, passage into King's Landing was open, yet in flames. "Dornishmen! Follow me! Follow me if you want to live!" she shouted from the top of her lungs: "Forward! Forward, men of Dorne!"  
Last surviving child of Doran Martell bent low in the saddle as she could and galloped through green flames what have covered  
the already breached gates and walls around it. Edric looked at Manfrey Martell, then at lord Vaith and lord Qorgyle, before saying:  
"Our Princess is calling us! To the gates! To the city!"

Arya watched from the southern bank of Blackwater Rush how Baratheon men breach the King's Gate with wheeled battering ram.  
She used far-eye to see what was happening further north, at Lion Gate and Gate of the Gods. Dornish onslaught seemed unstoppable.  
Bombardment that lasted nearly all night paid off as both battlements and resolve of those behind it were cracked. When thousands moved to scale the walls, with siege towers emerging from morning mist as giants, it appeared that city will be taken before noon of that day.  
Yet Arya knew this was not an ordinary siege, not an ordinary battle. She knew that king sitting in the Red Keep will not give in without a fight, fight to the death, one that will claim thousands of lives. When word came from the mouth of Blackwater Rush that fleet of Iron Islands and Driftmark is burning in the waters before Iron Gate, she knew that evil in her brother's body shall hit armies on the ground next.  
She tried to find Gendry's banner among all those that were now moving to the walls of King's Landing, it was not easy, not even with telescope.  
Finally she managed to see the fluttering crowned stag banner of Lord of Storm's End, waving over heads of his warriors.  
He was on his charger, leading his heavy horse through breached King's gate when first green flame burst among the riders, then second,  
then third... soon lens of her far-eye could not see anything but green fire and silhouettes of men mounted or on foot in those flames.  
First she sighed as sense of dread overwhelmed her, then uttered loud curse, curse one could only hear in dark alleys of Braavos.  
Then Arya's eyes went to her brother who stood beside her on the riverbank. Same as her, Jon watched how flames of wildfire rage across the river. "He got them between two fires..." he said aloud "...between burning camp and burning walls... if that flock returns, that whole army will be burned. Thousands will die." He then looked at third person that was watching the battle:  
"Thousands will die and that thing in Red Keep, in castle of our fathers will be strong as never before. Westeros will never be rid of him."  
Young woman of braided silver-hair, whose clothes mirrored his, black breeches and knee-cut leather tunic of dark-red color over which she donned black cuirass armor with sigil of three-headed dragon, gave him a look, one that only Daenerys Targaryen could and responded dryly: "If he flies, then we fly as well."

Tyrion was standing next to his king, on the window of Bran's chamber. His gaze went from one end of King's Landing to the other.  
North and east, the Iron Gate were not under any attack as gulls have delivered wildfire on enemy ships. Further north, from Dragon Gate  
and all along the city walls, all the way to Mud Gate king's second host of birds, have set ablaze the camp of their foes and foes themselves,  
those which have breached King's Landing that morrow. Tyrion felt the same as he did twenty years ago when he watched how wildfire  
tears apart ships of Stannis Baratheon. Same as then he could only see what green flames were doing to flesh and wood.  
He could not hear the screams. Only this time it was much less impressive to the eye.  
Stannis' ships were destroyed by huge explosion, one that shook the battlements he was standing on.  
This time even hundreds of small bottles could not bring such fire storm, one that devours ships whole. Today it was as fire rains from the sky.  
Green rain that turns into green flaming tongues, tongues were joining together into a rampart of fire that removed the besieging encampment.  
Another rampart of green flames arose all along the city walls, consuming the first ranks of enemy soldiers, those that have scaled the walls  
as well as those that have breached the gates. Between those two ramparts of fire thousands of Baratheon men and tens of thousands Dornish  
were caught. Tyrion looked at Bran. His eyes were still white, he was not with him, but in the air, having sway over all those birds.  
He saw them slowly circling high above Rhaenys' Hill before descending to Dragonpit. There, beneath the ground, under Targaryen ruins  
birds will take new cargo of wildfire, packed in bottles and flagons, to drop it on the enemy that was now between two fiery walls.  
Tyrion knew that when birds bring that second round of wildfire it will claim thousands of lives, tens of thousands.  
Wildfire will remove might of Arianne Martell, of Yara Greyjoy whose men were now disembarked on Rosby Road, of Gendry Baratheon.  
Dorne, Iron Islands and Stormlands will have no other but to surrender to King Bran. It will end their rebellion once and for all.  
_Tens of thousands will die..._ flashed in his mind _...but the Realm will live, millions shall live. It's a terrible cost to pay._  
_But necessary one. Without Arianne Martell, without Yara Greyjoy and Gendry Baratheon, Targaryens will have no allies in Westeros. _  
_And their usurpation of throne in Winterfell will not last long after that. Terrible cost to pay... but it will be worth it._

Then something happened that surprised him. Defying the wildfire Dornish cavalry charged through Old Gate and their infantry followed,  
breaking the lines of defenders. Same thing occurred at Gate of the Gods and Lion Gate, both were breached by Dornishmen.  
King's Gate followed, only here it were Baratheon riders and footmen that kept fighting their way into King's Landing.  
_They have no other choice, but to enter the city. Their retreat is blocked by wildfire, if they were to remain under the walls, they're doomed._  
_Fighting with City Watch and Greysteel's men will indeed give them better chance than wildfire. Barely better,_ Tyrion mused.  
Then another voice sounded in his head.  
Voice of his king: " _I will unleash wildfire on the enemy no matter where that will be, lord Hand_ "  
Bran's eyes were still white and Tyrion could see how birds are flying out of Dragonpit to circle over the city again.  
"Your Grace, if that many wildfire is dropped on our foes as they charge through streets and squares, all houses in those streets will burn."  
"_And people within those houses. Terrible cost to pay... lord Hand... but surely worth it, as you'd say._" Bran said, using his mind.  
"Your Grace..." Tyrion protested "...you don't defend a city by burning half of it." He spoke loudly as he wrongly believed that king can hear him.  
"_That is what you falsely believe. Half of KIng's Landing may burn, but all of Dornish rebels will be gone. Those that remain..._"  
For a heartbeat, Bran did not come in Tyrion's thoughts again, but then he said: "_A relief force is coming, Tyrion Lannister. _  
_Eight thousand Reachmen are coming down the goldroad as you stand here, lord Hand._". Bran's voice was cold and distant.  
"I did not know of it, Your Grace." Tyrion said frowning. "_That was only for king to know, my lord. Are you irked by it?_"  
Hand of the King sighed: "All I ask of you, my lord, is not to use wildfire over the city. We can defeat them without it.  
They're half-broken already. When that eight thousand men arrive..." Bran said with tone cold as death:  
"_They will find ashes that once were the army of Dorne and the bannermen of Storm's End. That is what they will find. _  
_Now, lord Hand, allow your king to wage war on his enemies._" Tyrion wanted to counter, but Bran was no longer in his head.

Gendry was riding ahead of his knights and light horsemen, striking down foes with his warhammer.  
King's Gate was breached and Stormlanders were rushing in the capital of Six Kingdoms in hundreds, on horse and on foot.  
Defenders, a host made of City Watch, Crownlanders and Reachmen retreated further into the city, hooves of Gendry's van  
were already echoing on the Street of Steel, while infantry charged down the River Row towards Mud Gate which was not yet breached.  
"Take your riders and those of House Dondarrion and ride down to Mud Gate, help our foot to take the gatehouse." Gendry said to Arstan Selmy.  
"As you command, my lord." he replied. "I will take rest of our horse up the Hook. When you take Mud Gate, lead all our men to Red Keep."  
"Yes, my lord." Selmy said and then his gaze went to Visenya's Hill. "Lord Gendry! Look!" Arstan pointed his with his hand.  
Gendry looked at the place where Great Sept once stood and despite distance he could see that Dornish cavalry which broke through Lion Gate has taken Visenya's Hill, waving their large orange banners with red sun. "This city will soon fall, my lord." Brus Buckler told.  
Lord of Bronzegate approached Gendry on his chestnut courser and he could see how his both arms were burned.  
"Sooner the better, Ser Brus. Come now, we ride on the Red Keep. Rule of that criminal in wheelchair ends today."  
"We must advance cautiously, my lord. Greysteel has surely blocked all the streets leading to Red Keep and his archers will wait us on the roofs."  
"Birds! Brids are coming again!" rider of House Fell shouted and frightened beyond his wits turned his horse back towards King's Gate.  
"Halt! Halt you fucking idiot!" Brus yelled after him. Gendry looked up, to the sky and he saw how dark cloud approaches fast from the north  
and east, from Rhaenys' Hill. "Gods be good..." he uttered in half whisper as birds were coming down fast "...wildfire will kill us all.  
My men, Bran's men, the people of the city." Already last night, smallfolk has abandoned parts of King's Landing near the walls and fled  
to Visenya's Hill, Flea Bottom and Rhaenys' Hill. Now, those on Visenya's Hill were running from Dornish cavalry which took sway of it.  
Streets and squares were now crowded with men, those attacking and those defending the city and with people living in King's Landing.  
Smallfolk was hiding everywhere they could, in side alleys, gardens, backyards, in long closed shops of various crafts, while two armies battled  
for the city. Now, king of that smallfolk, was about to bombard men, women and children of King's Landing along with his enemies.  
"What do you command, lord Genrdy?" Brus' voice pulled him out of his brief pondering.  
"We ride for the Red Keep nonetheless! Make those fucking birds chase us!" he replied, before turning to his bannermen:  
"With me, Stormlanders!" He lifted his warhammer high above his head and forced his horse into gallop towards the Hook.  
"Ours is the fury!" yelled Brus Buckler and charged right after him, followed by rest of men under Baratheon stag.

"Look at those mad Baratheon fuckers!" Tremond Gargalen exclaimed looking from atop of Visenya's Hill.  
His princess charged him with breaching the Lion Gate and he did it, not without help of wildfire.  
When birds flew over that entrance to King's Landing and dropped the clay bottles with green substance on Dornish infantry that was attacking the gate it burned hundreds of Martell men, but it also burned down the gate itself along with few scores of king's soldiers as well.  
Tremond did not wait even for a heartbeat after he learned how Dornish cavalry attacks all other burning gates, he ordered his riders through the green flames, losing dozen or so of them, but rest was inside the city and riding hard over Cobbler's Square and up the Visenya's Hill.  
"What shall we do, lord Tremond?" asked Arthur of House Llyern of Viper's Nest, a lesser house from northern bank of Greenblood river,  
close to Planky Town. He was pointing to the sky. "We ride to Red Keep faster than stags, that is what we do, lord Arthur!"  
"Yes, lord Tre... For fook sake! Is that a dragon?" lord Llyern exclaimed with his eyes wide. Tremond looked up as well: "Yes. That is a dragon."

Drogon came over King's Landing from south and west, from makeshift crossing which was built days ago for Martell and Baratheon  
host to cross Blackwater Rush, with two Targaryens on his back. Daenerys made him go high above the city Aegon the Conqueror founded,  
high above the truly immense flock that was circling over ruins of Dragonpit before splitting in smaller flocks, each moving to one  
of breached gates. "Dany, if those birds release all that wildfire on the city..." Jon said to her. They sat next to each other on Drogon's back.  
"...it will be the same as that day..." she ended his sentence and looked at him with sadness that has filled her eyes. He looked back at her:  
"Then, you make sure it does not happen as it did that day. You and Drogon together." "Aye, my king, that is what I intend to do."  
Next she spoke to Drogon: "Gūrogon īlva ilagon. Se zālagon lī hontes." (_Take us down. And burn those birds._)  
Dragon of black and red scales dived down upon hearing words in High Valyrian, he went after the largest of flocks, one that was aimed  
for southern parts of the city, where both Baratheon and Martell men where rushing through the streets on their way to Red Keep.  
Drogon was now twice as large than last time he came over capital of the Realm. When his shadow covered the bird flock, all those ravens  
and crows, hawks and eagles tried to scatter in all directions, but it was too late. His fiery breath burned them to ash in the sky,  
along with bottles and flagons of wildfire birds have carried, making sky over KIng's Landing to flash with scores of green bursts.

King Bran the Broken suddenly screamed, his head was thrown back. It startled Tyrion so much he thought Bran was dying.  
"Your Grace! Your Grace! Bran!" Tyrion rushed to him and grabbed his shoulders, king's eyes were still white and screaming went on.  
It was scream of agony, Lannister thought his ears will soon began to bleed from this sound. Bran was twisting in his chair nearly falling off.  
"Your Grace!" Tyrion shouted few more times, his voice echoed over that part of royal castle.  
Then, king was no longer writhing, he was calm again. His eyes were no longer white, but as usual, though bloody. Bran breathed deeply.  
"My king, what happened?" Tyrion asked, not yet being aware of dragon over the city. Bran gave him a cold look:  
"Drogon burned my birds. And now, Targaryens will be coming here. The hour of the reckoning."


	101. RAVEN'S FALL

_King's Landing, Westeros, year 318 After Conquest_

**RAVEN'S FALL**

"Darna! Darna! Greyscale take you! We must flee, you damn woman!"  
"Fuck off, Blane! I'm not leaving this place unlocked!" woman's voice answered. Darna and Blane were owners of one of winesinks in Flea Bottom.   
It was not best of places, nor it was one of worst. One could say it was fit for common dweller of that part of King's Landing. Darna was woman of eight and twenty, a hefty woman without single comely hair on her and with that her face was scarred ever since dragon burned capital of then Seven Kingdoms, by same fire that claimed lives of her mother and babe brother. Blane was man of Westerlands, once a Lannister soldier, twelve years Darna's senior, lacking left leg beneath the knee, a Dothraki arakh sliced it off the same day when his wife got her scars.  
The two have met by pure chance, same maester treated them both and once Tywin's soldier remained in King's Landing instead of returning to home village near Crakehall. For whole ten years they've owned a winesink in Flea Bottom, a given place for those who were poor, not very honest and wanted to start over. It was a not much of life, having to deal with mean and penniless drunks who oft chose to pay for their wine or ale with knife or dagger instead with coins. Still, it was better living than most in Flea Bottom had. Mayhaps once that winesink had a name,  
but for years it was plainly known as _Burn and Hack_ which was a name of mockery to its owners.  
Last few days brought bad memories to both Darna and Blane. City was under siege again.  
Not by Dothraki and the Unsullied, but by Dornishmen.  
Blane had their youngest son to run up the Rhaenys' Hill from where he could see most of King's Landing.  
When boy brought word that men under sun banner and those serving the stag sigil are all around city walls, while ships with giant squid on the sails are sailing across Blackwater Bay, Blane knew it was time to flee. Darna disagreed and so they have lingered in Flea Bottom for three more days, long enough to bear witness of night bombardment and of Dornish and Stormlanders breaching the city walls. Blane himself went up the closest bell tower and when he saw Martell and Baratheon banners on two gatehouses, mind of once soldier told him that King's Landing was lost. It was time to flee, but where? He cursed his wife and her stubbornness, her cursed himself for not taking those of their children that were willing to go with him, horse and cart and passing through any gate while Dornish were still on the other bank of Blackwater Rush. It was too late now. City was burning. Only few of streets and squares it at first, burned by trebuchet projectiles, that fire spread slowly over the night. Then something happened that Blane would not believe if he hadn't saw it with his own eyes. Sky was darkened with hundreds of birds and those feathered fuckers carried vessels with wildfire. Cursed liquid that has coated the land outside city and city walls with green flames.

Blane had to climb that bell tower again to watch how king's enemies were devoured by wildfire in dozens. He was serving in Riverlands when youngest son of his lord Tywin did the same to ships of Stannis Baratheon, Blane heard only tales of it, but what he was watching now was a tale of its own, a tale which will speak of how Dornishmen on horses charged through fire as all demons of Known World were after them. He needed not to see more. Hundreds, thousands of mounted enemies were pouring into King's Landing. It was time to hide. And where better to hide than as far from Red Keep as possible. "Darna! I'll go without you!!!" he shouted again.  
"Just go, you one-legged cockless fuck! Our life is in this winesink..." Suddenly Darna let out a scream of agony, she looked at the sky with bewildered face and began to yell as she were mad: "Dragon! Dragon! It's her! Mad queen has returned! We must flee! Flee!"  
"Then sit your fat arse on this cart already! Dumb bitch!" Blane yelled back.  
They did not get far, at Reeking Lane wheel of their cart broke and it turned over.  
Two were bruised same as their three children of which none cried, they were raised in Flea Bottom after all.  
As they were grabbing as much things they could from the cart, horsemen appeared.  
Blane saw men in chainmail and scaled armor with scarfs around helmets armed with curved swords, spears and round shields.  
"Darna, get the children of the street. Those are Dornishmen coming at us." Large woman with scars on her face shrieked again and pulled her young aside, nearly throwing them before doors of one of many shops that were in Reeking Lane, now all abandoned. Mounted men paid no heed to them as they galloped by, cursing the turned over cart on their path. Only one halted his horse, briefly, and looked at man and wife.  
Rider had his head that covered with chain coif and ornate Dornish halfhelm. He donned dark breeches, pale purple gambeson under the chainmail hauberk, on his round shield sword and star was engraved. Blane could tell this man was a highborn.  
"Hide, you idiots! Hide! Hide under ground! Wildfire and dragon are upon you!" man shouted before he rode away.  
Blane and Darna looked at each other: "We must find a shop with a cellar!" both said in same time. "Then help me break this door, woman!"  
"Kick it down with your wooden leg, halfwit!"

"Wait for them to come closer, then give them a taste of green wine from these bottles"  
Ser Garth Hightower sent order across the ranks of his men, seven thousand strong host that was still defending King's Landing.  
When ravens, crows and hawks were raining fire on the enemy, Greysteel ordered his men to leave the walls and retreat beneath Aegon's Hill where barricades of sharpened pikes, wooden hedgehogs, tree trunks, turned-over wagons, stone blocks and all else that could serve to halt the advance of Dornish and Baratheon men. Garth prepared this second defense line during those same days while his enemies were assembling their siege weapons and towers. He trotted his horse along this stretched blockade, going from eastern end of River Row to Iron Gate, last city entrance that was still under raven banner. Ironborn dared not to try their luck with birds bearing wildfire, not after they saw what it did to their ships. Faces of Garth's men still had resolve, yet same as his it was not resolve to fight till the bitter end and die for king in red castle that stood on the hill above them. Garth hoped to hold his ground long enough to make Arianne Martell and Gendry Baratheon to offer terms.  
All he cared is to leave this city with most of his men alive. Raven brought a message from his lord and brother Baelor telling him of younger brother Humfrey leading a relief force of Reach banners to King's Landing. He smirked reading those lines.  
_Humfrey can't lead his way out of a privy, let alone thousands of men at arms. Yet, that fool of my little brother will be of use._  
_Knowing how knights of the Reach are riding to capital will soften that Martell whore and Baratheon bastard._  
Garth was even more certain of it when he saw how many hundreds of enemies died, consumed by wildfire.  
Battle fever, his old companion, is never good for doing numbers, but he could swear that one third of those under sunspear and stag banner were gone, if not more. Only this madman's act, a cavalry charge through burning gates saved the enemy from vanishing in green firestorm.  
Hightower hoped that battered as they are, Dornish and Stormlanders will be keener on negotiating.  
_I'll give them the city. Fuck this city and fuck that Stark cripple. I want to see Oldtown and High Tower again.  
If things were to be as Sunspear and Storm's End claim, Reach will be kingdom of our own. And I'll be a prince._

When he saw a dragon over the city, Ser Garth of House Hightower felt fear for the first time. Not fear of dying, he lost that fear long time ago, but fear of dying in same manner as Dornish spearmen and Stormland knights have died only few moments ago.  
He saw large, black flying beast burning one flock that carried wildfire, making other birds to scatter all over the sky, releasing their small but deadly cargo all over King' Landing. His men were fortunate enough that birds were not over them when it happened, but all other parts of the city were hit. Some of wildfire again found those for which it was intended.  
Martell and Baratheon horse and foot that was advancing from all sides of the city to his defense line were again hit with _the substance_,  
but birds, now free of king Bran's sway, have dropped most of bottles and flagons on houses of the smallfolk.  
King's Landing was coated in green from Fishmonger's Square to Dragonpit ruins, from Flea Bottom to Cobbler's Square.  
His archers, he send them hiding on roofs behind the blockade he raised, were reporting on how people of the city flees from their homes  
towards now breached gates, slowing down enemy's charge to Red Keep.  
In truth, things did not look bad for Garth Greysteel. Good portion of the city was on fire or soon will be.  
Dornish and Stormlander charge is stalled with fleeing people and he had few hundred of wildfire bottles as well,  
to use it on the enemy. He could parlay his way out of the capital. Only issue was dragon. Garth watched him circle over the city.  
He has heard the stories of what that same dragon did to King's Landing three and ten years ago.  
Garth approved of it, then.  
House Hightower were Tyrell bannermen and what Cersei Lannister did to family of overlords of the Reach was despicable.  
And what she did later when she has found allies in Tarlys, ignoring both power and history of Hightowers.  
Hearing of her death under rubble of Red Keep was met in Oldtown as it was proper, with laughter echoing the Hightower keep.  
Garth's eyes were as glued to the sky now, but dragon was nowhere to be seen after he burned king's bird servants.  
"Where in seven hells is that Targaryen queen?" he cursed aloud, as that would bring dragonrider over his head. 

Daenerys and Jon were flying high over the city, using shroud of few clouds that appeared over King's Landing that day.  
From here, they could see how fiery half-moon which destroyed besieging camp and half-moon that burned along the city walls,  
killing hundreds of Dornish and Stormlanders, have now joined in one large wall of flames.  
All across the city, wildfire was burning in scattered single fires. From Drogon's back it appeared to be as a skin of a leopard.  
Even from so many feet above King's Landing, they could see how streets and squares are filled with people, with soldiers  
of two armies and people, all moving in different directions.  
"It's just as it were that day. It's repeating. And I helped it repeat." Daenerys said.  
Her voice was shaken and last time he heard her so was when Rhaella was cut.  
Memories of that day, day she cursed many times in last three and ten years have flooded her mind.  
Beneath Drogon's wings was city her ancestors founded, smoke was rising towards sky from its streets and alleys,  
from highborn manses and shacks, from where once Great Sept and Dragonpit have stood.  
Jon wanted to say something to her, but before he got the chance, she uttered words in High Valyrian and Drogon listened.  
He began to descent, aiming towards southern bank of Blackwater Rush, over which he flew some five hundred feet above ground,  
before reaching river's mouth and Blackwater Bay. He was now south and east of Red Keep, riders on his back could see ships burned by  
wildfire sinking or already sunk, but also how those that survived the attack of Bran's gull flock are now closing in to city walls, same as  
the Ironborn that were now attacking Iron Gate from Rosby Road. When they saw dragon over King's Landing, Yara's men on land and  
Velaryon and her fleet rallied for a new attack. From decks of Velaryon ships loud cheering came for the black dragon.  
Drogon was not to join them. He landed on the lower bank of the river, about mile eastwards of ruined winch tower, another remainder  
of times when Stannis wanted to take the city and his brother's throne on which vicious idiot born of sisterfuckery was sitting.

Dany freed herself of leather straps that held Drogon's riders on his back.  
All those years ago she would climb her dragon, holding on to spikes that grew on his back.  
When Lya and Rhae were born, she had to design a proper harness for them all to safely fly.  
As Drogon grew, that harness had to be remade few times in last three and ten years. She hastily dismounted and walked to riverbank.  
Jon followed after her, it was plain to him that Daenerys is greatly troubled. She stopped right next to water, gripping a large rock with both hands. He placed his hand on her shoulder: "Dany... what is it... why have we landed? The battle is not over..."  
"I've said... I've almost sworn that I'll never bring Drogon over King's Landing and still I did. Now this city is burning again..."  
"Burning by wildfire, not by Drogon..." Jon countered, wrapping his arms around her waist, they faced each other now.  
Jon could see tears coming down her face. "When I burned those birds, the rest of them fled... you saw that, didn't you?"  
"I did." "Bran no longer had hold over them... the moment one flock burned he released the others." "He did."  
"All those birds were nothing more than birds again and they've thrown away all that wildfire he made them carry.  
It all fell on the city, Jon...I should not have burned that flock, it would've fled before Drogon anyway. Birds flee before dragons."  
He wiped tears off her face: "Dany, that flock would not run. It would turn on Drogon. You must understand...  
when skinchanger is inside the beast, beast becomes one with him. Bran would try to kill us both with wildfire. Don't blame..."  
She cut him off: "Jon, seeing this city burn again... to hear people screaming again, to see the smoke and to smell the...  
what I have done to King's Landing then haunts me, more than I hoped it will... I wished not to hurt thousands again. And I just did.  
I did not want that to happen. I am not my father, Jon. I am not the Mad Queen. I don't want to see King's Landing in ashes."  
Jon cupped her face: "You are not the Mad Queen. You never were. You never will be. You are a just queen, Daenerys Stormborn  
Queen of good heart. You will not hurt thousands today. Not today. But you will hurt one or two. And I'll help you do it."  
She did not answer, her gaze was absent. "Dany... don't let that monster in Red Keep to use your remorse against you.  
If you let him, then he has already won. We must destroy him. Once and for all. And we must do that. Together."  
She looked at him, sighed deeply before hint of a smile came to her face: "Is this our reason? Since we were two Targaryens,  
one hiding in the east, other among wolves as bastard... " "Mayhaps it was, mayhaps it was not..." his voice sounded with resolve  
"...what I know is that squatters have been nesting in the keep of our forefathers for too long. It's time to throw them out."  
She gripped him firmly, her eyes glowed with fire of their blood again and she said to Jon: "Ñuha dārys iksā. Sir se va moriot."  
Soon after Drogon leaped into the air again. Carrying two scions of house of dragon to the castle built by their forefathers. 

Arya was already on the other bank of Blackwater Rush when she saw Drogon landing far across the river.  
She did not know what to make of it, nor was there time to ponder of it. Gendry was in King's Landing and she went after him.  
Mud Gate was breached and she rode down the River Row eastwards, towards the Red Keep, place that briefly was her home as well, though she cursed it so many times. Every man or woman which ruled from there since she was born has wronged her family in certain way, from Robert Baratheon to raven king. Arya hated that castle of pale red stone. Today it towered over city that was caught by fire again. it was spreading since last night from northern and western walls over Visenya's and Rhaenys' Hill and while it has spared Flea Bottom, the Hook and rest of southern and eastern part of King's Landing. Where ever she would look, there were men. Stormlanders were advancing on the enemy, while smallfolk were moving in opposite way, trying to reach the Mud Gate and escape from battle and flames. Artos Costayne and Dalton Pyke were with her as both of Arya's ships were anchored at Tarth ever since she came from the North. Illeo Maegyr remained with maesters and other healers outside the city, there were dozens of burned men whose wounds needed tending while dying needed someone to ease their passing.

"Move aside! Move aside, you dumb cunts!!" Dalton yelled at families that were running across the River Row, one child nearly ending under the hooves of his horse "Stupidest people of Westeros truly live in this shithole!" Arya knew he would have no issue of striking down one or two of smallfolk with his axe if she weren't there. "Leave them be, Dalton, and ride forth." she aswered. Her Rhoynar sword was drawn out and she held it firm in her left hand, not paying any heed to pain in her shoulder. She halted her horse, same as all men in her escort that counted over two dozen riders, as she came before the enemy. "Garth Hightower is a man that knows war..." she said to Artos and Dalton "...he made certain to have the higher ground and that many tall houses are behind this defense line of his." She pointed finger at the archers and crossbowmen on the roofs, terraces and balconies, while pikemen were crouching behind long shield wall, waiting for those knights and other riders that would made their way through spikes, hedgehogs, stone blocks and tree trunks. "As Costayne I know Hightowers well. They seldom breed fools, Arya. These defenses are worthy of a castle and he placed them in the city." Dalton spat on the ground before saying:  
"No matter what he has built, it cannot halt a charge of so many men Dorne and Stormlands have here."  
"No, it can't. But it can claim hundreds of lives. I doubt of Princess of Dorne wanting to lose half of her host." Artos replied.  
"I don't know of her, but Gendry Baratheon surely does not to lose an army so he could gain a city." Arya said to the both.  
They have caught up with Stormlander van and as they have turned north from River Row, memory came to her from all those years ago how somewhere in this part of the city that scheming traitor Littlefinger had his brothel. She could not recall with whole certainty where it stood. There, on the small square before that brothel was where Jamie Lannister and his men attacked her father and his guards.  
"Princess! Princess Arya!" someone's voice was calling her from other end of the alley. "Ser Brus!" Arya answered and even from many yards away she could tell of his burns. _He could perish from such wound if he leaves them untended for too long._  
"Princess, my lord Gendry is at kingsroad with Arianne Martell and other lords. I'll take you to there." Buckler said.

Arya saw how both armies, one under sunspear and one under crowned stag, are massing along defenses Ser Garth Hightower placed.  
Dorne and Stormlands came to King's Landing with nearly forty thousand men, battle thus far took lives of nearly five and ten thousand,  
most of them had not died by blade or arrow tip, but by fire that fell on them from the sky. Six and score thousands were now facing Greysteel's men, six and score thousands of cavalry and infantry, stretching in long line from edges of Flea Bottom to end of River Row. Behind that line, smoke was rising high in the air, from all sides, smoke caused by yellow and green flames as King's Landing was once again suffering from fire while two armies were battling for it. Knights sworn to Storm's End and footmen, Dornish spears counting in thousands, hundreds of sand steeds carrying their lightly armored riders, all those many men were standing in silence now, only horse would neigh here and there. They stood in silence, while their eyes burned with battle fever. Commanders of this army were at kingsroad, which in the city was a long, straight street leading from Gate of the Gods to Red Keep. Silence was so that Arya could hear sounds of fighting at the Iron Gate where sons of kraken have made their way to the walls at last. _This can end only one way, same as it did three and ten years ago, with city taken. What remains to be answered, is how many lives will that taking cost._ One part of Arya wished to see the head of Garth Hightower on Dornish spear, other part knew breaking him and his men will be a bloodbath, worse than Battle of Eastwatch Forest was. A victory so bitter that it will taste as defeat.  
"Arya, you should've remained on the other side of the river." Gendry said in angry whisper as they stood side by side on their horses.  
"Poor were the chances for that, m'lord." she whispered back, not taking her eyes off the enemy positions two hundred yards away.  
"What do you plan to do?" she said, this time loud enough for both Gendry and Arianne Martell to hear. "To end this one way or the other."  
Woman's voice with Dornish accent left no doubt who answered Arya's question. She spoke more: "Greysteel will have chance to surrender.  
One chance. Or he dies, with all of his men." "Will he surrender?" Arya asked. Gendry whispered again: "Princess Arianne and I both have scouts keeping eye on the roads that lead here from west and north. One rider came from goldroad with word of Reach cavalry coming here, mayhaps even ten thousand strong. Garth surely knows of this, he could be planning to stand fast till his reinforcements come."  
"Surely he can hear how your reinforcements are coming over the Iron Gate. Five thousand killers from the Iron Islands. Led by their queen..."  
"Greysteel is not a halfwit. He'll ask for parlay. He knows well that him and all his men could be dead before his relief column arrives."

Arya shrugged at those words. Ten thousand heavy and light cavalry would make a difference in battle as this one was. If besieging armies were still outside King's Landing. There, on the open field, knights of the Reach could smash into Dornish and Stormlander lines before they manage to turn about and face the newly arrived enemy. But, city gates have fallen sooner than either side expected, City Watch was never true host and that was proven once again. Only fear of Ser Garth Hightower and his men kept them from falling apart and deserting. Sounds of fighting at Iron Gates echoed more louder, that spoke of Ironborn resolve to breach it. Those on the other side were also turning their heads in that direction, dreaded with notion of being caught between Dornish spear and Ironborn axe. It did not take long for a man bearing lance with white cloth to appear. He made his way through spikes and stone blocks, walking cautiously, _as fox through kennel_, flashed in Arya's mind.  
He halted his pace some twenty yards from where Arianne and Gendry were. He was not even a man yet, a page of five and ten at best, his grey surcoat was torn in few places but sigil, that of white tower with beacon of fire, spoke whom did he serve.  
"Princess Arianne, lord Gendry! Ser Garth of House Hightower, commander of garrison of King's Landing, calls for parlay.  
What answer shall I bring him?" Dark-haired woman turned on her horse, she was looking at all the lords and knights behind her, and grinned.  
Then she exchanged look with lord of Storm's End and he gave a slight nod. "You may inform Ser Garth that we accept his call. We shall meet right after you bring him our answer. Half the way between our armies." olive-skinned princess said to the page, measuring him with her eyes.  
"I will tell him so, Princess." boy bowed before turning his back to them.  
He hurried back so that piece of his surcoat remained on one of the sharpened pikes, planted to slow the charge of Garth's enemies.

"What terms offer you, Ser Garth?" Arianne Martell asked, not hiding impatience.  
Even her sand steed was restless, beating the ground with his left foreleg.  
Gendry knew this part of town well. Not far behind enemy lines was Shadowblack Lane, some four hundred yards to the left was Pigrun Alley.  
Places of his childhood. Places distance from which today could be measured in hundreds of yards or in hundreds of lives. Today was such day.  
Day when he faced a lord from the Reach, on black destrier, clad in plate armor with engraved white tower on his breastplate, holding greathelm in his right hand. Garth Hightower was a man in his mid-forties though his face, upon which smile must have come as oft as snow over Hellholt castle, made him look even older. He was of dark-brown hair and beard that were turning grey slowly.  
_He was a handsome man when he was young..._ Arianne Martell told Gendry._...I mislike when enemies are handsome.  
Such a waste of manhood..._ Gendry did not know what to tell her, talk of lust and bedding was not something he would ever partake.  
Though, Greysteel was tall and muscular man, he truly commanded respect in full armor on prized destrier. A true knight of Westeros.  
"My terms are simple, Princess. I want safe passage for all men under my command through the Mud Gate, one that is not burning.  
I will not take my host through Iron Gate, one that kraken scum is still not able to breach. I want not to see their ugly faces.  
All seven thousand will march out of King's Landing with their banners and their weapons. Then you can have this city."  
Arianne frowned: "All seven thousand? With weapons and banners flying high? As you have claimed victory? One could call it a jape.  
Or mayhaps you intend to join your seven thousand with same as many or more that are riding here down the goldroad? You're no fool, Ser.  
You know well that our army will not stay in this burning city long, that we shall leave it as well. Do you plan to ambush us in the open?  
Is that what you intend?" Garth smirked: "That would be my plan, Princess, if this were a battle of man against man, blade against blade.  
Yet you know well wildfire has burned thousands of your men here. I know what has burned thousands of Reachmen at Vaith. I've seen him.  
The Targaryen dragon. I will not risk losing thousands of my men on the open field. Not for this king. His days are numbered.  
Without that fire breathing beast, yes, I would send my heavy cavalry on your spearmen with pleasure greater than bedding..."  
His words were cut by sound of burning projectile slamming in tall house about half a mile from where they stood. Garth hissed:  
"Is this how you hold a parlay?! Attacking while we negotiate! It there no honor in Sunspear and Storm's End left?"  
"Do you see Yara Greyjoy standing here? Or any of Velaryons? That came from the sea, Ser Garth. They are shooting from the ships."  
Gendry replied with stern voice, letting Hightower to know his honor will not be questioned. Arianne nodded, grining at Greysteel:  
"That false king your serve, he has made many enemies. And all are now knocking at the gates of Red Keep..."  
A loud shriek was heard from the sky, all three looked up. Dragon, black and large, was circling around the royal castle.  
Arianne pointed at the flying beast: "Ser Garth, the day when your king's reign was over was the day when he made enemies of them."  
Hightower watched as dragon was tearing down one of towers with his fiery breath, one in the royal gardens, one where king slept.  
"Princess Arianne, lord Gendry... what say you of my terms?" he asked. "Dorne agrees with your terms." she asnwered. "As do Stormlands."  
Greysteel nodded, hiding relief on his face and was turning his horse about. "Ser Garth, bear in mind that this dragon will linger here until  
your army is safely in southern Reach. Your men and your reinforcements..." Gendry told him, placing his warhammer on the shoulder  
"...Reach will not bring men at arms north of Goldengrove, of Bitterbridge and of Grassy Vale. Those are terms of Storm's End."  
Knight of House Hightower spat on the ground before answering: "It will be so. But bear in mind, young lord. Nothing lasts." 

Shadow and roar... that was all Tyrion saw and heard before tower in royal gardens was broken in half by dragonflame.  
Bran was not there, both of them used the winch cage to abandon it, not long after dragon has burned the flock of birds king used against his enemies. It caused great pain to Bran and Tyrion thought he might die right there. King regained his conscience, though it was clear that fire which burned his ravens and hawks away did something to Bran's mind as well. There was no time to ponder of it. Dragon was above the city, Dornish and Stormlanders were massing beneath the Aegon's High Hill, while from the sea Ironborn and Velaryon ships were closing in to bombard the eastern walls of the city, the Iron Gate. Some of projectiles began to fall on the lower levels of Red Keep as well. Weirwood tree was in flames again, burning tower that fell on royal gardens set most of that place ablaze. Bran was taken by the Kingsguard, six of them, seventh being Brienne of Tarth who died at Winterfell while Tyrion went to the lowest of courtyards. He wanted to send a rider to Garth Hightower with king's orders, in truth Tyrion's orders, to stand fast and defend the Red Keep, to hold out while relief force comes. It was the last hope, a fool's hope of saving what cannot be saved anymore. Kingship of Bran, First of his name. Instead finding a rider, one came to the courtyard, serjeant of City Watch. He was arguing with Ryman Peckledon, though it not lasted for long as serjeant struck the loyal page down with his fist, boy's nose and mouth were bleeding. "What is the meaning of this?!" Tyrion shouted "How dare you raise a hand on the member of royal household!"  
Serjeant laughed: "Royal household... it's all over, dwarf. This cunt of a page, the household, the king and you. It's over.  
I've come here to tell my men to leave. Greysteel has made terms with that Martell bitch and stag bastard. The city is theirs."  
Tyrion felt as legs were cut under him, it seemed that he will fall down. At that moment the ground shook.  
Burning projectile from the ship's trebuchet flew over that courtyard and struck the roof of the stables, killing few horses and making others to run across the yard in all directions. Velaryon fleet came as close as ships could and now their rage was on the Red Keep, all parts of it that could be hit from the ships. "Do you see now, Imp, it is over! It is all over!" serjeant shouted before he urged his horse to the higher level of the castle yards. As he rode, he was calling gold cloaks to abandon their posts. And all them listened.  
"My lord... my lord... what do you order?" Ryman asked, wiping the blood off his face. Tyrion sighed before saying:  
"Leave, Ryman. You have served me faithfully and well. You were true to the words of your house, you were unflinching. Leave now, return to Westerlands, find yourself a woman that will bore you children and make your old days miserable. And never set foot out of your lands again.  
I had a squire once, his loyalty second to none... save yours. Go now." Ryman's eyes were filled with tears: "My lord..."  
"Leave already!" Tyrion yelled and then he smiled at page: "But, before you do, remove all king's markings from your clothes. Go! Now!"

Tyrion walked back to the Hand’s chamber, he was the only one that was going to the castle. All others were rushing downwards, gold cloaks, servants, scribes, cooks, stable boys, men and women he knew and did not knew, dozens were fleeing from the Red Keep. Some cursed him or Bran as they passed him by, but he did not care, he kept on walking. It seemed to him as he was walked for miles before reaching the chamber of the Hand. He paused before stepping inside. Silence. Castle was silent. "Silent as grave." he mused aloud. When he was inside, he looked around. For many years Small Council was held here. All of them were gone now, dead or retired. He could not tell where Master of Laws was.  
Had he died or was he rushing to bend the knee before his kinsman, Gendry of House Baratheon. It mattered not.  
It was over, just as that serjeant said. As he look around the chamber, Tyrion's gaze caught the thick, leather bound book.  
Archmaester Ebrose's _A Song of Ice and Fire_.  
One that omitted him from the history of wars following the death of King Robert.  
He laughed at that and then he grabbed a bottle of Arbor Red and drank it half empty.  
_Last one before we meet again, my friend..._ voice came to him as he was sitting on the chamber floor, sipping from the same bottle.  
"Indeed... I don't see how could I delay our reunion now, Varys." he chuckled.  
_It will be easier if you were to admit these three and ten years was living on borrowed time. It was a good time, yet as I once said..._  
"Nothing lasts..." Tyrion took another sip "...wine included. Oh, well... I had ten good years. Mayhaps this time chronicles will mention me."  
_Oh, I am certain it will. As one who could not end the Ironborn war with the Vale, one whose invasion of Dorne ended as disaster. _  
_I would truly be amazed if anyone writing history of the reign of King Bran the Broken would not mention such blunders_, Varys said.  
"You're just mean because you don't have a cock... No... wait, some say that in the afterlife one does get all he was missing in this one?  
Is that true?" Tyrion asked as he was finishing the Arbor Red. _Would it comfort you to say that it is? That I am endowed as a prize stallion,  
and that you shall be taller than your brother was... Alas, it is not so, my dear Imp. My little birds don't sing beyond death._  
"You're a poor choice of man's last company. Why doesn't Bronn come to haunt my drunken thoughts, but you, Spider."  
_Bronn was never your friend. I was. I have saved you and you have betrayed me. Same as you have betrayed both Targaryens._  
Tyrion paid no heed to what voice in his head was saying, instead he pointed at the wall: "You see that axe there... hanging on the wall...  
I charged through Mud Gate armed with it. Man rallied around me... Halfman, halfman... they cheered... those were good days."  
_You mean when your own family ordered knight of Kingsguard to strike you down? Good times, indeed. It suits you ill, my lord._  
_This sentimentality. Instead drowning yourself in wine, mayhaps it is time for one last charge of Tyrion of House Lannister. _  
_One last roar of the lion of Casterly Rock. Mayhaps history books will make a note of you after all. That is what you want, right? _  
"Yes... that is what I want..." Tyrion said and dropped the bottle from his hand, he slowly rose up and waddled to the wall. 

Jon and Daenerys have entered the Great Hall of the Red Keep alone. Castle was breached.  
First to enter it, after Targaryen king and queen were men of House Velaryon.  
They have gambled by using long forgotten passages that lead from the coves beneath the Red Keep all the way to lower courtyard,  
passages of which record was kept at Driftmark since times of Corlys Velaryon. Passages that no one among them were certain still existed.  
Bael Velaryon, head of that house, emerged first, before his men covered with dirt and cobwebs, with crossbow in his hand, his nephew Alyn followed, carrying same weapon and looking as miller that was asleep for hundred years.  
The Ironborn came next, upon taking the gatehouse of Iron Gate they did not enter the city but rushed along the walls to the Red Keep, entering lower courtyard from the other side. Dornish and Stormlanders followed soon, right after Garth Hightower made an opening in his defense line.  
His men were slowly marching through the Hook and over the Fishmonger's Square, leaving the city. Arianne and Gendry were leading their soldiers up the Aegon's Hill, into the Red Keep, riding through twisty Shadowblack Lane. On their way uphill they were passing by the retreating guards and royal household. Gendry's eyes widened as he saw three white cloaks among the crowd.  
"He must already be dead, the broken king... when his Kingsguard flees." one of Dornish lords exclaimed. 

Great Hall was large, large enough to host a thousand of people. Entry to the hall was on its southern end while dais where Iron Throne once stood was on the north. Hall was renewed during second and third year of Bran's reign. Roof, ceiling, walls, narrow windows facing east and west, all was restored as it once were. Only decorations on the walls were different, in rebuilt Great Hall walls were painted with images featuring each of Six Kingdoms, the North and lands beyond the Wall. One of Kingsguard, man of House Gaunt, whose cousin, Ser Gwayne, was Kingsguard to King Aerys the Second, charged at Jon as he and Dany were still outside the Great Hall. He was not match for the King of Bay of Dragons. Longclaw first slashed man's right leg which made him to fall on his knees and then Valyrian steel parted Kingsguard's head from his shoulders. Daenerys walked to the headless corpse and saw something on Gaunt's belt. She took it and put it under her leather tunic.  
Another white cloak appeared from the Great Hall, one could tell that he went after silver-haired woman. He did not make more than few steps, Longclaw met his blade and it shuddered in Kingsguard's hand, white cloak lunged again. Jon's bastard sword sliced through his breastplate as if it were butter, it parted for Valyrian steel and the man fell. Third white cloak appeared behind Jon's back and was about to stab him in the back with his longsword, Dany barely managed to shout: "Behind you!" when two bolts flew in from the left, lodging in his throat. Jon turned around, he saw dead knight of Kingsguard merely four feet behind him, then he looked left and saw Bael and Alyn Velaryon standing some twenty yards away with crossbows. He exchanged nods with them and then he and Daenerys entered the Great Hall.

They saw him, on the dais, in his chair with wheels.  
He was dressed all in black, his face was inhumanly pale and bluish and his eyes were bloody.  
"Be with me. Build the new world with me. This is our reason. It has been from the beginning, since you were a little boy with a bastard's name  
and I was a little girl who couldn't count to twenty. We do it together. We break the wheel together." a cold and distant voice came from the dais.  
Dany's eyes narrowed, those were her last words to Jon, last before he stabbed her. She felt burning below her left breast where her scar was.  
"You are my queen, now and always." came next from Bran and Dany's discomfort was even greater now. It was here, in the burned ruins of this place that she died. Her breath deepened and even not willingly she moved slightly apart from Jon.  
Pale faced man in wheelchair grinned. “You were exactly where you were supposed to be.” he uttered next.  
These words made dark-haired Targaryen to grip the hilt of his sword tightly.  
“Was it right, what I did? It doesn’t feel right.” ice cold voice echoed again and he grinned at Jon:  
"Those were your words, Aegon. After you killed her."  
King looked at them, it was not a look of pride or defiance or enmity, it was a gaze of one long dead inside.  
"Abominations. That is what you are. Man and woman slain, then risen by fire demon and making its demonic progeny.  
You should not be walking this earth. You or your dragonspawn. Foul, disgusting creatures."  
Jon made two paces towards the dais, rising his sword. "Are you going to strike me down, _brother_?"  
"You are not my brother!" Jon shouted "I had three brothers. One was killed by Roose Bolton, other by his bastard Ramsay. And third,  
one whose body you've stolen has been dead for many years. Last what my brother Bran did was to warn me of you wanting my family dead.  
Do not call yourself my brother, you monster!" King grinned: "Monster... I have lived for thousands of years, I was never dead.  
You are dead, Jon Snow. You are dead, Daenerys Stormborn. You think that you live, but you are dead. Both of you. For years now.  
More dead than those which marched under my lead. Those that were to bring order into this world. Yes, I was to bring a good world.  
I was to break the wheel. Not a little girl who could not count to twenty, not a bastard who knew nothing. Not you two weaklings.  
Even with your dragons and all the men that follow you, you will never know what true power is. I had that power. I'll have it again."  
Jon and Dany looked at him, killing him with their gaze, but he grinned at them still: "Yes, I know that look well.  
You, Aegon, you had it once before, at Hardhome when you failed to save most of the wildlings. And you, Mhysa,  
you had that look when I took your child from the sky, when he screamed as slain piglet, before falling into that frozen lake.  
He served me well later, till the end, when that she-wolf freed me from body of ice and I had to move into this cursed existence."  
Daenerys' eyes were burning with anger and she wished nothing else but to strangle that man in wheelchair. She paced closer to him.  
"Yet, even this cursed existence can inspire loyalty, is it not so, lord Tyrion? Come, join us, Hand of the King, my faithful servant."

"Your Grace..." Tyrion Lannister walked in the Great Hall through the king's door, right behind the dais.  
He froze on the spot upon seeing Jon with his Valyrian sword drawn at Bran. Then he saw her. Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen.  
She burned him with her gaze, gaze of undiluted hatred and disgust. She wanted strangle that creature on the dais,  
but for Tyrion Daenerys felt urge to tear him apart with her bare hands. "We have guests, lord Hand, join us."  
Her eyes were at Tyrion's every step, same as his were on her. "I should have killed you that day in Meereen."  
"Indeed you should have." king said "But, you did not. On the contrary, you chose him to advise you. His own father said of him to be  
an ill-made, spiteful little creature full of envy, lust, and low cunning. You should have known better, Breaker of Chains."  
Tyrion looked at Bran as he repeated his father's words, spoken twenty years ago, then he turned to Daenerys: "I believed in you."  
Pale faced king smirked again: "You loved her. Not as successfully as her nephew Aegon. But you believed in her with all your heart."  
"You believed in me, Tyrion Lannister?" Dany hissed at him "It was you who turned Jon against me only to keep your miserable life.  
Life of a traitor who tried to save his sister, even after she killed Missandei. You turned Jon on the mother of his unborn babes."  
"And then you have found another to believe in... the Night King. Hiding beneath the mask of Three Eyed Raven..." Jon said, aiming  
Longclaw at Tyrion "...why so many people took you for a smart man, I truly wonder now." Lannister looked at Bran, then back at Jon:  
"Have you gone mad as your grandfather? Night King is dead. Long dead. Your cousin killed him in Winterfell. My king is Bran Stark."  
Daenerys looked at him with even more disgust: "Your king is the Lord of Darkness, you damn drunk traitor." Tyrion looked at Bran again.  
"Khaleesi is right. I am no Bran Stark. I never truly was. Nor am I what she called me. I am Soul of Ice." broken king told him.  
Tyrion looked at his king in disbelief: "It cannot be. Night King wanted to kill you." Bran looked at him, smrik never went off his pale face:  
"I wanted to capture the Three Eyed Raven. And I did. It was Bran Stark, that small what was left of him, who kept me away from Raven.  
Then Bran spent his last remaining strength to warn these fire wights of your plot to kill them and that wall between Raven and me was gone.  
You're savvy in matters of ruling and politics, Tyrion Lannister, yet there are higher mysteries in this world. Those your small mind could never fathom. You have no place in the war between ice and fire. Be gone, Imp. I have nothing else to tell you."

Tyrion's world was shattered.  
He stood there, on the dais, between Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen who came to kill him and his king who never truly was his king.  
Bran's words thundered in his wine-soaked mind. _Soul of Ice... Three Eyed Raven... be gone..._  
"Yes... be gone..." he uttered before leaping on the pale faced king in wheelchair. They both fell down on the dais, Tyrion's hands were around Bran's neck, he was choking the life out of his king. Jon wished to part them, but Daenerys pulled him back: "Let them kill each other."  
Broken king did not defend himself, he stared into Tyrion with dull gaze and last he said to him was:  
“For hands of gold are always cold, but a woman’s hands are warm.”  
Tyrion got up, he stared at dead king on the dais for a heartbeat and then he rushed across the hall, back through the king's door.  
"No, this time he will not get away." Jon said and went after him, saying to Dany before that "Stay here. I'll bring this traitor to you."  
"I don't want him before me. Just give him what he deserves. What he deserved that day when you killed me. Give him death."  
Jon went after Tyrion, using the door behind the dais. Daenerys remained alone in the Great Hall. Voices were coming from outside,  
voices telling that men of her allies have swarmed over Red Keep. She looked at the dais, ignoring the turned over wheelchair  
and the dead body on it, in her mind she recalled that moment when she first saw the Iron Throne.  
She sighed knowing how that day she won what she always wanted, but she lost herself.  
_I've learned from my mistakes. Westeros is not my home, not my kingdom to rule. My home is in the east. Together with Jon..._  
"Jon?" she said aloud as sound of paces came from the left side of Great Hall. "My Queen..." came the shaken voice.  
Dany's eyes met with Tyrion's. He returned to Great Hall through another passage, in his right hand he carried double axe.  
"You remember, Your Grace... once I told you how I led the charge through the Mud Gate. With this very axe.  
And now, with the same axe I'll make sure no red priest in this world will bring you back. I will cut your head off, my Queen."  
Daenerys made few paces away from him. "Tyrion Lannister will be remembered as the man who killed the Night King and the Dragon Queen,  
in same day in same place. Slayer of ice and fire. No history chronicle can ignore that. Mayhaps the fact both were unarmed will diminish my act,  
but double regicide in one day, no man in the Known World has ever done it. I hope you will remain regal in death. Screams ruin dying..."  
Daenerys looked at him defiantly: "I have said so many times that I am not my father. And that, lord Tyrion, holds the truth. Yet, not today.  
Today, I am Mad King's daughter. His preferred weapon was wildfire. And now, it shall be mine as well. So, I am not unarmed as you believe."  
She pulled the clay bottle from underneath her tunic, one she took off the dead Kingsguard, and threw it on the floor, between Tyrion's feet.

"You were right, my lord..." she said watching the living torch of green flames "...screams do ruin dying."


	102. ARYA

_King's Landing, Westeros, year 318 After Conquest_

**ARYA**

Body of her brother lied in the Council Chamber. That is what this room was when her father was Hand of the King. Small Council of King Robert held their meetings here. Same as the Small Council when Tyrion Lannister was acting as Hand. His father moved those meetings to Tower of the Hand and since then this room no longer deserved to be called Council Chamber. It was ruined whole when dragon queen warred against Cersei Lannister and brought Red Keep on her head. Renewed, same as most of royal castle, this room was again furnished with a long table, carpets from Myr, tapestries from many of Free Cities. Unlike the original chamber, Arya noticed that doors are not guarded by Valyrian sphinxes. During early Bran's reign chamber was used for Tyrion's meetings with lords from all over the Realm, with representatives of trade guilds or with those who spoke for the smallfolk of King's Landing. It would have been more accurate if this room had change of name,  
to Petitioner's Chamber. It was on its long table that corpse of King Bran, First of his name, lied.  
It was not a funeral altar, body was not in best of clothes nor adorned with regalia, this corpse was not embalmed, nor were seven of internal organs removed and placed in seven funeral vases at its feet. This body lied as it fell, in same garments, untouched in any way. Someone, she could not tell who, did place two funeral stones over dead king's eyes. One over each eye, these stones were painted so to appear as open eyes. In Faith of the Seven this was to send message to those remaining behind the deceased how they should not fear death as when eyes in this world are closed they open anew in the afterlife. These funeral stones were painted bright blue. That was not color of her brother's eyes.  
That was eye color of one who stole Bran's body and used it for years while one to whom body truly belonged waned away.  
Till he was gone for good. Arya felt sadness for her brother, for Bran Stark. Did he die five and ten years ago in the cave thousands of miles from where his remains were now lying or was he vanishing slowly while two ancient beings, born from sorcery of those which dwelled in Westeros before men, have become one, she could not tell. All she knew is that it was no longer Bran who was placed on the table before her.  
What made her believe that even firmly was absence of smell of decay. Weather here was far from cold.  
It was eighth day since Tyrion Lannister choked the life out of his body, yet it appeared that happened mere moments ago.  
That was not ordinary, that was not human and she knew that. Same as her last surviving brother who stood beside her.  
Brother by heart, cousin by blood, Jon was saddened as well. "I hope Bran is now finally at peace, where ever he may be. Evil no longer uses his body as vessel. He would still be inside it, mayhaps, had he not spent his remaining life force to warn me of what Tyrion and that... Soul of Ice... were planning." he said looking at the table. "Aye, mayhaps he would. But that was not Bran's way. That is not the way of our family, not our true way." Arya said, before sighing. "We shall take him back to Winterfell and lay him down in the crypts. To eternal rest with all Starks which lived before him. He'll be buried as last King of Seven Kingdoms..." Jon said "...no matter how brief, he was the last king of all of Westeros."  
Arya nodded: "Yes. He belongs with father, with our grandfather, with Kings of Winter." 

"Aōha Dārōñe, Dārilaros Āria, kessa sagon iā rōvēgrie pirta naejot gaomagon bona." woman's voice in High Valyrian came from the door.  
A young woman in dark red robes cautiously entered the chamber. Arya saw her once before at Bronzegate, performing ritual with fire and blood. She was of Yi Ti, there was no mistake about that, her dark silky hair and supple body spoke of her descent loudly.  
"Another red priestess..." Arya hissed "...when you have entered this room uninvited, disturbing wake over our dead brother, then say it,  
why it would be the greatest mistake to take him back North?" "Yes, I am as you call me, a red priestess. My name is Rila, servant of Lord of Light,  
from great temple in Lys." Jon told her: "I've heard of you." "From Queen Daenerys, I know." young woman replied.  
"You were first to tell her she was with child. And more..." Priestess nodded: "I have. Now I am telling you that this boy must never go North.  
Never it must go where weirwood grow and cold winds blow. Never it must go where other dead lie. Evil one is still in this body."  
Arya narrowed her eyes: "Don't you have eyes? This is a dead body. Tyrion killed the _evil one_ as you call it, that creature is dead."  
"What is dead may never die..." Rila said "...those words bear meaning now. When you stabbed the ice body of the Night King, it shattered.  
His essence remained. That essence is still inside this body. It will never rot away, this flesh will never fell off the bones. It will be as it is now  
scores of years from today. Power of Lord of Darkness will keep it so." "I thought Kinvara was keen on uttering nonsense, but you best her at it." came from Arya as he was irked by priestess' words. Jon gave a long gaze at Yi Ti woman, then it shifted to the corpse on the long table. "What you claim is that evil able to raise whole armies of walking dead men is inside this dead body?" Rila nodded: "While it drew breath, it was a vessel of Lord of Darkness. Now, it is a cage for him. Cage he shares with that other creature, one not bound by time or place, yet bound by flesh and bones." Arya looked at Jon: "Does that make any sense to you?" "Some it does..." he answered before turning to priestess again: "Should we assume this what you speak of is true, that we have the Night King in a cage of flesh and bones, then we should burn this body to ashes." She shook her head politely: "Iā pirta naejot gaomagon hae sȳrī."(_A wrong thing do to as well._) It was Jon who frowned now:  
"Se skoro syt iksis bona?" ( _And why is that?_ ) "Your Grace..." Rila said in calm voice "...when Princes Arya stabbed the ice body of the Nigh King, he moved to the body that bears his mark. That mark made it possible for his evil spirit to move there. He resides inside still, but as I have told you, that vessel is now his cage. He is trapped in a dead body, one whose flesh was not pierced or slashed, nor was blood shed from it.  
This body is as whole as it was that night when Night King's frozen body shattered and he took this one, warm with life. To burn it means to burn the cage where evil one is trapped. His essence would be free to find another living vessel."  
Jon told her: "Then burying this cage, as you call it, deep beneath ground, under granite stone, in the crypts of Winterfell..." "...would be a grave mistake, Your Grace. This body must never come near place where sorcery that gave birth to Soul of Ice still lives, no matter how weak. That could give him chance to bring this body back to life, even if that lasted for decades. This time it would walk, King Jon. This body would walk."  
Arya listened to all this, words of this woman from far end of Essos seemed to have more sense now and she asked:  
"And what would your R'hllor have us do with this cage of flesh and bones?" Rila looked her with gaze of deadly seriousness:  
"Servants of Lord of Light will take this corpse, seal it in a box made of dragonglass and bury it somewhere in the Known World."  
"It appears you red priests have made this plan long ago." Arya smirked. "High Priestess gives me orders, she consults me not."  
"Then, you'll have it buried somewhere till you find the way to destroy it without freeing the Soul of Ice?" Arya asked next.  
"Day and night, cold and heat, love and hate, life and death... they ask of each other..." Rila said "...world is made of opposing forces.  
Without night, one could not grasp the true value of day. Without cold, you would not know what heat is. Death makes you to love life more.  
Thus, Lord of Light is only Lord of Light for there is a Lord of Darkness. I shall say no more of it, Princess."  
"You need not to say more, Priestess Rila." Jon told her, then he exchanged look with Arya and she made a gesture of agreement.  
"As brother and sister of a man whose body this once was, priests of R'hllor may take it. To keep the world safe." Jon said.  
"You better bury it deep and keep a lasting watch over it, priestess." Arya uttered a fateful warning. 

_Storm's End, Westeros, year 318 After Conquest_

"Tales of olden days claim that this castle built by Durran Godsgrief, the first Storm King. He lived in the Dawn Age and declared a war on the sea god and the goddess of the wind. They have killed his family and guests at his wedding to Elenei, daughter of that same god and goddess. This tale says how Durran raised six castles. Every new castle he built was larger and more formidable that one he's built before and all six were destroyed by storms. Then he built the seventh castle, Storm's End. Some called it Durran's Defiance, for its ability to endure storms. And why this castle can withstand storms, two accounts are there. One says of children of the forest taking part in its construction, using their magic. Another tells of a young boy advised Durran when he was building it. That boy was later known as Bran the Builder."  
"The founder of House Stark..." Arya nodded before asking her silver-haired niece: "Where have you learned of all this, Rhae?"  
"Winter's Kings, or the Legends and Lineages of the Starks of Winterfell. Book on House Stark by Maester Childer."  
Her other niece, one with raven hair, added: "I've read that book as well. And other books that say he was only a legend."  
Arya smiled: "When I was a little girl, in Winterfell, tales of Aegon and his sisters interested me more than those of Stark kings of old.  
And now, as by some jape of fate, two Targaryen girls are reading of Bran the Builder." Lyanna gave her a frowning look, with smile:  
"Stark Targaryen." Rhaella chuckled: "You'll be Hornwood in a few years." "Not by name. Same as you will not be Velaryon." Lya replied.

They were in Arya's chamber in the massive keep of House Baratheon.  
Arya came here with Gendry after the Battle of King's Landing which took place more than a moon ago.  
It was third sennight of third moon of the year. War in Westeros, this last one which lasted for two whole years, was over.  
The Realm, Six Kingdoms of Westeros was gone.  
Dorne once again sent word to all other kingdoms on the continent informing them of their independence.  
Kingdom of the North same as Stormlands and Iron Islands replied with message which stated how they recognize Princedom of Dorne  
as monarchy of its own. Shortly after Vale sent a similar message. The Reach same as Westerlands remained silent, as they were paying  
no heed to what took place in King's Landing, as the King of Six Kingdoms was still in the castle of pale red color.  
Riverrun was not of many words as well, spoken or written.  
From there message came which one could read as their acknowledgement of free Dorne, free Iron Islands, young Targaryen princess  
in Winterfell and the end of reign of raven king. Other would read the same lines as Lord of Riverlands is denying legitimacy of all those events.  
Though no one truly cared, Riverlands were in bad shape and more in need of good relations with North and the Iron Islands than Winterfell  
or Pyke were in need of Riverrun. Arya knew that moons of unrest and even new fighting were before some parts of Westeros.  
Her cousin, son of her aunt Lysa, Sweetrobin Arryn could declare Vale as free kingdom and he would not be contested.  
One could not say that of Westerlands and Riverlands.  
Warden of the West and Lord Paramount of the Trident were not strong enough to break any of their bannermen should one or more  
refuse to accept king in Casterly Rock or king in Riverrun. Even in the Reach, Hightowers were not safe. Gendry was still weighing on how to act,  
will he declare Kingdom of the Storm or remain a Lord of Stormlands for a certain time more. Maester Pylos and Davos Seaworth both told him:  
"Do not delay your decision for long. Other lords may see that as you not being strong enough now, they could defy you,  
those along the borders could add their lands to Reach or even Dorne, others could proclaim to be kings of their own.  
They must see you as single lord of Stormlands. As their king."  
Before that, lord Gendry of House Baratheon had another act to make. He was to wed his beloved. 

For that, her nieces came from Winterfell flying on their mother's dragon.  
Rhaella was joyful and she took part in every preparation Arya had to undergo, Lyanna was much less willing to do any of it, same as Arya.  
She used every chance leave the castle, to see the land surrounding it from horseback, as far as rainwood. Arya said nothing at first,  
taking that to be common for Lyanna, but as Queen in the North was going on longer riding trips as days passed, she invited herself  
to ride with her niece, one that resembled her both in looks and temper. They went to rainwood early in the morning and it was noon already  
when they came out of the woods, standing on the clearing. Sound of waves breaking on the rocks was heard from beneath. In the distance  
Storm's End towered over cliffs. Even from here, it was truly a formidable sight. Lyanna's gaze was half-absent and Arya, placing her hand  
on girl's shoulder, said with smile: "So, will you tell what is troubling you so or must I pull it out from you? Gods, it seems that any of our family  
who is named Lyanna suffers at Storm's End." Girl chuckled: "I've never thought of that... I gather grandmama misliked being here."  
"Do you mislike being here?" Arya asked. "No! Of course I do not... I enjoy being with you again, Arya. To be at your wedding. I am happy here."  
"And yet, you are not... I know you well, Lya, as you were my own daughter. Something is not right. Has someone in the North wronged you..."  
Girl shook her head: "No, North thus far likes me. Lords and smallfolk alike. And I have plans, Arya, for the North. Not wholly devised plans,  
but I have them." "I hope you'll share them with me before we part again." "You know I will..." Lyanna said "...I like you being here, at one place,  
when I come to be true Northern queen, we can write to each other every sennight." "And we shall. So, it is not Storm's End or Northerners...  
what irks you then?" Arya asked again. Grey eyes looked at grey eyes: "Arya... how do you know that you love Gendry? When it was that you  
knew you truly want to be his wife?" Arya let out a breath of relief, before saying: "Wolf child wants to speak of love and men with me...  
you'll find that I cannot teach you a lot in that regard. I was separated from Gendry for years, Lya. I liked him when we were mere children,  
in Harrenhall, trapped in midst of Tywin Laninster's host, years later we've reunited at Winterfell... I've given him my maidenhead,  
that very night of battle against army of the dead." Lya's eyebrows lifted: "He was the first man who..." "And the only one." Arya replied.  
"You truly love him, Arya. I should not be, but I am envious." "On what? A smith's apprentice who first became lord and then a king,  
all due to Daenerys Stormborn. Don't be, your Hallis is far better than Gendry was at his age."  
Loud sigh escaped Lyanna now: "I hope he is. But... I... I've also grown to like another. Almost as Hallis." Arya frowned first, then smiled:  
"Is it perchance young lord Robin Flint?" Girl's eyes widened: "He..." "I've seen you with him at Winterfell. Once or twice. It must be him."  
"How can you tell?" "He's man grown already, yet not that older than you. He is comely. A young lord which company you seem to enjoy."  
"I do..." smile came to Lya's face "...still sometimes I'd like to hit his stubborn Northern face." "He'd be a good match for you. Truly.  
If you weren't to marry Hallis when both of you are of age." Arya told her. "I know. And I like Hallis greatly, I will love him when we're  
both of proper age. I would never be Queen in the North without House Hornwood and House Manderly. Me becoming Hallis' wife..."  
"...will work in their favor as well, Lyanna. You are the Queen in the North. Larence Hornwood will be regent til you're six and ten.  
He'd never claim such power without granddaughter of Lyanna Stark. Yet, marriage pact has two sides and each must honor it."  
"I know... I know that it is not honorable of me to like Robin Flint, but..." Arya placed girl's hand in hers: "Lya, you're a young girl.  
It is natural that you take boys or young men to liking. That is not dishonorable. You leaving Hallis for this Flint would be."  
"Like grandmama Lyanna left Gendry's father for grandpapa Rhaegar..." Not wholly... she never liked Robert Baratheon,  
she was betrothed to him for other reasons, her father saw that as best way of forging alliance with Stormlands. You and Hallis,  
that is different. Soon, sooner that you think you'll come to see that you love Hallis, that he is the man for you, to be with you for life.  
Or good part of it, at least. Robin Flint... those are thoughts of a young girl. There is nothing dishonorable in that."  
"Just as it not lasts till when I am grown..." Lya said. "That is right..." Arya agreed "...you're girl now, you'll be a queen then."  
"I gave my first true kiss to Robin." her niece said, it sounded as she was musing aloud. "What made you do that?" Arya wondered.  
"It was when he lied wounded, during siege of Winterfell. I came to see him, we spoke and it just happened."  
"First kiss... Lya, your true first kiss will be to your man and that man will be Hallis Hornwood. You'll forget this Flint boy by then."  
Lyanna nodded with words of seriousness: "Hallis will be my love and my duty." Arya smiled at her niece and shook her head:  
"Wolf child, it will soon be three years since I've found you in Qarth. I dread to think how my life would be now if I had not gone  
after that Braavosi boy sailors..." "If you had not gone after them, then you would not be Arya Stark." girl said smiling back.  
"Yes. And if you hadn't gone to harbor to see the wolf ship as you've called it. But then you would not be Lyanna Targaryen."  
"Arya... I don't see you as my aunt or my cousin. You were always as older sister to me. And you always will be."  
"To you and to Rhaella I will be. To your little brothers and sister, I have to be an old strange aunt..." Both chuckled.  
Then Arya said: "Better we go back. Before your sister makes them saw lace direwolves on my wedding gown." 

"You should not be standing here, one gust of the wind and..."  
"I could end falling down into the sea..." she said "...I know. But I wished to see the world from atop of Storm's End tower."  
"And, how does world look from up here?" he asked. "Too small and too far away." Arya answered. "I don't come here oft."  
"Is lord Baratheon lazy to climb?" she mocked him. "No, I thought the same as you when I looked the land and the sea from up here."  
Gendry never hid his Flea Bottom accent when he spoke with her nor did he try to use fancy words. He acted the same as he did  
all those years ago when both thought they will reach North. He was going to the Wall and she hoped to return home, to Winterfell."  
"One could say you came here to hide, Arya." he continued. "And what if I did? I hate crowds. You know that." she replied.  
"I know. But, there'll have to a feast sooner or later..." "But I don't want it now. Not now. You may tell your lords that I still mourn  
the death of my brother. His body died, so that will not be much of a lie. And my sister is lost to me as well, mayhaps forever.  
I am not ready to partake in large feasts. I need time." Gendry nodded: "I know. Pylos has sent such message to my bannermen.  
And many of them mourn as well. Hundreds of Stormlanders died at King's Landing. It is better to have a small wedding..."  
He did not finish his sentence, Arya wrapped her hands around him: "You truly understand me, don't you?" "I do." he said.  
Then he gently moved her hands away and knelt, looking straight at her eyes: "Arya of House Stark, three and ten years ago  
I have asked you to be my wife. to be the Lady of Storm's End. You answered that you're not a lady, that you've never been one.  
I respect that. But now, I ask you not to be the Lady of Storm's End anymore. I ask you to be Arya Baratheon, Queen of Stormlands."  
He looked at her with same gaze he had all those years ago, in the courtyard of Winterfell. She went on her knees as well, same as then,  
kissed him with passion of woman deeply in love and when their lips parted, she said: "You will be a great king. And any lady would be  
lucky to call herself your queen. I'm not a lady. I'll never be. But I will do my best to be the queen you and this land deserve.  
And I will be at your side at the feast of your coronation, Gendry Baratheon, First of your name, the Storm KIng."  
His blue eyes were lit with glow she never saw before and they kissed again. She placed her head on his right shoulder and said:  
"If you start calling me _my queen_, I'll crush your balls, Gendry Baratheon. I jape not." "I know better than that." he answered.

Six days later Arya has found herself standing in the great hall of Storm's End.  
She wore a cloak of grey velvet with direwolf embroidered on it in white thread. Underneath she was dressed in gown of samite,  
white as snow, ornate with lace from Myr. Arya was appalled with it, but her silver-haired niece insisted. Arya managed to remove  
any thought of her having dagged sleeves on the gown, same as she refused to have waist tighter than it was needed.  
This was certainly not her, not something she would do with pleasure, yet she was a sight of grown woman's beauty.  
As she walked towards the dais where septon of Storm's End was waiting, her nieces, her brother and her good-sister all smiled.  
They all were in black and red garments, save Lyanna who added grey and white of House Stark, colors Arya had on herself now.  
There, at the dais, two little children stood and smiled at her as well. Boy of eight and girl of seven namedays. Orys and Argella.  
Soon to be Prince and Princess of House Baratheon. Boy's tunic and girl's dress were made of gold and black fabric with stag brooches.  
Orys and Argella were holding a richly ornate velvet cloak with a dark-gold crowned stag embroidered on it. Both gave her broad smiles.  
There were not many men in the hall, as it was her wish, from her side came Artos Costayne and Illeo Maegyr, both dressed as noblemen,  
while Dalton Pyke chose to remain on Tarth, with her two ships, not that she grieved much for it. On Gendry's side came Ser Brus Buckler  
of Bronzegate with his family, lord Arstan Selmy of Harvest Hall and his family, Ser Davos Seaworth with wife Marya and maester Pylos,  
closest adviser to her husband to be. All these stormlanders looked approvingly at Stark bride of their future king.  
Gendry stood at the dais, on the other side of his children. He donned a doublet of black velvet with golden buttons ornate with stag head.  
Same as doublet, his trousers were black, while his boots were light brown. He looked at her with same glow as that day atop the tower.

When she came near the dais, Jon stepped out and took her by the arm. Septon then asked: "Who comes before the gods today?"  
"Arya of House Stark comes here to be wed. A woman grown, trueborn and noble, she comes to beg the blessings of the gods." Jon said.  
Then he looked at Gendry and asked: "Who comes to claim her?" Gendry made two paces towards them and answered:  
"Gendry of House Baratheon of Storm's End, Lord Paramount of Stormlands." Then he asked: " Who gives her?"  
"Jon of House Stark and of House Targaryen, King of the Bay of Dragons." Septon then asked: "Lady Arya, will you take this man?"  
Arya looked first at Jon, their arms were apart now and she walked to Gendry: "I take this man." Septon nodded and turned to Gendry:  
"You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection." Orys and Argella stepped closer and Gendry took the cloak from them.  
Then he walked around Arya and placed the Baratheon colors on her shoulders. After that he stood at her left side and she put her hand  
over his. Septon put the linen bind over their hands and tied it saying: "In sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls,  
binding them as one for eternity. Look upon each other and say the words." Arya looked deeply in blue eyes of the only man she ever loved.  
"Father. Smith. Warrior. Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger. I am his, and he is mine, from this day, until the end of my days."  
Words came from her lips, words she once was resolved never to utter in her life. He said the same words. And then they kissed.  
She was now Arya Baratheon. Wife of soon to be king of Stormlands. Wed with him by the ritual of old gods and of the Seven. 

"I expect of you to give me a nephew or two..." Jon said when he came to congratulate her. "What if I gave you a niece?" she asked.  
"Then name her Eddara." he said and it made her eyes to water. Rhaella was next to come to her and girl embraced her tightly:  
"Arya, after so many years you're there where you're meant to be." "Is there no end to your wisdom, sweet niece?" she chuckled.  
Lyanna was next, she whispered to her ear as they hugged: "Soon you'll be a queen as well, you'll see what toil that is." Arya laughed:  
"I trust I will, wolf child." How Daenerys Targaryen came before her, Arya could not tell, but violet eyes were on her now, same as that day,  
three years ago, on the other side of the world, at Port Yhos. But this time, those violet eyes were smiling and then her brother's wife  
kissed Arya on both cheeks: "I congratulate you, lady Baratheon. Though, I should say Queen Arya." "Thank you, Queen Daenerys."  
Silver-haired woman looked at her with no words for a heartbeat, then said: "To have Jon as husband has many boons. Yet, one of  
greatest of those boons is to have Arya Stark as aunt of your children. To have Arya Stark as good-sister. I tell you now, all my children,  
those two babes and this one yet unborn will be fostered here at Storm's End for at least one year. I want them to know their Stark aunt well.  
To learn from you all they can. And I know that you'll be the best teacher they can have. Same as you were to Lyanna and Rhaella."  
Arya nodded. Then she said to Daenerys and her twin daughters: "I've promised that when they're four and ten I'll take them on a voyage.  
As I now can't keep that promise, for my voyages are done, I will gift them my ships. _Nymeria_ to Lyanna, Stark queen should have  
a wolf ship. _Rhaelyanna_ is for Rhaella, to be her ship, one day she'll sail with her from Dragonstone all over the Narrow Sea."  
Girls looked at her with wide eyes and open mouth, before they run to embrace her once again, saying words of thank. Arya still could hear Daenerys telling Gendry: "My lord Baratheon, you've waited long for this day. But Arya Stark was worth of waiting."  
Rhaella and Lyanna were telling her something, excited with notion how next year each will own a ship, she could not hear them as thought  
came to her how Starks, Targaryens and Baratheons are all her family now.  
She began to laugh loudly.


	103. YOUNG DRAGONS

_Maidenpool, Westeros, year 340 After Conquest_

**YOUNG DRAGONS**

"_A Fire Rekindled, Being a History of the rebirth of House Targaryen_ ".  
Younger man held a thick book in leather bound, frowning at the title. Older man noticed that: "You seem to mislike the title?"  
Both men were headed for Driftmark and were now waiting for their ship to come to this harbor that was under banner of Kingdom of Dragonstone. Riverlands ceded this city more than five and ten years ago. Maidenpool has overgrown Gulltown and it was now third largest harbor on western coast of the Narrow Sea right after King's Landing and White Harbor. They sat in one of city's many taverns, at the table in far corner, beyond reach of prying ears. Before answering, younger man drank his ale: "No, what I mislike is that it has left me wanting.  
This history ends with account of wedding of Arya Stark and Gendry Baratheon. It follows not the events after that."  
"True. It does not." "But, two and twenty years has passed since. Had this book been written in year three-hundred and twenty,  
we could say it is a chronicle of our times. Now, it speaks of..."  
"History? Days long gone? Past that no one cares of now?" older man said and continued: "I can see reasoning in it, but seeds of today are planted in the past. It has always been so and it always will be." His companion shrugged which made him say: "Pray tell me what you've heard, how this book fares in the Known World?" Younger man said: "That differs from place to place. Here, on Dragonstone, in Winterfell or in the east it is welcomed. Dornish also enjoy reading it. Reach, Vale, Westerlands, not so much. Then some claim it was written by Targaryen loyalist, telling a story where they cannot do anything wrong... some say it was different and how this is account that warns us all of R'hllor followers  
and they have plotted to break Westeros in many pieces and used Targaryen vengeance for the cause of the red god."  
"And what of the one who wrote it?" Younger man took another sip of ale: "Some believe it was Davos Seaworth..."  
Older man bursted in laughter: "Davos?! If he were alive he'd be ninety namedays now... Davos..  
a man who could not read or write till he was old enough to be a grandfather."  
"Some say it was Samwell..."  
"Tarly? Those saying it are dumber fucks than that fat idiot ever was. He's good in stealing books, not in writing them...  
Tell me more." "Some say that there is more than one writer, two or even three of them and all are hiding under false name."  
"What do you reckon?" older man asked after having another laugh. "I reckon you know who wrote it. Though I don't care much of it."  
"You care of what then?" Younger man answered: "Why book does not say of years after Six Kingdoms were no more."  
"Most of those were dull years." "Then one who wrote this should write more on House Targaryen."

Older man asked: "How many Targaryen dragons are now in the sky of the Known World?"  
"The largest and the oldest one, Drogon, one Queen Daenerys and King Jon ride, then Tessarion of Queen Rhaella,  
their male offspring Greywind of Queen Lyanna, she-dragon Dreamfyre of Princess Daenysanne, Vermax of Prince Cregan  
and Arrax of Prince Daeron." "How many is that?" "Six." "And how many Targaryens are now in the world?"  
"Royal couple of Bay of Dragons, their five children and their nine grandchildren.  
Six of grandchildren are or soon will be men or women grown."  
"Six and ten in all. Surely there'll be more in years to come. Yet only six mounts. Why do you think is that? Why they do not hatch more?"  
Younger man did not know what to say. Yet older did: "Queen Daenerys and King Jon have both learned from the history of their House.  
Dragon eggs were not placed in the cradles of any of their grandchildren. Can you think of six and ten dragons in the sky?  
From Winterfell to Qarth? No, I tell you that old king and queen are wise. They do not wish for too many dragons to exist.  
Dragons are fire made flesh, they're weapon as no other, one that gives you power. And power is tempting."  
Younger man frowned: "And Jon and Daenerys fear their grandchildren could use that weapon and power wrongly?"  
"Again, they learn from history. What followed after Jaehaerys and Alysanne and their long reign? Quarter of a century of peace  
and then dragons were killing dragons, Targaryens were killing Targaryens. That is what old king and queen wish not to see."  
Younger man grinned: "You call them old king and old queen while you're older than them." His old companion grinned back at him:  
"It seems so, yet it is not. I count six less namedays than them." "That cannot be. I saw them only two moons ago at Dragonstone."  
"And what say you, how old they are?" "Few years shy of forty namedays." Older man smirked: "In two years they'll have their sixtieth nameday."  
"Surely you're jesting. They're both young." "They have died young. my friend. And when they were returned by powers of R'hllor,  
but also cleansed by fire, it made them age slower than any other living man. In ten years, they will appear to be forty, while in truth seventy."  
"How do you know this?" "Many years ago, back in Dorne, young red priestess told me of it. Daenerys will live to see grandchildren  
of her grandchildren becoming men grown. Same as Jon." "They will die one day, surely." younger man said, still not trusting the older one.  
"They will. When that day comes, of us both only bones will remain in the ground." other at the table replied,  
Young one shrugged: "I wish only to hear what of events after Arya Stark was wed."  
"Then you're in luck. Our ship is not due to call in for hours. And unlike many, I know who wrote _A Fire Rekindled_."

_Winterfell, Westeros, year 339 After Conquest_

Underneath her was a dun coated courser. At horse's left side was a large wolf of white fur and eyes of dark gold.  
It was not direwolf nor it was a common wolf, it was both. Father of this beast was fathered by white direwolf known as Ghost.  
Ghost died seven and ten years ago, with his head in the lap of a woman which was now accompanied by his descendant.  
She buried him in the same place where her father has found him as a pup, all those years ago. In different age and in different land.  
Her large wolf was no Ghost, Ghost was singular, still he was fiercely loyal, following her as a shadow. She named him so. Shadow.  
On her back she had a sword, forged of Valyrian steel. Blade made from ancestral blade of House Stark. The Oathkeeper.  
She was Lyanna of House Stark Targaryen, the Queen in the North. Young She-wolf they still called her, though her namedays  
will soon count four and thirty. She rested in the saddle on a hilltop, at the edge of wolfswood. From here she had a good view  
of a large city that was surrounding her royal castle. Winterfell and Winter Town, though younger folk called it more and more oft Winterton.  
Winter Town grew to be fifth largest city of all Westeros, sharing that place with White Harbor, and largest inland city on the continent.  
It was now a home of nearly eighty thousand people, home that was not abandoned in the winter anymore, city of stone houses and paved streets and squares. City through which a renewed kingsroad went north, all the way to Mole's Town and the Wall, then it turned eastwards passing through Eastwatch by the Sea and ending in Hardhome in the Free Lands. Free Lands was name of Westeros made of New Gift and Brandon's Gift and the land north of the Wall, where Free Folk and people from rest of the continent have settled to live away from kings, queens and lords. Today, more than twenty years since Free Folk won these lands in a bloody war, it was not wilderness, but a land of villages and farms with Hardhome as its only town and port from which Free Lands traded with Essos and rest of Westeros. People of Free Lands never did count themselves, tens of thousands were surely now living there, Freefolk, once kneelers from all over Westeros, even thousand or so of those coming from Essos. Free Lands were doing well, same as Kingdom of the North with which they did most of their trade.

This was greatest task of her first three years as Northern queen, to reconcile North with the wildlings.  
To restore the alliance her father made and his sister unmade. Not all Northern lords were keen on it, but she saw it through.  
Reclaiming the Bear Island worked in her favor, though only seven and ten years old Lyanna's resolve surprised Yara Greyjoy who was not that eager to keep an island in Bay of Ice at cost of good relations with House Targaryen.  
Treaty of Queenscrown was signed five moons after she counted eight and ten namedays.  
For the wildlings it was Svanwen, daughter of Joser who signed it.  
Tormund Giantsbane was there as well, pleased to see the daughter of King Crow.  
That treaty made possible for Northern traders to use Hardhome as their port.  
Also it made possible for kingsroad to be bettered, from the Neck to Mole's Town and new leagues of it added, leading to Hardhome.  
Growing in Essos, Lyanna knew of roads built by Old Valyria and when she first saw the kingsroad, built by King Jaehaerys the Wise,  
her disappointment with it she could not hide. As still young girl then, she turned to her father and mother in providing her  
with craftsmen from Essos which still had some knowledge of Valyrian road building.

Lyanna's wish to restore alliance with Free Folk was not taken well in House Hornwood, not even with her own husband, the king consort Hallis.  
In year 321 After Conquest, she returned from Meereen as woman grown, ending the regency of lord Larence Hornwood, and taking the direwolf throne as true ruler. She gave birth to her first child, Alaric Stark Targaryen, a year later.  
He was first grandchild of Jon and Daenerys Targaryen. That pleased her father greatly as his first grandson was born in Winterfell.  
Her mother would prefer if such event had taken place on Dragonstone, but few moons later her sister Rhaella held in her arms Daena,  
the first Targaryen born on their ancestral island after that night of yet unseen storm which greeted the birth of their mother.  
Daenerys held Daena in her arms and wept same as she did upon seeing the eyes of babe Alaric for the first time.

One more grandson have Jon and Daenerys met at Winterfell in year 326 After Conquest when Lyanna' son Dorren came to this world.  
Lyanna was then one and twenty years old and many of her plans for the North were already coming true.  
Her firstborn was four years old and her second child just had third nameday.  
A daughter. Conceived and born while she was negotiating return of Bear Island and the treaty with wildlings.  
Those moons were the greatest trial her marriage with Hallis Hornwood ever faced.  
He opposed both, finding it too early for Treaty of Queenscrown.  
Hallis wished for North to enter those talks stronger than it was and for that he was ready to wait a couple of years more.  
He was even more against the agreement with Ironborn on return of Bear Island.  
Hallis, being young and hotheaded, saw it more fit to have once home of extinct House Mormont returned to North by the sword.  
His hatred for the Ironborn clouded his judgement. One could not blame him as krakens have sold him to slavery when he was twelve years old.  
Yet, it was plain to Lyanna that North has no strength to reclaim Bear Island by force.  
Hallis refused to take any part in Lyanna's actions to have new peace with both wildlings and Ironborn.  
It was a quarrel that put them asunder for nearly three moons.  
Lyanna saw his behavior as betrayal of her efforts to bring more lasting peace accords of Kingdom of the North with its once enemies.  
She distanced from Hallis and was not ready to forgive him so easily.  
She found ally in lady Erena Glover as Deepwood Motte was closest to Bear Island and most interested in Ironborn leaving it for good.  
With Erena Glover on her side she could count on ladies of House Tallhart and House Cerwyn, mountain clans were also on her side.  
And House Flint of Widow's Watch.  
She hadn't seen Robin Flint since he lied wounded in Winterfell, during that siege when Sansa Stark was finally defeated, four years ago.  
He was two and twenty now, a true man, same as she was true woman and already a mother. Liking they once had for each other returned,  
she needed support of young Northern lord and he gave her that, same as he gave her comfort.  
Robin Flint was a man while Hallis was still a boy and Lyanna was in need of a man. And he fulfilled that need.  
Lord of Widow's Watch made love to his Queen on Bear Island, the very same night when last of the Ironborn was gone from the island.  
Not many Northern soldiers were on the island then and Lyanna had her aunt's skills in moving around without being seen.  
Robin choose an abandoned fisherman's cottage far from Mormont Keep and there they have become lovers.  
Lyanna was taken aback with passion of that night.  
She was not sure was it liking or lust or even love she felt for Robin Flint, but she gave herself to him, willingly.  
"That boy king does not deserve you." Robin said "He'll never be able to match you in strength or wisdom."  
"He is your king. And my husband. I will not have you belittle him with such words."  
"Lya, we have belittled him with mere fact that you're naked here with me in this half-ruin, instead being naked with him.  
Sleeping in queen's chamber of Winterfell. But in truth, my beloved queen, he belittled himself. He'll never be your true king."  
"He is my king, Robin. And no matter how I enjoy lying naked with you, that will never change. Never."  
"No. It will not. Just as you coming to my arms every time he wrongs you will not change. And he will wrong you again."  
"You cannot know that." she said. "I can. I do..." he answered kissing her bare back from neck to thighs "...you're too strong.  
Too strong for any man, Lyanna Stark Targaryen." "That means you as well." "It does. I truly fear you sometimes."  
She laughed: "Why do I suffer you, Robin? What cursed sway do you have over me?" "It is you that have sway over me."  
Lovers parted ways the next day and nearly a year passed since she saw the lord of Widow's Watch again.

A fortnight after, King Hallis surrendered and came to beg forgiveness from his wife and queen.  
He stood by her at the signing of Treaty of Queenscrown.  
Nine moons later, Princess Lyannerys of House Stark Targaryen was born. A beautiful babe of raven hair and bright blue eyes.  
That eye color lived not among Starks or Targaryens or Hornwoods. But did among Flints of Widow's Watch.  
Lyannerys was now six and ten. Queen Daenerys had four granddaughters from her three daughters yet none was so willful as one from Winterfell. She looked more as her Targaryen forefathers than Starks from which she inherited only color of her hair.  
Temper was also one of dragonlords. Lyanna knew her mother adores Lyannerys... Nerys as all her family called her.  
Granddaughter felt the same for her grandmama, a living legend and she used every chance to be in Meereen.  
There was another family member that Nerys loved and that bring the greatest challenge to House Targaryen since Jon and Daenerys reunited almost quarter of a century ago. Lyanna was torn apart herself. As any queen and mother, she had plans for her only daughter. Alaric was the heir to the direwolf throne. Dorren was to receive lands of once House Karstark as well as those long time ago belonging to House Umber.  
Lyanna's North had very few of great houses.  
Ryswells were gone, same as Dustins, both warring for Sansa Stark twenty years ago which lead to ruin of both houses.  
Their lands weren't given to neighboring houses Glover, Cerwyn and Tallhart but parted between smaller lords, their bannermen.  
Barrowton became crown city, owing allegiance only to direwolf throne.  
Same as most of Karstark lands, with some parts being given to House Hornwood and some to House Flint of Widow's Watch.  
Their kinfolk from the other shore of the North were also given small portion of Dustin lands, same as House Reed.  
When Jonelle Cerwyn died in the year five and seventy since she were born, with no heirs, those lands were divided between  
the crown and House Tallhart. Map of Kingdom of the North was changing oft during Lyanna's reign and with every change  
crown had more land. _Ruler of the North must be twice as strong in both land and army than any of hers or his bannermen._  
That was the knowledge and the policy she would pass on to Alaric. He will soon be seven and ten. Already a man grown.  
Glover, Tallhart, Reed, Manderly, Hornwood and two branches of Flint family were great Northern houses of Lyanna's day.  
They were all loyal to her but she was vary of them all, Manderlys and Hornwood same as Tallharts and Glovers,  
no matter she was their daughter by law and her children where their grandchildren.  
Reeds of Greywater Watch, the crannogmen, were the only ones she trusted.  
They had no cravings to rule over even a yard more of land they already had.  
Lyanna's gaze was also set south of her kingdom's border. Vale was linked with her sister's Kingdom of Dragonstone.  
But Riverlands that were now ruled by Edmure Tully's son Axel, a man of eight and thirty, was land of its own with no relations with any branch of House Targaryen and oft preyed by Iron Islands. Kingdom of the Reach in last twenty years has swollen a good part of Westerlands, leaving utterly weakened House Lannister to keep hold over Casterly Rock and Lannisport.  
The Reach was no friend of Riverrun and Axel Tully, who did not even took a title of king, turned to Winterfell, offering an alliance by marriage.  
His son and heir, Medgar, a young man of twenty namedays as husband for Lyannerys who would became Lady of Riverrun and tie Riverlands with Stark Targaryens of Winterfell, ensuring that rulers of the Reach tread more carefully along its borders.

With all that swarming in her mind, Lyanna made her horse downhill and into the wolfswood.  
She dismounted and walked among the trees, Shadow as ever right by her side.  
A man in blue-yellow overcoat was sitting on a tree stump and his face glowed upon seeing her:  
"I thought you've forgotten about me..." he smiled as she walked to him. Soon they embraced.  
"My forefathers have wronged gods greatly." man said, his blue eyes marked with sadness.  
"You always say that when we meet..." she replied, her head resting on his chest. "For it is true... it is as curse, Lya.  
To know there's a woman born to be yours and yet she can never be yours. A curse, one that is suffer for twenty years."  
Her grey eyes were sad as well: "And yet, you were the first man I truly kissed and now only man I still feel love for."  
"Is nothing of it left for Hallis?" She shrugged: "If he were at Winterfell instead of Hornwood or White Harbor I could answer that.  
But it seems he enjoys hunting in his father's and mother's lands than being with his wife and queen. What we had once, it died."  
Robin Flint cupped her face. He was eight and thirty now, yet still comely, same as she were. They were a sight of well-matched couple.  
Yet, they were not a couple, only man and woman which have met too late to become one. There was a strong bond between them,  
bond that defied time. With hands on her cheeks he said: "I envied him once. Now I hate him for what he does to you. You deserve better."  
"We were children when we met. I loved him, in Meereen, in White Harbor, when our first son was born. Mayhaps he thought that he will rule,  
while I'll be an adornment at his side, with Stark name and blood. It did not come to pass that way and Hallis drifted away from me."  
"Let's not talk of him..." Robin said and kissed her with all the fervor he had for her. His hands were unbuttoning her doublet, her hands went  
for his breeches. Not long after, they were both naked, making love on their clothes, while large white wolf circled the woods, standing guard.  
Moan of pleasure escaped Lyanna as he was kissing her nipples while she rested by his side, nearly two hours later.  
Seldom were occasions when she and lord of Widow's Watch shared their love and lust, but it would always last long, spending them both.  
"Tell me of her..." he said. "Of whom?" she asked, her eyes closed as his tongue wandered over her breasts. "Of our daughter."  
Lyanna frowned right away, her eyes were now open and her hand grabbed him by the hair and pulled his head up: "She is my daughter."  
He was about to say something, but was cut: "Lyannerys is my daughter. And Hallis'. He might not have sired her but he was true father to her.  
And I trust he knew from the day he first saw her eyes that she is not of his seed. He never said anything. And she loves him as a father."  
"Forgive me. You're right, spilling your seed into a woman does not make you a father. But, I know she is my blood.  
I knew that the very first time I saw her, when Prince Dorren was born. She has my mother's eyes." Lyanna smiled and kissed him:  
"I'm glad she does. For every time I would look in those eyes, I would see you, your smile. She is your daughter, Robin. But that is our secret.  
One we shall both take to our graves." She sighed after saying that. "Is she all right? Lyannerys..." "She is. Smart, beautiful, strong willed."  
"Same as her mother." his fingers went through raven tresses. "She disobeyed me. And left Winterfell. And Westeros." "To go where?"  
"To Volantis." she sighed again. "Why there?" Robin asked. "My brother Daeron is there." "The Young Dragon." She nodded.  
"She went to see her uncle, then." Flint concluded. Lyanna shook her head: "No, she went to see the man she is in love with."

_Volantis, Essos, year 339 After Conquest_

"Last to be born will be first.  
Daughter he shall marry and long teeth and claw will crawl in the dust before him."

Black Wall. Two hundred feet high wall of black stone keeping the eastern half of Volantis apart from the rest of the city.  
Old Volantis is this part, city's oldest part, called. Wall was built when Valyrian Freehold was building its outpost  
at the mouth of Rhoyne. This was the heart of the city, a large maze of palaces, towers, temples, courtyards.  
Its people were called the Old Blood. For they were able to trace their ancestry all the way back to Valyria.  
In this city, only those who could prove to be scions of the Freehold can rule as triarchs.  
Only such people are allowed to dwell within the Black Walls. And no one else.  
To celebrate city's founding, Old Blood holds a chariot race atop of the Black Wall.  
It takes place every year since Volantis was founded.  
Wall is that broad and thick it can sustain half a dozen chariots, driven by four horses, racing.  
Old Blood were proud kind, keeping distance from all others, keeping Old Volantis out of reach of foreigners and Volantene freedmen.  
Any man or woman in Volantis can vote for triarchs but if he or she were a landowner, still only men of Old Blood can be elected as triarchs.

Rulers of Volantis, blood of Valyrian Freehold, had a long history with House Targaryen. Ever since the Conquest.  
Aegon Targaryen, years before he was known as the Conqueror, answered the call for aid coming from Pentos and Tyrosh against Volantis.  
He rode atop his dragon, Balerion, over Lys in whose waters he burned and sank the Volantene fleet which was preparing to invade the city.  
That war brought the power shift among Volantene nobility. Shift that lasted for centuries later, to this day.  
Warmongering side, named the tigers, was removed by trade favoring side, those called the elephants.  
Decades later, Princess Saera Targaryen, a younger daughter of King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne, ended her days in Volantis.  
Disowned by her father, she lived her last years as the proprietor of a famous pleasure house in the city.  
In a more recent past, during the reign of Mad King, Aerys the Second, Myr and Tyrosh were in a trade war against Volantis.  
Paying no heed to counsels of his Hand lord Tywin Lannister who was in favor of not taking any part in that conflict,  
Aerys, by then at odds with his once friend Tywin, provided support in form of gold and arms to the Volantenes.  
It was Mad King's daughter that irked Volantenes the most. Breaker of Chains. Her conquering the Slaver's Bay made damage  
to slave trade which made rich many of the Old Blood. They despised and hated her profoundly. Silver whore, she was called behind Black Wall.  
_The Old Blood cannot suffer this breaker of chains._  
Those were words of Volatene nobles when they were supporting the Sons of the Harpy in their shadow war against Mother of Dragons.  
Volantis failed in removing her from Meereen. She left by her own accord. She went to Westeros, to reconquer it. She was gone from Essos.  
Word came she died in Sunset Kingdoms and that seemed to be truthful account as she was not heard of for ten whole years.  
Sometimes stories of a young and wealthy silver-haired woman came from Qarth or Vaes Dothrak or even places as Port Yhos. No one cared.  
Until dragon banner was not over Meereen again. And Yunkai and Astapor. Targaryen king and queen were chosen as monarchs of Slaver's Bay.  
Of Bay of Dragons as it was now called. Tolos, Elyria, New Ghis, Qarth, Lys, Myr, Pentos, even Qohor, all signed treaties with House Targaryen.  
Tolos and Elyria obliged to abandon slavery as part of their treaty with Queen Daenerys and King Jon while Qarth had to end with slave trade  
that Qartheen were still running in hidden coves of Dragons' Bay, still selling people from those parts both in east and west.  
Volantis was left alone, all around _First Daughter_ were cities that chose trading with Targaryens of Meereen instead of enmity.  
Dragonlords have gone westwards again, soon after making web of treaties and accords from one end of Essos to another.  
Volantis remained silent. During days when Targaryens were gone, gone to take part in another war in Sunset Kingdoms. And later.  
That silence lasted for nearly twenty years. Slave trade was tenfold smaller than before, but it was there.  
Fate, sometimes worse than any enemy, was always there to aid, forcing the poor to sell themselves, their wives and children into slavery.  
It weren't only Volantene slavers whose purses and pride suffered. It was the same with once slavers of Qarth, New Ghis and Tolos as well.  
Common interest and common enemy brought them together. This alliance was nameless, but when once it was revealed,  
all others, save slavers, called it _the Alliance of chains_. Patient men have made that alliance. Years went by before they decided to act.__

Saying how all things come to those who wait was proven true with Volantene slavers and their allies from other Essosi cities.  
Dothraki leader Zirro, a young man who cared nothing of old days when his grandfather was torn apart by ice demons.  
Somewhere far away from the Dothraki Sea, across the poisoned water in land of ice and snow. Zirro cared nothing of Khaleesi as well.  
He was raised on stories of the Field of Crows when four khalassars defeated the chariots and heavy horse of the Sarnori army.  
Zirro wanted those times to come again, days before silver-haired foreign woman became khal of khals. He was twenty years old.  
Life Dothraki now had disgusted him. Life in which his people were most of the time peaceful horse breeders that lived of tribute  
collections for safe passage through their vast grasslands, tributes that they were collecting for nearly quarter of a century now.  
Zirro saw himself as new Mengo, first great khal who united all Dothraki tribes and khalasars under one rule.  
With not even a six score of followers he chose Vaes Khaewo, long ago called Sarnath of the Tall Towers, as his first camp.  
This ruined Sarnori city was on Valyrian road, roughly half way between Pentos and Vaes Dothrak.  
His first action was to keep collected tributes all for himself, not sending a coin to only city his people had.  
This brought him more supporters, scores of young Dothraki, all thirsty of warfare. Essos was at peace for many years.  
All were same as Zirro, not having sense of bond or loyalty to Daenerys Targaryen. She rode with their fathers, grandfathers even.  
In half a year, ten and eight hundred Dothraki gathered around Zirro, first few hundreds came on their own, others he acquired  
upon defeating khal Nizho whose khalassar roamed the plains between Qohor and Vaes Khadok. Nizho was one of minor khals,  
only few years older than Zirro. Upon killing him in a short fight, Nizho's people became his and Zirro now had a true khalassar.  
In following weeks more riders have joined him. He came with two thousand men before ruined city of Vaes Diaf.  
Zirro's khalassar made a camp there, chasing away tribute collecting band of khal Sajo whose main force was at Vaes Efe.  
Sajo, man in his early forties was fiercely loyal to Khaleesi. He was a ten year old boy when she came on the back of her dragon,  
to Vaes Dothrak. While his parents, same as rest of Dothraki, believed Daenerys Targaryen was dead, she came before her people,  
drawing breath and strong as ever. Image of silver-haired woman coming down from black dragon, carved deeply in his mind.  
Sajo despised Zirro's kind and was eager to meet the young renegade khal on the battlefield.  
He commanded four-fold as many men than Zirro and slowly advanced from Vaes Efe towards Vaes Diaf. His scouts reported  
of enemy khalassar still being encamped there, smoke from campfires and dust from riders coming and going was seen from miles away.  
Sajo's scouts, seasoned warriors same as their khal, looked upon young rebels with disdain. That was grave mistake.  
Zirro left in his camp only women, boys and girls and all were ordered to keep campfires burning and to ride horses around camp,  
to make those looking from afar believe camp is teeming with people. Scouts fell for that ruse and reported Sajo of Zirro not moving  
from Vaes Diaf. In truth, Zirro went with his warriors for more than thirty miles southwards from his camp and then turned east,  
towards Sajo's camp. He did two night marches, in deadly silence, long column of two thousand men stretched for miles in darkness.  
Zirro found his enemy encamped on the road between Vaes Efe and Vaes Diaf, in the place where that road meets one coming from the south,  
from Krazaaj Has, once Ghiscari city made ruin by Dothraki during Century of Blood that followed after the Doom of Valyria.  
It was not yet dawn when Zirro's two thousand descended on eight thousand sleeping men of khal Sajo. At noon, Sajo's head was on the pile,  
along with heads of his bloodriders and scores of other warriors. Zirro's second victory was nothing short of a triumph for young khal.  
His horde now counted slightly less than ten thousand. Ten thousand rebelled Dothraki who answered to no one save their leader.

Word of that reached Bay of Dragons. And Volantis. And their shadow allies in Qarth, Tolos and New Ghis.  
Mantarys, ever hostile to Targaryens, also joined. Envoys traveled from the mouth of Rhoyne to Mantarys and then over Painted Mountains  
they reached Vaes Diaf where Zirro made his stronghold. Envoys gave Zirro a message from the triarchs of Volantis. To challenge the dragons.  
Young khal already despised Daenerys Targaryen, blaming that foreign woman for turning his people into gold and silver collectors.  
"Lands and cities will again tremble before khalassars as they had in times of my father's grandfather and his grandfather.  
Dothraki will kill men, fuck women and enslave children of all our enemies. And I will bring those slaves to your markets."  
Zirro sung the song Volantis wanted to hear. This rebelled khal who already defeated two other khals was luring young warriors,  
he threatened to tore the Dothraki people asunder and that would be a great blow to the Targaryen queen.  
Horselords were one of the pillars of her might in Essos. Having part of them turning against her would weaken the dragon queen  
and restore the slave trade in Essos as it once was. Dothraki did not plunder nor sack nor were bringing slaves to the markets of Free Cities  
ever since Daenerys Targaryen united them as Khaleesi, the khal of khals. All Dothraki leaders were obedient to her. Until Zirro.  
He was a man Volantis needed. And Old Blood was willing to invest in this man. Provisions, weapons, slaves, all will be gifted to rebel khal.  
Gifted was the term as Dothraki never embraced money or trading as such. Exchange of goods or services was considered gifting.  
More than three decades of tribute collecting was also considered as receiving gifts from traders and caravans for a gift of safe passage.  
Zirro and his ten thousand strong horde was now weapon in hands of Volantene nobles and their hidden companions from other cities.

Young Dothraki warlord named Zirro was fortune for Essosi slavers.  
As fortune oft comes not alone, but preceded or followed by misfortune, so it was now.  
Misfortune for Old Blood of Volantis also was a young man. His name was Daeron Targaryen, Prince of Bay of Dragons.

Born in second half of year 318 After Conquest, fifth child and second son of King Jon and Queen Daenerys, was his mother's favorite.  
She loved all her children the same, but there was something more in relation Daenerys had with her youngest.  
Daeron was a Targaryen, in looks and in temper. Silver hair, eyes of dark indigo same as his grandfather Rhaegar, tall and handsome.  
"There is no wolf in this boy..." anyone knowing of Stark features would say upon seeing Daeron. And that was no lie.  
Cregan, his year and a half older brother, had many traits of lords of Winterfell, from dark hair to his father's temper. Daeron had none.

Some on the Meereenese court were saying how first set of royal twins, Lyanna and Rhaella, although one having Stark  
and another Targaryen features, were true dragonwolves when it comes to temper, calm honor of their father blended with fiery justice  
of their mother. Twins Cregan and Daenysanne also differed in looks, him being of raven hair with his mother's eyes while she had Targaryen  
hair and Stark grey eyes. Yet, as they grew it was more and more plain how Prince Cregan takes after King Jon and Starks of Winterfell  
while Princess Daenysanne turned into most beautiful of all Targaryen children. When she was twelve, one could mistake her for woman grown  
of seven and ten. Those knowing the history of house of dragon, said that Daenysanne's beauty is even greater than one of Conqueror's  
sisterwife Rhaenys, of Princess Viserra Targaryen and of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen while she was young. King Jon was very protective of her,  
being his youngest daughter and even more gentle than Rhaella. Little Dany was growing into true lady and cared not of swords and bows.

As a maiden of five and ten, same as all other children of Jon and Daenerys, she was wise and mature beyond her young age and came before  
her parents in the throne room: "Papa, Muña. I wish to speak with you of my future." Jon frowned, same as Dany: "Of your future, sweet tala?  
It is too soon for us to have such talk. You're..." "I'll be six and ten next year, Papa, and I know that many men lust for me already. I know that  
you wanted to shield me from those, father and I am forever thankful for that. You're my hero, Papa, you will be my hero till I draw breath.  
Yet, I am not a hatchling anymore. I am a she-dragon and I must fly on my own." Daenerys looked at her daughter with wide eyes:  
"What are you telling us, Daenysanne Targaryen?" "That I will never be a queen as Lya or Rhae are, nor I strive to be one. I will be a queen as  
Good Queen Alysanne, whose half name I bear, was. A most trusted counselor and a right hand of a king. That is what I will be."  
Jon placed his arm around young beauty and kissed her brow: "Well spoken, should I say recited. But, first you must find yourself a king."  
Daenerys was standing next to her as well and caressed her cheek: "Papa is right, tala, not many kings are worthy of you. Mayhaps none."  
Grey eyes glowed: "There is a prince for me, Muña." "And who is that?" Dany asked. "Cousin Orys of House Baratheon. We like each other."  
"Orys Baratheon is seven years older than you." Jon said, frowning. "I don't care of that, Papa. He wants me to be his wife and queen one day."  
Daenerys said nothing, only embraced her daughter, tears filled her eyes: "You have grown too fast, ñuha dōna tala. My Little Dany."  
Girl chuckled though tears were coming down her face as well, she knew how Muña misliked Daenysanne being called that.  
When their daughter left the throne room, Jon sighed deeply: "It was your promise to Arya that made us sent all our children to Storm's End.  
This liking or love she has for Orys is fruit of that." Daenerys smiled, though it was more of a grin: "True. And it was a good promise to make.  
Orys, unlike some in Baratheon past, is well mannered, well educated, noble young man with good command of his temper. From all reports  
we have from Storm's End he is no drunk, no whore monger, he does not even hunt that much, he is not into men nor is he cold man with no friends. So, we may assume that he will not turn into Robert or Renly or Stannis. He is good match for Daenysanne, Jon. She is not as Lyanna  
or Rhaella. She will never wield sword or sit on the throne. But, she is clever same as she is beautiful. Far clever than she lets anyone to know.  
She could be a power behind the throne. And having a Targaryen as future Queen of Stormlands...with our grandchildren as heirs..."  
"Another part of Westeros under blood of dragon... is that what you're telling me? You use our own children as tool of conquest..." Jon said.  
"Our children are Targaryen princes and princesses. They know what they duties are, to me, to you and to our House." she answered dryly.  
He shook his head, but soon Dany's arms were around him: "I know what troubles you. Daenysanne was always your weakness. She is gentle  
and kind, her loveliness is unworldly almost, but she is daughter of Jon and Daenerys Targaryen. Beneath that beauty she is fire and blood."  
"I fear that..." he began to say, but she cut him: "Jon, I've told you many times that you're the best father one could have, but no matter  
how it hurts us, children grow and they must live their own lives. We have six grandchildren already.  
Daenysanne will give us more soon than we hope. We have renewed the dynasty, my love.  
There was not this many Targaryens in the world since before Summerhall." Jon nodded and kissed his wife with passion of a young lover.

Royal couple of Bay of Dragons were both in their fiftieth year, but their features were still those of man and woman in their thirties.  
Jon and Dany aged slow, slower than their children even. Only once they have asked Kinvara of that and she gave them an answer:  
"Fire has cleansed you both. True, you were brought back to life by prayer to Lord of Light, but so was Beric Dondarrion. You're not as him.  
His body did not soak in the fire as yours have. Your bodies age slow, much slower than other men. One day you will look as man and woman  
of fifty namedays. That day in truth you'll be eighty or ninety years old, looking upon your great-grandchildren how they train swordfight."  
Jon asked her, his face marked with disapproval: "That means some of our children will die before we do?" Kinvara nodded:  
"Long life is not only a blessing, my king. It causes sadness too. When a man lives long as you shall, he loses those dear to him."  
Dany was displeased with what priestess said as well: "Mother should not outlive her children. I want not that. Nor does Jon."  
Kinvara nodded again, she agreed: "You're right, my queen, no mother should ever outlive those she gave birth to. Yet, many mothers do.  
And King Jon and you are not only father and mother. You are the heads of an entire dynasty.  
A young, barely restored dynasty that needs guidance and wisdom of those who remember times when being Targaryen meant living  
under bastard's name or constantly on the run. Your descendants need you. And you will be there for them.  
For many decades to come. You are Jaehaerys and Alysanne of our time, when will you learn to finally accept that?"

Three years after that talk in the throne room, in year 335 After Conquest, Princess Daenysanne Targaryen of Bay of Dragons  
was married to Prince Orys Baratheon of Stormlands. Nine moons later, message came to Meereen from Storm's End saying how  
Kingdom of Stormlands celebrates the birth of Prince Jon and Princess Shaera of House Baratheon. It was written by Queen Arya  
who ended it with words: _Seven hells, brother, time has come when someone will call me grandmother _.  
Next day upon receiving that message, Drogon took flight to Westeros, both Jon and Dany rushed to see the newborn twins.  
Little Dany named babe son after her father and babe daughter after Queen Shaera Targaryen, Dany's grandmother.  
Jon's face glowed with pride and happiness when he saw his namesake grandson for the first time: "You honor me greatly, tala,  
naming him Jon. My sweet Little Dany..." His daughter, still recovering from birth, said: "I hope he will live to be just as honorable,  
and wise and brave as you are, father. Sir konīr issi lanta vali nyke jorrāelagon se olvie isse bisa vys, Papa. Ao se ñuha rūs tresy."  
(_Now there are two men I love the most in this world, Papa. You and my babe son._)  
Jon kissed her brow, his eyes watered and then he took Shaera in his hands. Girl had grey eyes and that brought smile to his face:  
"May you grow to be as beautiful and noble as your mother is, Shaera Baratheon. You will ride Dreamfyre one day."

Chronicles of that year noted how King Jon and Queen Daenerys Targaryen had eight grandchildren, all of their daughters.  
Queen Lyanna of House Stark Targaryen in the Kingdom of the North had two sons, Alaric and Dorren and daughter Lyannerys.  
Queen Rhaella of House Targaryen of Kingdom of Dragonstone had one son, Rhaegar and two daughters, Daena and Elaena.  
Princess Daenysanne of House Baratheon of Kingdom of Stormlands had twins, son and daughter named Jon and Shaera.  
In the year 335 After Conquest, offspring of Jon and Daenerys thus counted five children and eight grandchildren.

Kingdom of Dragonstone ruled over isle of Driftmark, Claw isle, whole of once Crownlands with addition of lands of House Mooton  
that declared for Targaryen queen on Dragonstone and thus abandoned their Tully overlord, bringing Maidenpool and nearly  
whole of southern shore of the Bay of Crabs under banner of Dragonstone rulers, the shield with dragon and seahorse.  
King's Landing was part of that kingdom, yet no longer a seat of royal power. Queen Rhaella and King Alyn remained on Dragonstone.  
Rhaella Targaryen, having great love for books and learning ever since a little girl, declared for Red Keep to become the greatest library  
of the Known World and in first decade of her rule books from both Westeros and Essos were collected for that goal.  
Citadel at Oldtown frowned at first, calling Rhaella's endeavor "dragon girl's folly" but as more and more knowledge from the east,  
written in books, scrolls and parchments came to this newly found library their stance changed. Young Queen on Dragonstone,  
unlike archmaesters in the Citadel, was child of Essos and scholars from Meereen to Yi Ti were more open to deal with her than  
with shriveled old men wearing chains. Queen Rhaella was loved by all, highborn and smallfolk alike, as able ruler.  
Using her wit for matters of ruling, she quickly saw the weakness in the Vale where war between lords threatened following  
the death of Sweetrobin Arryn, him being only two and forty years old. Rhaella came to the Eyrie on Tessarion and gave support  
to Osric Arryn, late king's son and heir and his mother, Queen Leowyna of House Corbray.  
In return, Kingdom of Mountain and Vale signed a treaty of alliance with Kingdom of Dragonstone in perpetuity.  
"Our kingdom may not be large when it comes to land, but we have the isles, King's Landing, allies to the south,  
allies to the north. And one large dragon that lay eggs." Rhaella said to Alyn. Tessarion was only female dragon that laid eggs,  
thus far. Dreamfyre of her sister Daenysanne was not yet mature enough to mate with other dragons. Tessarion lived on Dragonstone,  
same as Greywind for most of the year as North was not land to dragon liking. Still, no one could approach Lyanna's dragon.  
"Wild as my sister is..." Rhaella once commented watching how Greywind roars at men who brought him food and came to close.  
Dragon of dark-grey scales of Northern queen shared strong bond with his rider and would vanish from Dragonstone the very moment  
he would felt she is in need of him, leaving his silver-gold scaled mother behind.

Year 337 After Conquest was the year when Prince Cregan Targaryen married. To a noble lady of purest Valyrian stock, Vhaessa of Elyria.  
She was of pale skin, silver-gold hair and her eyes were purple, she was true image of the dragonlords of old.  
Unlike her young husband whose eyes only spoke of him being of Valyrian blood. Cregan was heir to the throne of Bay of Dragons,  
ever since boyhood he was well mannered, never had outbursts that were common to Targaryen family, his sense of justice and duty  
was equal to his father and both his parents loved him greatly. Daenerys liked him being almost pure image of Jon, from nose to black curls.  
On the eve before his wedding she called Cregan to the apex of the Great Pyramid. She looked at him, with warm motherly gaze and her fingers  
went through his hair while she sighed deeply: "My Prince, my little wolf... this is the last time I am allowed to do this..."  
"You can do it whenever you like, mama." he said, letting her play with his hair as she did ever since he was a babe boy.  
"Oh, Cregan... is it proper for a man in wedlock to have his mother playing with his hair?" she smiled and then said with seriousness:  
"...no, son, your wife will have that right from tomorrow. And she will play with these raven curls or she is ignorant of what beauty is."  
"Are you pleased with Vhaessa, mother?" he asked. Daenerys nodded in approval: "I trust she will be a good queen."  
Then she chuckled: "Though, you know how mothers deem all women as unfit for their sons, yours is no exception."  
"Will people of Meereen approve of me taking an Elyrian wife and not one of their noble daughters?" Cregan asked. His mother grinned:  
"You've been listening to rumors, I see. Son, yes, it is true that some find you taking a woman of Valyrian traits as a slight  
to the highborn girls of this city. Still, you're not Prince of Meereen alone, but of Bay of Dragons. You could have taken a Ghiscari bride  
from one of Meereen's noble houses. That would be considered as insult to all noble girls in Yunkai and Astapor. And Tolos as well.  
No, this way you have slighted them all and none, in the same time." He sighed now as well. "What, my son?"  
"A ruler should be free to choose whom he shall love and wed." "Most fortunate rulers are. Your father and I said long ago that none  
of our sons and daughters will be wed to those they do not love. Thus far, we've been successful. All your sisters have married men  
they've fallen in love with. Tell me, do you truly love Vhaessa?" "I do, Muña. I truly do." Dany's eyes narrowed: "Does she love you?"  
"She does." "Good. For if she were ever to wrong you in any way, I will feed her to Drogon." "Mama, don't jape..." he laughed.  
"Cregan, you know me for twenty years now. Am I of japing sort?" she said, her voice was menacing and then she smiled:  
"You will be a good king one day. A great king. Same as your father is. You have all the proper traits for a wise and just ruler."  
"I thought you see Daeron as such... I thought that for years now." raven-haired prince said. Daenerys cupped his face right away:  
"Cregan, I love you and your brother the same, you know that. Seeing you become husband tomorrow will bring me joy  
and sorrow in the same time. For my boy, my firstborn son, has truly become a man. You are a fruit of reconciliation between Jon and me.  
A new hope for our House. When you and Daenysanne were born, Drogon sung on this very apex. My heart sung that day as well.  
You are a kind of ruler that Bay of Dragon needs. Your brother will walk his own path."  
Cregan's wedding brought all Jon and Dany's children back to Meereen and most of their grandchildren, save babes Jon and Shaera.  
Alaric was five and ten same as Daena, Rhaegar was three and ten, Dorren was eleven and Elaena was a year younger.  
All came with their parents, on dragonback. Tessarion brought Targaryens of Dragonstone while Stark Targaryens flew on Greywind.  
Yet not all as Lyannerys, then girl of four and ten, came with Daenysanne and Orys on Dreamfyre. She was then fostered in Storm's End.  
Arya and Gendry came by the sea, though Daeron offered to fly Arrax to Storm's End and bring them to Meereen, but they declined.  
Arya wished to sail once more eastwards, to recall her once life as _She-wolf of the sea _ and for that Rhaella sent her swan-ship,  
once belonging to Arya, with full crew to take them to Bay of Dragons. With Gendry and Arya came their son, Robb Baratheon.  
He was a young man of eight and ten and was very close with Daeron ever since he spent nearly a year at Storm's End.  
Arya liked her youngest nephew as well, she called him Wild Dragon and taught him all she could on how to use a sword.

Vhaessa was truly a beautiful bride and standing next to Cregan they seemed as younger mirror image of Jon and Daenerys.  
Only seemed as Vhaessa was as far from Daenerys Stormborn as she could be. She spent her whole life as highborn girl of Elyria,  
growing in silk and gold, fed by priciest dishes. Rumors were that Vhaessa's appetites in lovemaking do not end with men,  
that she had spent her last night out of wedlock with her favorite handmaiden. That rumor entertained guests at wedding feast.  
Daeron Targaryen entertained Lyannerys Stark Targaryen, two had not seen each other for years. Only one of whole family noted  
gazes and smiles that young uncle shared with his niece that day. Their aunt, Queen Arya Baratheon. And shrugged with smile.  
In the last moon of that year, cries of newborn babe echoed in the Great Pyramid, first time after nine and ten years.  
Prince Aemon Targaryen, son of Cregan and Vhaessa, was born. Boy of silver-hair and purple eyes, a pure Valyrian babe.  
Both Jon and Dany were joyful that one of their grandchildren will be with them from birth, others would come to Meereen  
to spend time with their grandparents for a few moons and then they would return to Winterfell or Dragonstone.  
Year 338 After Conquest came with the next moon and that year brought unrest in Dothraki Sea. That year brought khal Zirro.

When his khalassar grew to over ten thousand, rulers of Bay of Dragons decided that Zirro must be removed.  
Prince Cregan was tasked to meet with khal Gorro at Hesh where this khal had his stronghold for more than twenty years.  
Ever since Gorro wed a Lhazareen woman, a marriage arranged by Daenerys Stormborn. He had seven thousand riders,  
yet they were scattered from Khyzai Pass to the edge of Red Waste and it took days for them to gather into a horde.  
Cregan came to Hesh with column of five thousand mounted Freeflames. Host of Bay of Dragons in that year numbered  
sixty thousand, one third of which were Freeflames, the rest was City Guard of Meereen, Yunkai and Astapor.  
As these cities grew, so did their army, founded two and twenty years ago by then only a Westerosi exile, Jon Targaryen.  
Five thousand Freeflames rode to Hesh under Cregan Targaryen. Another five thousand was with his younger brother.  
Daeron led his column north and west, to prevent Zirro's retreat to Painted Mountains. Daeron asked his mother, before leaving:  
"Drogon or Arrax will make short work of this rebel khal and his band. Why you will not use them?"  
"I am Khaleesi of Dothraki, Daeron. I will not burn them. Only once I my life I've burned a people which I wanted to rule.  
Never again. We shall get rid of this Zirro with cold steel, not with dragonflame." "As you command, mother."  
Daeron was five and twenty miles away from Zirro's camp and passed the point at which he was to turn west, towards mountains.  
Yet, he kept on going north, to Vaes Diaf. His captain Danwell Ashdown, whose father Bannen, once of Golden Company,  
was among first of Freeflames asked Daeron: "My prince, are we riding to meet Zirro head on?" "No. I am." he replied.  
When Danwell frowned, young prince said: "I will challenge that outcast in one to one combat. I intend to get his men same as he got  
men from other khals. Dothraki only follow the strong. Zirro is only strong leader in that khalassar, if we're to trust our reports."  
"It is my duty to advise you against it, Prince Daeron. You're taking great risk. King and Queen..." "My royal parents are not here.  
And trust me Danwell, Jon and Daenerys Targaryen have taken far greater risks when twenty years old. Our men will halt five miles  
outside Zirro's camp. I will take only a score of riders to Vaes Diaf. There I'll spit in the face of that horselord. And cut his head off."  
"I will accompany you, my prince." "No, you will remain with our men. Eyes of that whole khalassar will be at me and Zirro fighting.  
Use that to encircle them. Have all our mounted archers ready. Ready to rain death on those rebels." Danwell was unsure of all this:  
"My prince, what if they kill you before you even reach Zirro? What if he refuses to fight you?" Daeron grinned: "I speak fluent Dothraki.  
I know their ways. He will look weak and unmanly if he were to refuse my challenge. I also know how to fight as Dothraki. While he...  
he has never learned of water dance. My aunt taught me well. Her husband, the Storm King, forged a blade for me. It's not Valyrian steel,  
but it will cut that Dothraki upstart as lemon cake." Danwell nodded as sign of obeying: "I wish you good fortune, my prince."

Daeron Targaryen slew khal Zirro that day. Two young men met in the very middle of rebel camp, arakh met with blade made by  
Gendry Baratheon only half a dozen times, before silver-haired prince slashed Zirro from navel to throat as he fought bare chested.  
Body of his enemy was still twitching when Daeron asked was there anyone else willing to fight him for leadership over this khalassar.  
As there were none, Zirro had no true bloodriders, Targaryen prince claimed ten thousand Dothraki warriors. He now had three-fold  
as many men than when he left Meereen. He was unsure what to do next, but then he learned how Volantis aided rebelled khal.  
His decision was made in an instant, right there, among ruins of Vaes Diaf. "We ride west. All of us. Freeflames and these Dothraki."  
"Why west, my prince..." Danwell Ashdown asked "...Meereen is south. You have won a great victory. You must bring word of it to..."  
"This was no victory, Danwell. We must seek victory in the west. And for that I'll need my dragon." "Where in the west, my prince?"  
"At Volantis." he replied. "We cannot take Volantis with five and ten thousand of cavalry. We need twice as many." Danwell said.  
"Host of Volantis are slave soldiers. Many of which follow the R'hllor. Most of our Freeflames follow the same god.  
When they see a dragon coming over mouth of Rhoyne, east side of Volantis will rise against those behind Black Wall."  
"You can't be certain of that..." Danwell warned. "Yes. I can. And I am. We ride west, over the northern slopes of Painted Mountains.  
We should reach the Volaena river in twenty days. Mayhaps even less. Volaena flows into Rhoyne few miles before the city."  
"Volantis is fifteen hundred miles from here, my prince." "Then we should go as soon as we can, captain Ashdown."

When Cregan and Gorro arrived at Vaes Diaf, they found no one save those who were in no shape for long march to Volantis.  
Westwards, many miles away, cloud of dust spoke of a mounted army on the move. Freeflames followed their prince, the Young Dragon,  
Dothraki went after the one who killed Zirro and now spoke of sacking Volantis, that was warpath worthy of following. Cregan was angered.  
So was his father, King Jon, upon receiving a message from his older son: "Has that boy gone mad! He leads five thousand men on Volantis.  
And ten thousand of rebelled Dothraki whose loyalty shifts quicker than one can blink. We must take Drogon and stop him."  
Daenerys looked calmly at her husband: "Red priestess from Lys told me, twenty years ago, how he will do what you and I dream.  
How he shall marry a daughter and make claws and long teeth to crawl. I now know what these words mean, Jon." That made him angrier:  
"You waited for twenty years to tell me this?" "I know what you think of riddles and prophecies. I've chosen not to tell you. For they were unclear.  
Until today. Daeron will marry a daughter. Volantis is called First Daughter. Claws and long teeth... tigers have claws and tusk is nothing else but a long tooth, Jon. Tigers and elephants. Daeron will break Volantis. He will do what we have wanted, but never got a chance."  
"And what if he fails, what if he... we cannot risk... I will not allow Daeron to die for a fool's cause. And this is a fool's cause."  
"Have you so little faith in our son, Jon? He is the fiercest of all our children. When will you see that? Daeron is our Young Dragon."  
Jon shook his head, then looked at his wife: "All right. I'll send a message for Cregan to return here, his Freeflames are to ride west to join Daeron. And our fleet will take ten thousand more men to the mouth of Rhoyne. With twenty thousand of our men and ten thousand Dothraki  
and Arrax... aye, our Young Dragon might have a chance to break Volantis. And I know he is fierce. He takes after you."  
Daenerys raised an eyebrow: "Does he indeed? Or mayhaps he takes after a man who charged alone on whole Bolton army."

Five sennights later, it was first moon of year 339 After Conquest.  
Lyannerys Stark Targaryen stood before the Black Wall of Volantis.  
Large banner with three-headed dragon was hanged on this thick wall. It was no banner, but a sail from one of ships that came from Meereen.  
With reinforcements for Daeron's army that went on a long march across central Essos. He rode with his men all the time, his dragon flew overhead. Almost fifteen hundred miles were between Vaes Diaf and Volantis, Daeron's host crossed hundred miles every night and rested during day. He did not want his men to ride under sun that scorched the land from Painted Mountains and Rhoyne.  
When city was at sight, Daeron summoned all Freeflames captains that were with him and asked of those who followed R'hllor to raise  
fiery heart banners along with three headed dragon. Daeron indeed loved sword more than he loved books, but he was well read,  
he was quite as his grandsire Rhaegar in that regard. Words recorded quarter of a century ago came to his mind:  
_Behind the Black Wall, lords of ancient blood sleep poorly, listening as their kitchen slaves sharpen their long knives.  
Slaves grow our food, clean our streets, teach our young. They guard our walls, row out galleys, fight our battles.  
And now they look east, they see this young queen shinning from afar, this breaker of chains. The Old Blood cannot suffer that.  
Poor men hate her too. Even the vilest beggar stands higher than a slave. This dragon queen would rob him of that consolation. _

To make sure that free men of Volantis do not stand against his army, he put forth the R'hllor banner. And that worked in his favor.  
Western part of the city, on the right bank of Rhoyne erupted in rebellion. Priests from the Temple of the Lord of Light called people to rally  
around the dragon prince. "At last! At last! The Breaker of Chains is coming!" echoed through the city. Daeron's army now grew tenfold,  
it was people from the western, poorer part of Volantis that charged across the Long Bridge towards the Black Wall. Most of tiger cloaks  
rebelled as well. _This city was ripe for taking..._ flashed in Daeron's mind _...why have Papa and Muña delayed it._  
From above, Arrax descended on Black Wall burning all on his path, on the walls and behind it.  
Next morning all triarchs came before Prince of Bay of Dragons asking for truce. They have learned why it is not wise to wake a dragon.  
While they held a title of triarchs, three Volantene noblemen are thought of to be so elevated so their feet are not allowed to touch the ground.  
During whole year those three men are carried around everywhere they go. So they came to parlay with Daeron carried by slaves.  
"I, Daeron of House Targaryen, Prince of Bay of Dragons, am standing on my two feet. I have taken your city. You have lost it.  
Time for you to crawl." He ordered Freeflames to chase the escort of triarchs away and three of Old Blood, one tiger and two elephants  
were now on their knees before him. One of triarchs soiled his breeches and it reeked all over courtyard. Daeron spoke with calm, dry voice:  
"You have conspired with a rebel Dothraki khal against King and Queen of Bay of Dragons. As their son and heir, I speak in their stead.  
And in their stead I will utter your punishment. Bags of Volantene gold were found in khal Zirro's camp. It is proper for you to receive it back.  
And you shall. For I will have you stripped naked and thrown into Rhoyne with those bags tied to you. That is dragon's justice."

Lyannerys was escorted by score of Freeflames and her own personal escort that traveled with her from Winterfell.  
They had to make their way through crowds that were still celebrating the end of slavery in Volantis.  
To her it was a wonder how it lasted for all those centuries, as there were five slave on every free man in this city.  
She saw their tattoos, wheel, fly, coin, jug, skull, horsehead... these tattoos were markings of what they were tasked with.  
There was tear beneath right eye of a nearly naked woman who danced on one of headless monuments. Pleasure slave.  
She could tell that even without tattoo, this woman had no body hair and her nipples were adorned with gold rings.  
Over an hour has passed until her escort brought Lyannerys to a cloistered garden where Daeron was resting, lying on a wooden bench,  
his gaze was at the starry sky. "My prince, a guest..." lieutenant of Freeflames began to talk, but did not get to finish.  
"Leave us." Daeron said as he rose from the bench. Escort went away and two stood silently for a heartbeat, looking at each other.  
Then they rushed into embrace. Her hands were tight around him and she sighed few times. He gently lifted her chin and kissed her.  
Dark-haired girl grabbed him by the collar of his leather tunic as they were kissing. When their lips parted, Lyannerys was looking at him,  
her breaths were deep. Very next moment she slapped him hard. And once more across his other cheek: "This is for being an arrogant fool."  
"Arrogant? Fool?" "Yes..." she hissed "...that is who you are. Only an arrogant fool would march on Volantis with five thousand men.  
If you do not care for your life, you should have told me so before... before I've grown to love you as much as I do. Damn you."  
He smiled at her: "I care greatly for my life, Nerys. Losing it means losing you. I will never allow that to happen."  
Again, she embraced him tightly: "Daeron, I am six and ten now. A woman grown. I am ready to be a woman... with you."  
He kissed her again: "I know you are. And I wish nothing more than to make love to you, right now. But, you will be mine as it is proper.  
Betrothed first, then married. You're Princess of Northern kingdom. I will have you only as my wife. Not before that."  
"Then we should wed. Here, in Volantis. I don't care of wedding feasts, I don't need our whole family to be present. Can we do it?"  
"We can. But we shall not. I love you, Lyannerys Stark Targaryen, your face was all I could see while we marched on Volantis.  
These raven curls, your blue eyes... your face when you're angry and when you smile. I need you in my life. In years to come.  
I need you, Nerys. Among all young dragons, you're the only one which has the same fire as I do. I need you as my wife.  
But not before we're given blessing from my mother and father and your mother. We shall not hide as common thieves.  
We shall declare our love and our wedding before whole world. And then, you and I will lay as man and woman."  
She nodded: "Mother is not very pleased with us... being in love." "You've told her?" "I have, before leaving White Harbor."  
"What troubles her? Me being almost five years older than you or you being my niece?" "Both, in truth." girl said.  
"There were such couples before, in Targaryen history." She chuckled: "Aunt Arya said the same." He frowned:  
"She knows of us as well?" "I've spent two days at Storm's End before coming here. She saw us at Cregan's wedding."  
"And what says she of us?" "She told me: tell Young Dragon that should his parents be against your wedlock, he ought to  
remind Jon and Daenerys what blood relation they share." "So, Arya has no issue with us in wed. Good." Daeron said.  
"Grandpapa might. Same as my mother does." He nodded: "He could. That is why in two days we fly on Arrax to Meereen.  
I'll present you to them as my wife to be. I ask nothing of them, no feast or celebration, only their approval."


	104. JON AND DAENERYS

**JON AND DAENERYS**

_Meereen, Essos, year 339 After Conquest_

"Prince Daeron has returned! Prince Daeron has returned!"  
Echoed on the upper levels of the Great Pyramid as red dragon with black membranes on his wings made few circles around its apex.  
Loud cheers came from all the guards on the pyramid walls. Daeron was loved by Freeflames and City Guard of Meereen for he acted  
as one of them, ever since he spent his first day of training in Waspwillow barracks. Word of him riding for fifteen hundred miles  
with Freeflames while he could fly on his dragon brought him even more reverence among men at arms of Meereen.  
"Ābrītsos Zaldrīzes! Ābrītsos Zaldrīzes!" were they now shouting.  
From ground level to the apex, not only guards but other servants and members of the court joined, it was now coming from dozens:  
"Ābrītsos Zaldrīzes!" "Dāritys hen Volantis!" "Morghon hen belmurtys!" ( _Young Dragon! Conqueror of Volantis! Bane of slavers!_ )  
People on the streets and squares around the Great Pyramid were cheering as well, some waved at him from the roofs and applauded.  
Meereen was celebrating return of their hero.

Daenerys rushed out in the terrace garden and smile was upon her face the moment she saw Arrax and his rider.  
A frown soon followed when she saw another one with Daeron, a young woman of dark hair. As dragon flew over the garden,  
she recognized who that young woman was. Her granddaughter Lyannerys. Dany's eyes narrowed, she was looking forward  
to hear the account of how Princess of Winterfell has ended on a dragonback with her young uncle who conquered Volantis.  
Queen of Bay of Dragons stood firm on the apex, as she were made of stone, not minding Arrax landing merely half a dozen yards  
from her. Daenerys lived with dragons more than four decades now, ever since her three children were hatched from Drogo's pyre.  
Arrax was a young dragon, he came out from his egg eleven years ago and when she saw Drogon and him once in the air together  
they reminded her of falcon and eagle, so larger was her dragon than one her son rode. She knew that Arrax will be as Drogon one day.

"Muña. Nyke maghagon ao se ērinnon." (_Mother, I bring you the victory._)  
Daeron said as he and Lyannerys dismounted and Arrax went up in the air again.  
He placed the banner of Volantis beneath her feet. Her face glowed with content.  
"Eman ossēntan lī qilōni brōztagon ao gēlenka līve." (_I have killed those who called you silver whore._)  
"Emagon ao mīsagon se nākostōbā?" she asked. (_Have you protected the weak? _) "Kessa." he answered.  
"Emagon ao daerēdas se buzdari?" she asked next. (_Have you freed the slaves? _) "Kessa."  
"Emagon ao dohaertan lī isse jorrāelagon?" (_Have you helped those in need? _) "Kessa."  
"Emagon ao maghatan sepār naejot mirre?" (_Have you brought justice to all? _) "Kessa."  
"Pār emā gaomagon mirre nyke eptan hen ao, ñuha dārilaros." (_Then you have done all I asked of you, my prince._)  
Next she opened her arms and her youngest son was in her embrace. "My hero. My conqueror." she whispered to his ear.  
"Have I made you proud, mother?" he asked. "You have. More than proud, my son." "And... father?" he asked.  
"You'll have to ask him that." Daenerys answered. As they parted embrace, Daeron said: "Muña, I brought Lyannerys with me."  
"So I see." Queen of Bay of Dragons said and her gaze shifted to raven-haired girl who bowed: "Ñuha Dāria... Grandmama..."  
"Princess..." Dany answered formally before asking: "Nerys, my sweet child, what are you doing in Meereen exactly?  
I enjoy every time when you come, same as all my other grandchildren, I wish that was even more oft.  
Still, my dear, today you have come unannounced. Does your mother know of your journey here?"  
Girl blushed: "She does not, grandmama. She does know that I went to Volantis, to be with Daeron."  
"Was there any particular reason for you to be with Daeron? Word of his victory reached our whole family,  
yet I do not see any of your brothers or cousins here. Why was so important for you to go to Volantis?"  
Daenerys enjoyed this questioning. The moment she saw them together, it was plain why her Northern granddaughter went to Essos.  
"Mother, Nerys and I..." She gestured Daeron to stop talking: "Princess Lyannerys can speak for herself. She is not a child,  
but soon a woman grown. So, tell me, rōvatala, why have you journeyed to Volantis and then here?  
Not safest of journeys, I must say, for someone young as you are. It must be far important reason to you than fall of Volantis."  
"Grandmama, I came with Daeron so we could ask your..."  
She did not get to finish her sentence. Aden zo Ghazeen, King's aide, appeared on the apex.  
Aden was son of Azzak zo Ghazeen who served as Dany's aide twenty years ago. Azzak was now a member of Council of Citizens  
he served as councilor for eight and ten years, he was most respected among men and women who governed Meereen.  
Azzak wanted for his son to start humbly as he did so Aden being only a ten year old boy began as a cupbearer in the Great Pyramid  
and in time he rose to the position of King's aide. He was on the royal court for nearly twelve years and Jon already decided it was time  
for Aden to move on, to prepare for the coming elections for Council of Citizens, same as his father did when of his age.  
"Your Radiance, Prince Daeron, Princess Lyannerys, His Radiance wishes to speak with Prince Daeron right away." Aden said.  
Daeron nodded and asked with voice that had no trace of joy: "Where is His Radiance?" "In the council room, my prince."  
Her youngest son looked at Daenerys, she could tell he is at unease as silent sigh escaped him.  
She gave him a gaze of encouragement and he went down the stairs, following Aden zo Ghazeen.  
Dany turned to Nerys and said: "And now, my sweet grandchild, we shall talk, as we always have. Not holding anything from one another."

Jon was sitting at the table where Council of Citizens assembled every fortnight.  
He was going through piled scrolls and parchments when Daeron entered.  
"Your Grace..." his son said and Jon could tell how prince's voice is trembling.  
He put parchment aside and looked at his youngest son. Daeron's gaze was down, he stared at stone floor.  
"I remember a boy I once knew who came rushing into this very chamber when he was five years, three moons  
and twelve days old to tell me how he recited his first poem in High Valyrian. That same boy hit the center of target twice in a row  
with his longbow when he was ten years, seven moons and five days old. And he came rushing here to tell me that as well.  
That boy has grown to be a man who has brought the greatest victory to our House in last twenty years. And what does that man do?  
He stands here and stares at damn stone tiles. Well, if that man will not rush to me, then I will rush to him."  
Jon stood up from the table and paced quickly towards Daeron whose gaze was up only after he heard his father's words.  
"My son." Jon embraced Daeron tightly "I am so proud of you. Are you even aware of what you have achieved?"  
"Papa!" Daeron's arms were around Jon "I... forgive me if I have angered you. I... I did what I thought it was best."  
"You've done more than that, son. You have removed our last enemies in Essos. My Daeron, my Young Dragon."  
"Father, your approval is worth to me more than ten victories in the field." young man said, his voice still trembling.  
Jon looked at him and placed his hands on prince's shoulders: "You always had my approval, son. You are blood of my blood."  
"It's just..." Daeron struggled to find words "...it always seemed to me how Cregan was more to your liking. For he was more as you."  
"More as me? Why? For his Stark looks and temper?" Jon smiled at his silver-haired son "Indeed he has my looks and Stark temper.  
While you have my father's look, son. And you have my rashness as well. I have made many haste decisions in my time, Daeron.  
Sometimes I truly fucked things up." Jon's youngest chuckled, father and son were looking at each other now as two men who at last  
understood each other. "Your arse surely must still be sore from riding fifteen hundred miles..." Jon said as they sat at the table.  
"It is a bit, yes." Daeron smiled. He had not talked so with his father for he could not remember how long. Moons... years...  
It did not matter now. King of Bay of Dragons looked upon his youngest child almost with awe: "Your every move was the right one.  
You rode with your men and ahead of your men. You could fly over them, but you did not. That is what true leaders do. That is wisdom.  
Well, challenging Zirro to a single combat... was a risk taking. Dothraki are unpredictable. Your mother sees them as her people.  
I see them for what they are. Their thirst for war is barely quenched with this tribute collecting. I fear we shall see many more khals  
as that Zirro was." Daeron said dryly: "We shall deal with such in same manner as I did with Zirro. We shall kill all such rebels."  
Jon smiled and then shook his head: "No, son. Not _we_. You. And your brother. My fighting days are behind me."  
He got up and walked towards the wall where his belt and scabbard hung. He took it off the wall and went back,  
placing the Longclaw on the table before his son: "This sword is yours now." Daeron's eyes widened: "Father, I can't..."  
"You can. And you will. May it serve you well as it did me. I've wielded it for forty years. It is time to pass it on."  
"Father, Cregan should..." "Cregan will inherit Bay of Dragons. He needs not a sword to forge his destiny. You do."  
"What will be my destiny, Papa?" Jon looked at his son approvingly: "Whatever you make it to be, Daeron Targaryen."

"Your mother will not be pleased, not at all." Daenerys said to her granddaughter as they sat in the terrace garden.  
"I know. She thinks I am to young and what I feel for Daeron is nothing but infatuation of a child. Same as hers was."  
Daenerys' face darkened at those words: "What are you saying, Nerys?" "Grandmama, my mother and my father, their marriage is over."  
Targaryen queen sighed: "So, rumors coming from Winterfell were true after all. Lyanna is too proud to speak of it even to me.  
That leaves me with hearsay from other side of the world. I am glad you have told me this, rōvatala. And sad as well.  
My daughter deserves better... I see now why she fears of you being with Daeron. She fears that love will vanish same as hers with Hallis."  
"Yes, grandmama, that is what mama fears. But I know that Daeron and I will be more as you and grandpapa."  
Daenerys laughed: "Oh my sweet Nerys, I wish that to no one, let alone you and Daeron. Fate played cruel tricks with Jon and me."  
"Mayhaps it is so, grandmama, but you have triumphed over fate. You have renewed the house of dragon. I am proud to be your blood."  
She placed a kiss on girl's brow: "As I am proud of you, Lyannerys. Of all my grandchildren, I see the most of me in you."  
"Will you give your approval of me and Daeron becoming man and wife?" "I will, rōvatala. Yet not without terms." Girl frowned.  
"You and Daeron will have your betrothals here in Meereen where you will stay for two more years. He will wed you when you're eight and ten.  
Not before. Two years should be long enough for me to see if what you have is true love or merely an infatuation that will vanish with time."  
"Grandmama, two years?!" "Princess Lyannerys Stark Targaryen, your mother, Queen Lyanna will mayhaps give her consent under these terms.  
Mayhaps. And these are best terms I can give to you and to my son. That is all I have to say on the matter." Nerys sighed deeply before nodding.

Dany was lying naked atop Jon that night. They have made love for most of that evening, beginning in council room.  
It amused her to defile the chamber where Council of Citizens held their assembly, while her husband found that as utter lack of respect  
and modesty. She did not care. "Our bodies are still young, Jon, and I crave for you the same as ever. And this collection of drawings from Lys...  
why not try some of those acts of lovemaking?" "Have you no shame, woman?" he smiled at her.  
"No, not when my lust for you is in question. I never had it. Nor will I."  
"Our granddaughter is sleeping few chambers away." Dany gently bit his lip: "She does. A woman grown wishing she was in bed with Daeron."  
Jon frowned right away: "I'm not having this talk." She shrugged: "I have not disrespected our son or our granddaughter in any way.  
I have said a fact. They are in love, Jon. Will that love endure test of time, that is another matter. But for now, he gazes at her the same  
as you have at me on Dragonstone." "That was different." he said. "Different how...?" her eyes narrowed "...explain that to me, husband."  
"We haven't known each other for all our lives..." Daenerys rose up, she was straddling him now and crossed her arms. Jon could tell  
she was irked: "Him being her uncle. Is that troubling you? Truly? After bedding your aunt for twenty years?" "I did not say anything of..."  
"Good. Keep it that way, Jon Targaryen." She leaned down next and kissed him. Her head was on his chest again.  
"Daeron is so happy. You gave him Longclaw. It means more to him than if you'd given him the throne of Meereen."  
"He deserves that sword... what made that boy to think I am displeased with him..."  
"It was same with me and Cregan, Jon. We had two boys growing with us, you were more with Cregan,  
grooming him as our heir and I gave my time to Daeron as he was closer to me. It was not wrong and yet it was.  
Both of them began to wrongly believe how they're not loved the same by you or me." "Foolish thoughts."  
"Young minds harbor foolish thoughts, Jon. I had them once, same as you. But I need not to worry how my youngest son  
will drift apart from his father now. I tell you, he'd like nothing more than to march into battle with you."  
Jon sighed: "I know. I like that notion as well. Alas, man of seven and fifty namedays has no place in the battlefield."  
"Your body is of a man nearly twice as young." she smiled. "Aye, but my mind and spirit is old."  
"Oh... well, should you feel that way, mayhaps it is time for me to consider finding a younger man to..."  
Dany did not get to finish as he rolled over on top of her: "You will be punished for those words, wife."  
She bit his neck lustfully: "You better make the punishment last till dawn, my king."  
"What will Lyannerys think of us?" "She will only admire us more."

King and Queen of Bay of Dragons allowed their granddaughter to spend a sennight in Meereen.  
Jon enjoyed having Lyannerys near, she reminded him both of Lyanna and of young Dany.  
"You will not sit idle in the terrace garden, Nerys. You are Stark Targaryen princess.  
There is work for you in the household in the morrow and when noon passes come to throne room.  
We shall receive petitioners together. One never ceases to learn on how to rule ably and wisely."  
"Aye, grandpapa. As you command." Northern girl replied contently, yet with great respect.  
When last of Meereenese citizens who wanted audience with Targaryen monarchs was gone,  
Great Pyramid was bathed with rays of setting sun. Lyannerys was tired after standing next to throne  
for many hours and Jon invited to sit with him. "I remember when you sat on my lap, right here on this stone bench."  
"I remember that too, grandpapa. I loved being with you and grandmama in Meereen. I love being here now."  
"Yet not because of your old grandparents... right?" "You're not old!" Nerys said aloud "You look the same as mama does."  
Jon nodded, but his eyes were sad: "We do. It does not always make me happy to know that." She gave him a curious look.  
"It matters not, Nerys, my sweet. One day you will know what I meant... I'd rather you tell me of Daeron."  
"I want to be his wife. I love him. Truly I do, grandpapa. And I know that niece should not love her uncle as a man..."  
She did not utter her whole sentence: "...forgive me, I did not want to insult.. I know that you and grandmama..."  
"Yes, Daenerys is my father's little sister. She is my aunt although I am older than her. I loved her as a woman before I knew...  
what she is to me, before I knew who I truly am. And it did not make me stop loving her as a woman. Gods know I tried.  
But I could not. If you love Daeron the same as I love your grandmother, then I have no issue or you two being uncle and niece.  
You're right, Lyannerys, a niece should not love her uncle as a man, but love cares not of rules and laws and duties."  
His grandaughter looked at him with warmest gaze ever: "Love is the death of duty. I know that saying. I hate that saying."  
"I once believed how duty is more important than love. Believing that was wrong. It nearly ruined my life.  
It was not duty that gave me your mother. It was not duty that gave me chance to look at your lovely blue eyes, sweetling.  
It was love I felt then for your grandmama. Love I feel for her now, love I shall feel for her till my last hour on this world.  
Should your love for Daeron and his for you be as mine for Daenerys and hers for me... then he may wed you. I approve it."  
Lyannerys embraced him upon hearing this: "Thank you, grandpapa. I love you so much." "And I you, Northern treasure."

_Storm's End, Westeros, year 339 After Conquest_

When that sennight has passed, dragons took flight to Westeros.  
Jon and Daenerys were on Drogon, while Daeron and Nerys rode on Arrax. They were flying to Winterfell.  
Princess of Kingdom of the North was at unease, fearing of how her mother might act. It was same for Daeron.  
He knew well the temper of his older sister and how fierce she was when wellbeing of her children was at issue.  
They made brief landing at Volantis for new ruling body of the city, a council of free men, nobles and once slaves,  
alike those in the Dragon Cities, wanted to greet the Breaker of Chains, Queen Daenerys Stormborn.  
From Volantis, dragons flew over Disputed Lands, Tyrosh, the Narrow Sea and Shipbreaker Bay.  
Drogon and Arrax descended on the tower of Storm's End.  
It brought great joy to Arya Stark who haven't seen her brother since Cregan's Wedding, nearly two years ago.  
She was to have her fiftieth nameday that year and her raven hair had now streaks of grey.  
Yet she was still very agile and able to move swiftly. Jon learned of her doing water dance with Jon and Shaera, now four-year old.  
"It is never too soon for them to begin learning of swordfight." she said. Arya knew of Jon and Daenerys slow aging.  
As they strolled the battlements of royal castle of Stormlands, it was plain to both that Jon will outlive Arya.  
"You better not weep over my grave, brother, for I swear it, I will raise as any sort of wight and slap you across your dumb face."  
His eyes watered at her words and she laughed aloud: "Gods, you're a fool. I will rest in Winterfell crypts for many years and you will still  
have to deal with all the shite this world makes. Don't cry, brother. If I were to die here and now, I have seen the wonders of Known World  
as few men have. And even fewer women. I hate growing old, Jon. When my hand will be weak to grasp a sword, then let death claim me.  
Instead of your tears, I wish to know how will you talk Lyanna into giving her only daughter to Daeron. That is one wedding I'll gladly attend."

"What is this?!" Daeron's eyes widened at the map of Westeros painted on a cowhide that hanged in solar of Prince Robb Baratheon.  
"Kingdom of the Reach, cousin." came the reply from dark-haired young man wearing gold and gray tunic with stag and wolf sigil.  
"Is my memory playing tricks on me or have they grown larger since last time I was looking at this map of yours?" Daeron asked.  
"Your memory serves you well. They are growing. Last year they have taken all of Westerlands, save narrow stretch of land  
on which Casterly Rock and Lannisport stand..." "Lions have truly been shorn." young Targaryen said. "Lions? Sheep. House Lannister is dead.  
It's only mater of moons when Hightowers will make them homeless and strip them both of Casterly Rock and of Lannisport."  
"This place... Stoney Sept... was it not part of Riverlands?" "Indeed it was. Till three moons ago. Now, it is under lords of the Reach.  
Same as lands of House Piper who also changed allegiance from Riverrun to Oldtown. Same as all the lords of Westerlands.  
In the end, it is same wherever you are, Essos, Westeros, people rally around those with strength. And High Tower is strong."  
Daeron nodded: "Unlike Lannisters or Tullys... so now Kingdom of the Reach is as large as your kingdom and Dorne combined."  
"It is. And they're are nibbling the lands of Tully trout, slowly but surely." Robb said. "Hightowers prey on the weak, then."  
"They do for now, Daeron." Targaryen prince looked at Baratheon prince: "What are you not telling me?" Robb smiled:  
"You always knew when I was hiding things from you ever since we were little boys... Reach will strike at Dorne next.  
It is only a matter of time. And all those lords of Westerlands will gladly give their swords for that campaign.  
Dorne has no treaties with House Targaryen and Arianne Martell is now old and without rightful heirs.  
She gave birth to three Sands, all sired by different men, but should she not legitimise one of them,  
her house dies with her. That will leave the Dornish throne vacant and what will follow..." "War for the throne of Sunspear."  
"With Reach aiding one or more sides..." Robb nodded. "Such turmoil in Dorne surely will work in their favor." Daeron said.  
"And they will want for that turmoil to cross into Dornish Marches, into this kingdom. That is how Oldtown does things."  
"Cousin, when that happens, you will invite me to the Marches. I crave for a good battle." Robb laughed aloud:  
"Volantis haven't quenched that thirst?" "Volantis was no battle. Not truly. It was a ripe fruit I did not even have to pluck."  
"I will invite you to the Marches should Dornish, serving House Hightower, began to cross our borders. Be sure of that."

_Winterfell, Westeros, year 339 After Conquest_

Queen Lyanna of House Stark Targaryen of Winterfell received them in the godswood of Stark ancestral castle.  
To Jon it was a sign that his daughter will speak from her heart, speak only truth without holding back.  
Unlike her parents, her younger brother and her daughter, Lya came dressed only in attire of direwolf family, in white and grey.  
Jon did not like that as it appeared how Lyanna was alone against them all and he saw the same on Dany's face.  
Smell of air reminded Jon of his childhood, it was smell of moist and decay, but to him it was one of dearest scents of this world.  
A light breeze played with leaves of great oaks, of ironwood and ash, of elms and chestnuts.  
And with red leaves of heart tree, the ever watchful pale giant that stood in the middle of godswood, next to pool of black water.  
"Papa, Muña... brother... Lyannerys..." Northern queen said with dry voice "...I am listening. I wish to hear why my parents nourish  
the disobedience of my child, countering all I was taught by those same parents." "It is not so, Lya." Daenerys told her.  
"Is it not, mother? A girl of barely six and ten sails to the mouth of Rhoyne on her own and then is received in Meereen. all because she...  
she is smitten by her young uncle. The Conqueror of Volantis... Ābrītsos Zaldrīzes... You have wronged me, little brother."  
"If loving your daughter means that I have wronged you, then yes, I have. And I will continue to wrong you for I love Lyannerys."  
"You don't know what love is, Daeron. She even less. She is a child." Lyanna said. "You were younger when you took Winterfell, mama!"  
"That was me." came a cold reply "A different girl in a different time." Daenerys sighed: "Lya, will you allow me to say what terms  
I gave to Daeron and Nerys?" Dark-haired queen's eyes narrowed: "Terms? Terms for what?" "For them becoming man and wife."  
Lyanna's eyes rolled and she sighed deeply: "You don't need my leave to speak, mother. Not you."  
"Good..." Dany said before continuing: "Lyannerys will spend two years in Meereen, fostered by Jon and me. For that time, she will be  
betrothed to Daeron and he will court her as it is proper. Should this bond they now share and call love survive those two years,  
Daeron has my and Jon's consent to wed Lyannerys. Only then will they be with each other as man and wife. Only then."  
Lyanna smirked: "So, my mother offers to stand watch over my daughter's chastity. Am I inept of that myself?"  
"No one is saying that, Lya..." Jon looked at his daughter, his face saying of hurt he felt "...we don't want this family to be torn asunder.  
And for what? Not for power or gold or envy... but for love that one young couple shares. I will not allow that, tala. Those are good terms."  
"Good for whom? Not for me. I am the one whose only daughter will be gone for two years. And then forever." Lya's voice trembled.  
Jon was about to walk to her and embrace his raven-haired daughter, but Daenerys' commanding voice echoed in the godswood:  
"Leave me alone with Lyanna. Now. All of you. Out." Jon looked at her. "You as well, Jon. Leave me with my daughter."  
Jon shrugged and gestured Daeron and Nerys to follow him. Daenerys waited to hear the iron gate closing behind them.

As they remained alone, standing before the heart tree, Dany looked at her daughter with saddest eyes ever.  
"Skoros iksis ziry, ñuha dōna riña?" (_What is it, my sweet child?_) she asked with same words as when Lya was a little girl.  
"Iksan sīr mērī se daor biare, mama..." (_I am so alone and unhappy..._) came the answer and Lya burst into tears.  
Dany made few quick paces and embraced her: "Oh, Līāna, hen mirre ñuha riñar naejot ūndegon ao sīr. Ziry ōdria nyke se olvie..."  
(_Oh, Lyanna, of all my children to see you so... it wounds me the most... _) She held her tight and kissed her raven tresses.  
"So much about Young She-wolf..." Lyanna chuckled through tears. "Weep, Lyanna, I have wept also in my day, bitter tears.  
It did not break me, nor it will break you. You're my blood. Blood of a dragon. But even dragons cry. So we shall cry now."  
Tears went down faces of both Targaryen women as they stood embraced before heart three in godswood of Winterfell.  
"Hallis has left me..." Lyanna said as they were now sitting on a wooden bench beneath the tree of white bark.  
Forty years ago, on that very spot, Eddard of House Stark was cleaning his Valyrian steel greatsword Ice.  
"That I know." Dany said "Your daughter has told me. And such rumors have reached Meereen before that. Should I ask..."  
"He disagreed with many of my actions. Almost from the first day since I became a true queen. Did he saw himself as king,  
with me being only a consort... mayhaps... it matters not now." Lyanna said with voice devoid of any feeling.  
"Vanity of men... of stupid men, that is. So where is your king consort right now?" Daenerys asked.  
Lya shrugged: "At his father's castle or at White Harbor... I care not what he does, hunts, whores... both..."  
"I am so sorry, tala... he seemed as proper, even best match for you." "He was then, mama. But men change with time."  
"Not true men, they don't." Dany said, her hand still caressing Lya's hair. "No, not true men." her daughter answered, eyes glowing.  
It did not escape Daenerys: "Have you found comfort with another man, Lyanna? If so, I will not judge you."  
Raven-haired queen lifted her head: "One should not lie before the heart tree. So I will not lie... I have mother. Years ago.  
He did not only gave me comfort. He give me Lyannerys. She is the child of love between me and that man. I still love him."  
Dany embraced her once again: "My sweet Lyanna, why haven't you told me of this before.. why you suffer so alone?"  
"I am stubborn and proud, Muña, I've always been." "Now I understand better why you shield Nerys so. Does he live? Her true father?"  
"He does. And he is alone now, same as I am. His wife died last year, died of a burst belly." "And he knows of..." "He does. She has his eyes.  
We share our love, mama, once a year or fewer. It hurts even more when I must part from him." "May I know his name?" Dany asked.  
"Robin..." Lya sighed saying that name "...of House Flint of Widow's Watch." "Hence those beautiful blue eyes Nerys has."  
"I feel so tired, mama... I am now old as you were when you reunited with Papa, when you took again the crown of Meereen. And I feel so tired.  
I've been called Queen in the North since I was three and ten. And ruling as true queen for over eight and ten years."  
"What is throne compared to a man's love... what is crown against the feel of a lover in your arms... or the memory of his smile?  
Wind and words. Wind and words. We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy.”  
Daenerys uttered words of one Targaryen of old, though she changed it to fit the moment in which her raven-haired daughter was.  
"Lya, I can advise you on what to do, but in the end the choice will be yours. What you must now wage is what you want in life..."

Daenerys and Lyanna returned to Great Hall of Winterfell. Hall was empty, save Jon, Daeron and Lyannerys.  
Northern queen was again her old self, proud and of stern face. She passed next to Daeron and Lyannerys without looking at them,  
gave a small nod to her father and then she sat on the direwolf throne. Only then she gazed at her daughter and younger brother.  
Next, she said: "I, Lyanna of House Stark Targaryen, Queen in the North, agree that my daughter, Princess Lyannerys is to be fostered  
by King Jon and Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen of Bay of Dragons for two years. During which time she will be betrothed  
to a Prince Daeron of House Targaryen who will court her as it is determined by the rules of both kingdoms.  
Should that betrothal last, when two years pass, Princess will return here to Winterfell where she will be wed to Prince Daeron in godswood,  
before old gods, as all Stark women before her were wed for many generations. Those are my terms of which I will not negotiate."  
"I accept those terms. It will be my great honor to be wed here, before gods of my Stark forefathers." Daeron said.  
"Then it is done." Lyanna said and rose up from the throne. She walked straight to Daeron and embraced him. She whispered at his right ear:  
"If you hurt my child even the slightest, I will hunt you down, cut off your manhood and feed you with it. Then I'll let Greywind to eat you and Arrax. Do not take these words lightly, little brother. You may be Young Dragon, but I am she-wolf and she-dragon.  
Don't try me. I love you, but don't try me." Daeron looked at her and nodded: "Again, I agree to your terms, ñuha dōna mandia, my sweet sister."  
Lyanna gave him a glint before turning to Nerys: "I wish you all the love and fortune of this world. And I truly hope you will find it with Daeron."  
"Mama!" Lyannerys caught her mother in embrace: "Don't be sad, I beg you. Be happy for me. My sweet mother, I will never bring shame to you."  
"I know, Nerys... I know. Child of a wolf child... remember always who you are. Dragon and direwolf."  
"Dragon and direwolf, mama." girl replied. Daenerys seldom saw Jon crying as he did now, in the Great Hall of Winterfell.

_Dragonstone, Westeros, year 350 After Conquest_

It was a small cove, about a mile from the closest village on an island at the mouth of Blackwater Bay.  
On day of clear skies, one standing at this cove could see the coast of Cracklaw Point in the north and Rook's Rest should his gaze go westwards. A small stone house was all one could find in this cove, standing some five hundred yards from the shore, built as all houses  
of farmers and fishermen on this island were built. On the place where it could be most sheltered from wind and rain, with stone tiled roof  
and shutters of heavy wood. Near this house was a small garden and a large orchard. There was not anything worth noting of this house.  
Save one detail. Unlike any other house or cottage on this island, it had red door.  
Dark-haired man was picking apples and placing it in the basket. With him, with smaller basket, befitting his size was a boy of seven or eight namedays, also of dark hair. He tried to reach the fruit on the lowest of branches but could not. Every time a man would see boy's efforts  
he would put down his own basket and lifted boy up so he could pick the apples as well. Boy giggled every time a man would lift him up.  
Boy's name was Prince Eddard Targaryen, son of Daeron and Lyannerys, King and Queen of the Reach and the Rock.  
Man's name was Jon Targaryen, once King of Bay of Dragons. He was boy's great-grandfather.

This cove was his home for nearly nine years, since he abdicated the throne in favor of his son, Cregan Targaryen.  
_Year of Targaryen abdications_ was 441 After Conquest called. Queen Lyanna Stark Targaryen was first to do it.  
On the twentieth anniversary of her taking the direwolf crown and throne she passed it on to her oldest son, Alaric.  
Soon after, she and her husband Hallis of House Hornwood agreed to end a marriage that was a farce for many years already.  
Hallis soon remarried with a lady from House Woolfield, twice as young than he was then, barely a woman grown.  
Lyanna, freed of crown and wedlock, went to Widow's Watch where she could finally live with her true love, Robin Flint.  
It remained unclear had Lyannerys Stark Targaryen ever learned of him being her true father, yet visits of once Queen in the North  
and her second husband to Highgarden where dragons of the Reach and Westerlands had their court spoke in favor of it.  
Daeron Targaryen not only took part in the border war in Dornish Marches on the side of his kinfolk from Storm's End against  
renegade Dornish lesser houses who fought for Hightowers, he decided it was time to remove overreaching lords from Oldtown.  
With ten thousand freewills he brought from Essos, many of them Freeflames, Stormland host led by Robb Baratheon and Dornish army  
of Nymor Sand, bastard son of Arianne Martell and Edric Dayne, Daeron fought against large armies of the Reach for nearly three years.  
Some called that war _War of the Sons_ as sides involved were the same as in war fought from year 316 to 318 After Conquest,  
in which fathers of those now in command on both sides of the battlefield have fought. Daeron seldom used his dragon Arrax.  
"I will tear down Hightowers by sword, not by flame. In a purest sort of victory." So he did. Aegon Conqueror Reborn, some called him.  
From year 342 to year 344 after one brother and two sisters made Westeros a single realm, their descendant warred from the Marches  
to Casterly Rock and the mouth of Honeywine. Other Targaryen kings and queens, from Winterfell to Dragonstone supported his efforts  
with men and supplies, but oft he would decline them. "It is not your war, kinsmen. Let me and Robb to fight it on our own."  
King Alaric Stark Targaryen called his uncle "a proud fool" while his sister, Queen Rhaella of Dragonstone, misliked how Daeron acted:  
"Are we not family? He is not the only dragon in this world. Mayhaps is best that we let him learn that the hard way."  
After Hightowers dealt him three defeats, one following the other, and nearly threw him out of the Reach, Daeron's pride lessened,  
same as his freewill army, so he had to accept the aid of his sister from Dragonstone and his nephew from Winterfell.  
Four and ten moons later, dragon, stag and sunspear banners were planted on the High Tower of Oldtown, beneath the beacon.  
Ten moons later, Prince Daeron, supported by Winterfell and Dragonstone Targaryens and Baratheons of Storm's End  
took the crown of Kingdom of the Reach and the Rock. Coronation of him and his Queen, Lyannerys Stark Targaryen took place  
at Highgarden, in the fifth moon of the year 345 After Conquest. Four decades before it seemed that House Targaryen was extinct.  
Now, in the gardens of once Tyrell castle, four Targaryen dynasties gathered. Of Bay of Dragons, of Winterfell, of Dragonstone  
and the newborn, House Targaryen of the Reach and Rock. Lyannerys, to honor her grandparents, ordered a song for the coronation,  
bringing musicians from Free Cities and Westeros. Song was given title, _Stay A Thousand Years_.  
As Jon and Daenerys Targaryen entered the great hall of Highgarden where their son and grandaughter were to be crowned,  
a choir of hundred singers began to sing a tune that started with sadness, but ended with voices sounding triumphantly:

Umbagon Iā Pyrys Jēdri ( _Stay a thousand years_ )  
Ērinagon Īlva Qūvy ( _Conquer our fears_ )  
Ērinagon Īlva Zūgagon ( _Conquer our tears_ )  
Umbagon Iā Pyrys Jēdri ( _Stay a thousand years_ )  
Ānogar Hen Zaldrīzoti ( _Blood of dragons_ )  
Ānogar Hen Dāryssy ( _Blood of kings_ )  
Umbagon Iā Pyrys Jēdri ( _Stay a thousand years_ )

"Come, Eddard, let us see what grandmama made for supper." Jon said to his great-grandchild.  
He was a man of eight and sixty years in a body of a man in early forties. Sometimes he hated it.  
His daughters, Rhaella and Lyanna were in mid-forties, both grandmothers already.  
His sister Arya was sixty-one and he hoped that she will live to be a hundred, she was his last remaining Stark kin.  
Word came from White Harbor, four years ago, of death of a silent sister who once was Sansa Stark, Queen in the North.  
She was sixty years and five moons old when she died. Jon cried, not for that woman, but for a girl he once knew.  
He received word of death of Samwell Tarly, only six moons ago. Sam was seven and sixty when he died.  
His generation was leaving this world and new kings and queens and lords were now sitting in their thrones.  
Men and women to whom all the things he lived to see were only words on the pages of thick leather books.  
He did not know what to think of it, most of the time he did not even thought of it. In truth, follies of these new rulers,  
amused him, even those of his grandchildren. They will learn from their mistakes, same as he did...

"Supper is not yet ready." A woman's voice ended his musing. "You may go back to your apples."  
Silver-haired woman of violet eyes came from the house, through the red door and stood before them.  
She wore simple braid and plain clothes, same as any smallfolk woman on Dragonstone.  
"But, grandmama Dany... I am hungry..." boy protested. "Well, I guess we'll find something for you.  
Not too much though, I need that belly of yours empty or you will not finish your supper, as usual."  
"And grandpapa?" "He will go back in the orchard and fill a basket or two more. Tomorrow is market day.  
If you behave as true prince should, I'll take you to see the jesters. If not, you'll go to stay with aunt Rhaella."  
"I don't want to! It's so boring in the castle. Uncle Rhaegar is never there, he's on the ship all the time.  
And cousin Valaena makes me to play harp and sing. I hate it. I'll be good, just don't make me go there."  
"Good. I'll hold you to your word. A prince must always keep his word, little Eddard. Come now, we go inside.  
Jon, you go back to that orchard, I will call you when I finish making supper." She turned her back to her husband,  
leading their great-grandson in the house. Jon stood there for a heartbeat, then he said with irked voice:  
"Am I your prisoner?"

Those words coming from him, same question as he asked her on this same island, seven and forty years ago,  
made Daenerys halt her pace. She turned slowly and looked at him with same gaze as she did then:  
"You are, Jon Targaryen. Now and always."

**THE END**

A WANING OF SUMMER 

Story of Jon and Daenerys Targaryen

(MAY 2019 - APRIL 2020)


	105. HEIRESS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one chapter appendix to _A Waning of Summer_. I wanted to mark one year since the first chapter was published.  
Well, 13 months now.  
Chapter is about new generation of Targaryens, great-grandchildren of Jon and Daenerys. 
> 
> Off topic - recent casting news on the GOT spin-off (or is it a prequel) House of the Dragon is... a bit confusing.  
I would like to know your opinion on HOTD in your comments.  


**HEIRESS**

_Kingdom of Dragonstone, Westeros, year 360 After Conquest_

"I've heard of you ordering men hanged, over two score of them... their homes burned and families banished. Why?" young man said while his fingers played with silver tresses covering most of girl's bare back. Her skin was soft under his hands till he spoke those words, but now she tensed.

"It was necessary." came the dry response. "Some say it was cruel." he said.

"I do not care what some say." girl said and then she rose from the bed they shared mere moments ago. They were in a stone cottage, somewhere in the forest better known as kingswood, twenty miles away from southern bank of the Blackwater Rush. It was their hiding place, place where they could share their love, love that was kindled many years ago, when both were still children. This couple has already learned that love is never easy for the people of their kind. 

Girl walked to the window, naked as on her nameday and leaned on the wall, looking outside: "It is better when others see you as cruel than as weak. I was tasked to remove the outlaws from these parts, outlaws which had the audacity to name themselves New Kingswood Brotherhood. And I did my task." 

He said nothing, but stared at her, his eyes glowing. "What?" she asked.

"You. You look as goddess." Girl shrugged: "Muña says I look as she did when of my age. She says that not only I have her face, but her body as well."

Young man smiled: "Then it must be so."

"Of course, you can always describe me in detail to great-grandpapa to learn if he agrees with her."

His eyes widened, enough to make her laugh: "I am jesting, my love... and you never liked my jests." 

"Jests? Your jests made me miserable when I was a boy, whenever I came to visit your family you'd plead... _mama, please give him the harp, he has such a lovely voice_..." he said with narrowed eyes.

"You do have a lovely voice... though of late I prefer your lovely cock." she winked at him.

"Spoken as true highborn lady..." young man sneered.

"Spoken as a woman that enjoys the sight of her naked lover." came the reply, then she sighed:

"It irks me, it irks me more than you know that we have to hide as this, as we are common thieves. I am the future Queen of Dragonstone and you, you are the future King of the Reach and the Rock. And look at us..." then her eyes met his: "You know what I mean... I don't mind us meeting here... this cottage with you in it means more to me now than throne room of Dragonstone." 

"Well... many say it is the dreariest royal castle of Westeros..." he chuckled as she walked back to bed. 

"That is said by those which never saw Winterfell..." girl said lying on top of him. 

"I trust our kin in the North would be offended by those words." 

"Kin? Some kin they have become... Tell me, prince Eddard, when was the last time your mother's brothers or nephews have taken bride from any Targaryen branch?" 

"I have to say there never was such time..." 

"You've said the truth. Blood of the dragon is thinning in the North. Your uncle Alaric took a Reed bride and his oldest son is to marry a Tallhart, while your other uncle, Dorren, though expected to marry my aunt Elaena has chosen a Manderly woman. Cousin from his father's side."

"Elaena refused his proposal, you seem to forget."

Silver-haired girl grinned: "Indeed she did, much to his relief, same as hers. Yet, last I've heard is that grandmama Rhaella intends to join cousin Baela with Rickon." 

"Your aunt Elaena's daughter with my uncle Alaric's younger son? I don't envy poor Baela or poor Rickon."

"Winterfell is no place for anyone with Velaryon blood." girl agreed.

"Yes, sea is the domain of your grandfather's family."

She nodded: "Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, Dragon of the Seas. He loves the waves so much that he removed himself from the line of succession in my favor. He was always more Velaryon than a dragon... I know he would wither away on Dragonstone, the throne would be his dark cell. Instead he took his ships where only old Sea Snake has gone, to Nefer and further, to the shores of Mussovy. I am so proud to be his daughter. Though his seafaring made my mother miserable." 

"Your mother is the reason why Citadel now envies the Red Keep Library." he reminded her.

"Yes, my father was fortunate in that regard. My mother's aunt is Queen Vhaessa of Bay of Dragons. You know stories of her..."

"Of her feasts which end in all present being naked and crawling over each other? Foolish stories... I've been to Meereen many times and never saw anything remotely as that."

Young girl chuckled: "Because you weren't invited. My great-aunt Vhaessa offered me to partake in such feast when I had my six and tenth nameday."

"You're jesting again."

She shook her head: "I do not. I stayed at that feast to eat and drink and when time came to remove the clothes I did so and walked out, bare as you see me now, leaving Vhaessa rather displeased. Some of her guests hoped to taste young Targaryen princess. But, Queen Vhaessa learned then how I, same as my mother, do not share her lustful ways. My mother fought the moons of my father's absence with making sure that Red Keep Library grows beyond even grandmama Rhaella's hopes. And same as them, I like to acquire knowledge. I like to read."

"You never liked ships, though." 

Girl shook her head: "I am not made for water. I am a Targaryen. I want to fly." 

He chuckled: "Only in your dreams. You, same as me, do not have a dragon." 

"My dragon, same as yours, awaits me." Girl's voice was stern now and violet eyes marked with seriousness. 

"And which dragon is to be mine, pray tell..." dark-haired young man said, caressing her thighs. 

"Greywind. Your grandmother's dragon, Eddard. He is yours. You know that, better than I do."

"My uncles will be thrilled to hear that..."

"Your uncles have much less dragon blood than you do and their heirs even less. Dragon is not a slave, you do not inherit dragon as you do crown." 

"One cannot bond with a dragon while his rider still lives. Grandmother Lyanna..."

"...is now five and fifty years old. I love great-aunt Lya, I look up to her in many ways, but she will not live forever, same as grandmama Rhaella will not." girl said that with sadness in her voice "... we must be ready for the years to come, Eddard. We must be strong as they were when of our age." 

"Strong? Is that why we're hiding in the remote corner of kingswood?" 

"Your father is King Daeron, the Young Dragon. Your mother is Queen Lyannerys, once princess of Winterfell. You have their willfulness and their fire, but my grandmama is Rhaella Targaryen, wisest of all her brothers and sisters. And I have learned from her as much as I could. Time is not right yet for us to declare our love openly. I am certain you know why..."

Eddard nodded: "Marriage between us would bring Dragonstone, Crownlands, the Reach and the Westerlands under one rule and with that allegiance of the Vale and of Riverlands." 

"And all that lands under one crown would look to those in the North, in Dorne, on the Iron Islands as what?" she asked.

"Of Realm being restored... yes, Pyke, Sunspear, even Winterfell, no matter our ties of blood, would become wary of us."

"I trust only Storm's End would not have issue with that, great-aunt Daenysanne is their queen.... and we know how your father and Robb Baratheon are as brothers, your sister Gael is married to Robb's son Ronnal."

"I don't care what Dornish and Ironborn or even Northerners would think of our marriage bringing kingdoms together..." Young Targaryen man paused and looked at his lover, silver-haired beauty was straddling him now. Then he spoke again: "Jon and Daenerys Targaryen fought to free Westeros of the Realm... and we are about to restore it, even if reduced. Is that what you want and not telling me?" 

"You want to be a just ruler same as I do. We can do that only from a position of strength." she said leaning down to kiss him.

"Using Muña's words is not answering..." were Eddard's words before he kissed her back.

"Well... it appears someone has read Archmaester Ebrose's _A Song of Ice and Fire _at last." Princess of Dragonstone grinned.

"I have. Foul book. I still cannot fathom why you have spent so many hours studying those pages... how many times have you read it?"

"Enough to know it by heart. That book and chronicle of Usurper's War. Go on, ask me as you always do..."

"Why, Valaena? Why those books?" She rose from the bed again: "I wanted to know. I wanted to learn. Learn of the downfall of our House, of how we strayed, of how we... how she was betrayed. Daenerys Stormborn was betrayed. By many. And murdered. That will not... that cannot happen again. To any of us."

"How can that happen ever again? Our family rules on four corners of Westeros and from Volantis to Qarth." Eddard countered.

She shook her head: "Valyrian Freehold believed they will last forever. Same as the old dynasty... where are they now? Doom consumed the former...and the latter was reduced to one man and one woman that had to pass through seven hells in this world before renewing our family..."  
Then she paused: "Eddard, have I ever told you why I was named Valaena?"

"No, you haven't. In all these years we know each other... My grandmother Lyanna told me once that she expected you to be named Rhaenys." 

"Yes. Grandmama Rhaella wanted me to have that name. To have once again mother Rhaella, son Rhaegar and granddaughter Rhaenys in our family, but Muña said no. She said how her mother, her brother and her niece with those names all died tragically and that it is only proper for me to bear the name of Conqueror's mother."

"Valaena Targaryen..." he smiled looking at her "...your name is as music to me, my love." 

"Gods... please don't tell me that those flowery ladies of the Reach spread their legs to such sweet words." came another grin from her.

He shook his head: "There is no danger of you ever being a flowery lady, not with such talk." 

"I will never be a lady, I shall be a queen. And I shall be a dragon rider." 

"We only have to find you a dragon to ride. Beside me, that is." he japed.

"I do not know what dragon I will ride. It does not matter, I will be a dragon rider...I know of it." she replied with seriousness.

Eddard grinned: "What a humble woman you are..." 

She looked at him, her violet eyes were burning: "Targaryens were never good at being humble." 

The heir of Kingdom of the Reach and the Rock stood up as well and his arms were now around her: "True... that was never our forte." 

"And you... you also crave to ride a dragon. Do not deny it. You have a Stark face, but your father's temper. Greywind is the oldest male dragon after Drogon, only you of all those descending from Queen Lyanna Stark Targaryen are worthy to ride him. Kill the boy, Eddard, and let the man to be born." 

"Another quote from Ebrose's book, I assume." 

"No, you fool..." she frowned "...words of maester Aemon Targaryen. To great-grandpapa."

"I must have forgotten who said those words and to whom... So, you want me to do what? Should I go to Dragonstone, to the cliffs where dragons dwell and present myself to Greywind." 

"You have done that already, Eddard, first time when you were two years old, when great-aunt took you flying. She told my grandmother you were laughing all the time."

"How do you know this?" he wondered. 

"I know this and many other things about you. I know that last moon one lady of green-apple Fossoways sneaked into your room and awaited you naked in your bed and you threw her out, all the guards and servants to see her shame. It was not a very noble thing to do, but I liked hearing about it. I will not suffer you fucking other women."

"You do know many foul words, Valaena. And utter them with ease." 

"My forefathers were sailors..." she shrugged "...come now, we must dress. In two days I must be in King's Landing, in my grandmama's stead."

"And I must be there as my father's envoy." he smiled, half-absently.

"Do not ponder of us doing anything more than kiss on the cheek while there, Eddard." 

"Sooner or later, we will have to face our parents and grandparents and great-grandparents and tell them the truth."

"Truth once destroyed Jon and Daenerys for it was said in a wrong way and in a wrong hour. Should we tell them of our love now, are you certain that they would not make us choose between our love and our heirloom? Mayhaps in their minds Eddard and Valaena can become man and wife only after one of us abandons the right on the throne, be it of Highgarden or of Dragonstone so that kingdoms would not join." 

"They would never ask that of us... such price..." he countered.

"Of course they would if that were the only way to avoid rest of Westeros breeding both fear and enmity towards this new Targaryen realm ruled by us." 

"Mayhaps we shall both end removed from the line of succession, my love. With nothing to inherit..." Eddard said with a slight grin.

"Should that come to pass, I will ask of my father a ship or two and we'll go to Free Lands, we will live out our days as traders between Hardhome and Essos." 

"Hardhome? You do not know what winter is, woman..." "And you do? Just because you look as a Stark does not mean you are Northerner with ice in your veins." she said laughing.

"I will not give up my claim to Highgarden throne, Valaena." young man said, his voice marked with determination.

"Of course you will not. Nor will I renounce mine. We must take our thrones. And be king and queen." 

The Known World was at peace in the year 360 since one man and his two sisterwives have taken rule over an entire continent.

Dragon Peace, some called it and that name was not unearned.

Westeros, once known as Seven Kingdoms now counted five of them. Five that truly earned that name.

Kingdom in the North was ruled by House Stark-Targaryen. King Alaric sat on the direwolf throne ever since his mother Lyanna abdicated in his favor. Dorren, his younger brother was lord of Karhold and all the lands belonging to that castle. Their sister Lyannerys married her mother's younger brother Daeron who became king in his own right. What chronicles of Westeros noted was how sons of Lyanna Stark Targaryen have not taken their cousins from the south as brides and how their sons could follow the same suit. Alaric was wed with Jyana Reed, daughter of Lady of Greywater Watch Jojena. Dorren married his third cousin by his father's side, a lady of House Manderly, mayhaps wishing to appease his kinfolk in the White Harbor which resented the end of marriage between his mother Lyanna and his father Hallis who lead House Hornwood and House Manderly. Choosing Northern brides instead of women of dragon blood was not taken well by other Targaryen families. 

Kingdom of Dragonstone had rulers from Targaryen branch which settled on their ancestral island and renewed family bonds with their Valyrian brethren, House Velaryon. Queen Rhaella Targaryen made certain her two daughters wed Velaryon and Celtigar men and her son Rhaegar was married to Nelaesys of Elyria, also of Valyrian stock. Prince Rhaegar had one child, princess Valaena. 

Kingdom of the Reach and the Rock had a dragon king as well. Daeron Targaryen, called the Young Dragon, carved his land with the sword when he crushed the Hightowers of Oldtown and joined Reach with lands of once mighty lions of Casterly Rock. As his queen he took Princess Lyannerys of Winterfell. With her he sired two children, boy named Eddard and girl named Gael.

Stormlands were ruled by kings of House Baratheon whose alliance with Targaryens and Starks was both of blood and marriage. Gendry Baratheon married Arya of House Stark, ruled with her for twenty years and then placed the crown on his son Orys' head. His queen was Daenysanne Targaryen who birthed Jon and Shaera. King Gendry had a younger son named Robb, one he sired with Queen Arya. Prince Robb in his youth warred against Hightowers of Oldtown with Young Dragon and later strengthened that brotherly bond with marriage of his son Ronnel and Daeron's daughter Gael. 

Princedom of Dorne was independent for over forty years and isolated themselves which was not uncommon for the land south of the Red Mountains. One Martell bastard took the crown after his victorious return from the war against lords of Oldtown in which he fought on the side of young dragon prince. Nymor Sand, son of Arianne Martell and Edric Dayne, gain support of the great houses of Dorne to take the name of both of his parents and that marked the dawn of new royal family of Dorne, the Dayne Martell. Sun and spear were joined with sword and star. Prince Nymor same as his sons Vorian and Oberyn was steadfast in keeping the dragon blood out of Dornish lands not wanting marriage pacts with any Targaryen king or queen.

It was common saying of that time how Dorne is kingdom in all but name being styled as Princedom while Kingdom of Mountain and Vale is kingdom in name only. House Arryn, led by King Osric, had treaty of alliance with Kingdom of Dragonstone in perpetuity and his reign and reign of his heirs was wholly dependent of support from that Targaryen branch.

Lords of Riverlands, House Tully of Riverrun, have not even styled themselves as royal family, they have declared for Targaryens of Highgarden, keeping their lordship over Riverlands which six and ten years ago was saved from preying Hightowers by Prince Daeron Targaryen, now King of the Reach and the Rock.

Ironborn tried to keep the old ways, yet their reavers dared not to raid shores of Westeros, but made long journeys eastwards to Jade Sea raiding the isles there and the lands of Yi Ti. Ways of Iron Islands were changing slowly, yet some lesser houses turned to fishing as they weren't rich enough to build ships so large to take them raiding on the other side of the world.

Free Lands, made of what was once known as New Gift, Brandon's Gift and the land north of the Wall, enjoyed their freedom that lasted for two score years. Villages and farms, once mark of the Gift, were now spreading in the true north as well, being home of nearly two hundred thousand people. Free Folk renewed their numbers, but few waves of settlers from the south washed over Free Lands as well, last being one of Reachmen who did not want to live under Targaryen king when Oldtown dipped its banners before Young Dragon. In Hardhome, which was more city than town now, few thousand of Essos dwell among other Freelanders, most of them from Braavos, but one could even find men of Ibben among them. Free Lands had no permanent rule, most important issues were resolved on the council where leaders of the people would assemble. 

In the east, known as _the root from which many branches have grown_, House Targaryen of Bay of Dragons, founded by Jon and Daenerys, held firm sway over Meereen, Yunkai, Astapor, Tolos and Elyria. Though its Old Blood was broken by Prince Daeron, Volantis remained a Free City, same as other eight daughters of Freehold. Treaty was signed between all nine Free Cities and Bay of Dragons. Qarth, Lhazar and New Ghis have signed such treaties as well ensuring good relations and trade for many decades. Cregan Targaryen had a long and peaceful kingship challenged only by some rebelled Dothraki khal, one such was born in every generation. Prince Aemon, Cregan's heir and sword hand, relished in every chance to crush such rebellions with his Freeflames. And if foes would not yield before famed host of Dragon Cities, they would before Vermax, Cregan's mount.

Chronicles recorded long era of peace in the Known World. Though it would be more proper to call it the absence of great wars. Men still waged lesser wars in remote corners of Essos, hiring sellswords and sellsails, Ironborn and pirates still roamed the seas, slave trade, though only a weak shadow of the past centuries, still took part in hidden coves and dark alleys. In lands once known as Seven Kingdoms lesser houses crossed swords here and there, such skirmishes were tolerated by dragon, wolf and stag kings but only when brief.

In such world, Princess Valaena of House Targaryen celebrated her eight and tenth nameday. She was heir to the throne of Dragonstone since her father Rhaegar followed the call of his Velaryon ancestors and decided how he prefers high seas and storms over court and throne. Valaena was a girl of Valyrian features, of silver-hair and violet eyes and as she grew likeness with her great-grandmother was more and more visible. Princess also inherited Daenerys' temper and outbursts were not foreign to her, but also she shared the craving for knowledge with her grandmother Rhaella. Valaena was barely ten years old when she stumbled upon thick books telling of Targaryen history, from Aegon the Conqueror to Daeron of Highgarden. In one moon she has read hundreds of pages and then started over. Rhaella noticed Valaena's interest in Robert's rebellion and the years that followed, bringing the raven king to power. And the days of his downfall. 

"Why aren't we in King's Landing?" she asked her grandmother few days before her eleventh nameday.

"This is our home, our castle, my sweet..." "It is, grandmama, but our true castle is the Red Keep." 

"Not anymore, now it is a place where all can come and read from books, as you do here." Rhaella explained.

"But... it is still in our kingdom..." "Valaena, Red Keep was royal castle of Seven Kingdoms. We are one kingdom." 

"What happened to Seven Kingdoms?" "It fell apart." queen said to her.

"And no one tried to fix it?" "No..." Rhaella smiled "...in truh it was broken from the very first day. Westeros is happier without it." 

Valaena nearly forgot this talk she had with Queen Rhaella almost eight years ago. Yet, as her love for Prince Eddard of Highgarden grew, more and more she recalled those words. Eddard was her second cousin, his and her grandmother were sisters. But also, his father was an uncle of her father so Eddard was her first cousin once removed as well. She, same as all other Targaryens, was used of this entangled family relations. Eddard and her were close, he was oft sent to Dragonstone as a little boy, to spend time with Jon and Daenerys, their great-grandparents. As years have passed, liking they had for each other as children matured into love between young woman and young man, love without restraints. Eddard and Valaena intended to marry and then, when she saw the land they will have sway over, words of Queen Rhaella returned to her.

_Westeros is happier without it. So it may be but happiness of Westeros means very little to me if I must be miserable to ensure it, _princess of Dragonstone said to herself.

She loved that small cove, ever since she could remember. It was a place where she was only a little girl, not a princess which had to abide the strict rules of her royal grandmother. It was a place where her great-grandfather and great-grandmother lived. Jon and Daenerys Targaryen. It took few more namedays for her to understand who truly lives in that small house made of stone with red doors. She was great-granddaughter of White Wolf, the King in the North, one who could have been Aegon the Sixth. She was great-granddaughter of one many called the Dragon Queen, Breaker of Chains, Khaleesi, Stormborn. 

To her they were grandpapa Jon and Muña. Queen Rhaella called Daenerys with Valyrian word for mother and Valaena did so as well, much to her great-grandmother's approval.

Her horse trotted slowly down the wide, but steep path leading into the cove. Sky was half covered with clouds, mist covered the Cracklaw Point in the north, across the sea same as the coast of Crownlands lying westwards. Her escort, counting fourteen men to honor the Fourteen Flames of Old Valyria, did not follow her closely, but remained at the end of the path. Valaena was about to turn her horse towards the house, but then smile came to her face and she went into the orchard. Today she was clad in black breeches, shirt and sleeveless gambeson, all with borders of red and blue, colors of Kingdom of Dragonstone.

"Valaena! Valaena! Valaena!" child's voice rang with joy and excitement as girl of four namedays came running, her unruly dark hair flying around her head. 

She quickly dismounted and rushed to the little girl which slammed into her, giggling.  
Valaena lifted her in the air: "Arya! Well, look at you! You're twice as grown since last time I saw you, sweet cousin." Girl wrapped hands around her neck: "Am I truly?" "You are. Few moons more and you can come to the court of Dragonstone, to be lady in waiting." Little Arya laughed aloud, not wanting for Valaena to put her back on the ground. She was a beautiful child, of raven tresses and violet eyes, ever joyful. 

Princess Arya of House Baratheon was daughter of Ronnel, son of Robb and grandson of first royal couple of Stormlands, Gendry and Arya. Arya Stark of Winterfell. Another name larger than life itself. Girl's mother was Gael Targaryen, second child of Daeron and Lyannerys. Gael was younger sister of Eddard. 

_Will my children with Eddard be as beautiful and lively as little Arya is_... came to her mind as they walked into the orchard, girl holding her hand tight. 

"Look, grandpapa Jon, look!" Arya exclaimed. 

There he was, her great-grandfather. Jon of House Targaryen. Holding a frame saw, he was about to bring down a rotting apple tree. It never ceased to amaze her how a man who will soon count eighty namedays looks and acts as he was twenty or more years younger. Though his dark hair was more grey now which made Muña to jape that he has truly found his Targaryen side at last. Yet he looked the same as he did when Valaena was a little child, like Arya was now.

Soon, calloused hands were cupping her face which made her eyes watery: "Valaena, my sweet child." Hands and voice that were her shelter and her comfort.

"Grandpapa..." she kissed both his cheeks and embraced him tightly. 

His grey eyes looked at her with warmth: "More beautiful than ever... yet, there is iron underneath that beauty, as it seems."

"You've heard about the outlaws, grandpapa?" she asked, her voice slightly trembled.

"I have." "You do not approve?"

"Thieves, rapers and cutthroats hanging along the kingsroad... in the old days some could escape the rope by taking the black. But, those times are long gone. Such criminals now hang or lose their head. Does this answer your question?"

Valaena nodded contently: "It does." "Good..." Jon said "...we shall say no more of it or this little girl here will have bad dreams."

"I will not..." little Arya rebelled "... grandmama Arya says how bad men deserve to hang." 

Jon smiled: "No surprise there... and you seem to be taking after her, child."

"I am, I am..." girl chirped joyfully "...when will I take a tree down?" 

"You will help me take one down tomorrow, now you can pick those small branches..." he told her and Arya obeyed.

"My first great-great-granddaughter. Though Daenerys insist on Arya being a great-granddaughter since Gael is our granddaughter by Daeron."

"And great-granddaughter by Lyannerys... so you're both right." Valaena added. 

"It seems I will have to wait some more for one that will be great-great-granddaughter without being anything else." he looked at her.

"Grandpapa... I... I..." she began to talk but he placed his arm around her: "Hush, child, you will give me heirs when you decide it is time."

Valaena embraced him again: "You always say the right words, grandpapa." 

"Still, I'd never expect that Gael will have a child before you or Eddard..." 

_Oh, grandpapa, it is better that you do not know what I do... _came to Valaena's mind... there was a saying on the court of Highgarden that princess Gael Targaryen must have got the chambers of one Tyrell of old, one they called Knight of Flowers and with it she caught his lust for men. Gael lost her maidenhood at four and ten and she loved giving herself to men so much that at age of five and ten she already had half a dozen lovers. Some even said that her name should have been Saera as she acted a lot as daughter of Jaehaerys the Wise, one that ended as owner of pleasure house in Volantis, but before served in pleasure house in Lys. Yet, Daeron and Lyannerys Targaryen made certain their daughter would end with bedding of nearly every handsome man she met, so her marriage at age of six and ten with the prince of Stormlands was arranged. Storm's End was no Highgarden and motherhood soon quenched lustful spirit of Valaena's second cousin. 

She only shrugged at Jon's words: "Cousin Gael was busy one way, Eddard and I are busy the other way..." 

_That is not entirely true_... she almost chuckled.

"You must find a proper man for yourself, Valaena. You are a queen to be. And I trust you will be as good in ruling as my daughter is. You have her wisdom." 

"And Muña's temper... grandmama Rhaella oft tells me." 

Her great-grandfather laughed: "I wonder if that will work in your favor, child." 

"What certainly shall not work in her favor is to come at my doorstep and fail to greet me as it is proper." A stern voice made both Jon and Valaena to turn around.

Daenerys Stormborn stood merely few paces from them, no one, not even little Arya busy collecting branches saw her coming. She wore plain clothes of black and red coating, but even so it seemed regal to Valaena. As ever dragon pendant was around Muña's neck. Silver hair was shorter now but braided. Her face was still marked with great beauty, defying the decades which have passed. Violet eyes were as glued to young princess.

"Ñuha Dāria..." Valaena made a formal bow.

"Dārilaros Valaena..." Daenerys nodded "...this is an unexpected visit." 

Jon frowned: "Surely our great-granddaughter does not need to announce herself." 

"No... she does not..." Daenerys replied dryly "...though many moons have passed since the last time she came to see us." 

"Yes... forgive me... " Valaena began to talk. 

"Have you wronged us in any way so Jon and I have to forgive you?" Muña's voice was still formal. That made Valaena to lift her gaze and her eyes met those of her great-grandmother, violet eyes gazed at violet eyes, young dragon staring at the old: "No. I have not wronged you. Nor will I ever."

"Good. For I intend to ride with you today, Princess." 

"May I know where we are going, my queen?" Valaena asked equally formal.

"Not yet. Take Arya to the house, there are sausages and bacon for both of you while I speak to your great-grandfather." 

Jon looked how Valaena and little Arya walk away from the orchard and then said to Daenerys:

"What was that? Once you greeted our enemies with same _cordiality... _you're always strict with that poor girl. Who has grown into a beautiful and strong woman."

"I am strict with her for her own good. Same as you are strict with Eddard. A boy who has grown into a handsome and strong man." 

"Eddard reminds me of myself. And Valaena reminds me of you." Jon said. 

"That is the reason why you act with him as I do with her. We're not some old grandmama and grandpapa living in the past. We shall teach these children a thing or two about being leaders of men." 

"They have their parents and grandparents to teach them that, Dany." "They cannot teach that what they do not know, Jon." 

"I forgot to congratulate you on the job well done in kingswood." once Queen of Bay of Dragons said.

"Thank you. I did what was expected of me." Valaena replied equally dry.

Two women rode along the coastline of Dragonstone, there on the other side of the island stood ancestral castle of House Targaryen, place where both of them were born.

"And more. Queen Rhaella never expected you to be so ruthless." were next Daenerys' words.

"And you?" Valaena blurted which made her great-grandmother to turn her gaze at her: "No. I know that you have that ruthless streak of our kin."

"If you disapprove of me, Muña, then tell me so. But, you were of same age when you nailed dozens of slavers in Meereen on mileposts." 

Violet eyes of older Targaryen woman narrowed: "Well, I see this talk will be without holding back. Good. I do not disapprove of you, Valaena. That streak will be useful to you, when used wisely. And you will face great challenges sooner than you think."

As she saw young princess frowning, Daenerys continued: "Your grandmother, Queen Rhaella, will abdicate next year, Valaena, on her six and fiftieth nameday. She has ruled for forty years and now she wants to rest with your grandfather Alyn. Lyanna endured on the direwolf throne half as long as Rhaella did on Dragonstone. At last, my first twins will live a peaceful life as I do."

"Grandmama will abdicate ten moons from now? She hasn't said a word of it to me." 

"She will inform you of it soon. Before the whole court. Rhaella prefers formality in such matters."

Valaena remained silent for a while. "I gather it is a lot to take in, but this is what you've been expecting, right?" Muña asked.

"I wasn't... I wasn't expecting grandmama Rhaella to leave the throne for many years to come."

"And yet she will leave it very soon. Which brings us to you, Princess Valaena. What do you bring as future Queen of Dragonstone?"

Girl halted her horse: "Why do you treat me so today, Muña? I ask again and for the last time... have I wronged you in any way?" 

Daenerys pulled the reins of her mount as well: "I love all my great-grandchildren the same. Yet, being the child of Dragonstone you were always closest to me. And I fear for your future." 

"You need not to fear for me, great-grandmama." 

"But I do. A young, unwed, childless princess that will soon take the throne of Dragonstone. You must work hard to change that state. And soon. I trust you can find yourself a suitable king consort. As my daughters Rhaella and Lyanna did when younger than you."

Valaena blurted: "Am I going to be the queen or a broodmare?" 

"You're the only child my grandson Rhaegar had. That is why you were protected more than any of your cousins.  
You're the future of Dragonstone and you must also ensure that future." 

"I have more than enough time for that. And I shall have my king when I will it, not by the will of others." Valaena replied angrily.

Daenerys raised an eyebrow: "Have I stirred a dragon inside you? Good. You'll need that dragon oft in the future. Same as you will have to abandon your ways..."

"What ways are that?" girl hissed.

"Ways of meeting a man in kingswood and bedding him. It is unworthy of a princess and beyond despicable for a queen."

Valaena's eyes widened, but her heart was as stabbed: "You accuse me of whoring, Muña? Is that why you treat me so? Is that what your spies report to you of me?"

"No, child, if I were to accuse you of that, then I would be accusing myself. I have shared my bed with a man once. He could not have been more unsuitable for me, yet he loved me and I thought then that I love him as well. It was lust more than love and desire of a companion."

"Daario Naharis. He betrayed you in the end, same as many before him have betrayed you. I've read about him in _A Song of Ice and Fire_ and in _A Fire Rekindled_."

"Yes, he betrayed me. But, I have left him many years before that, before I met your great-grandfather. A queen cannot be slave to her own lust. You are old enough to know that. So, you shall never see that man again." Daenerys said.

"I cannot. I will not. I will never abandon him." Valaena replied defiantly.

A sigh came from older Targaryen woman: "Then you are a failed queen, even before they place crown on your brow.  
That saddens me greatly, Valaena, to see you unable to rein your impulses. Have you inherited..." 

"Have I inherited what, Muña? A taint? Were you about to say that? So, in your eyes I am not only wanton but a madwoman in making as well." Valaena's voice was marked with anger, she tried to halt the tears but failed.

Next she turned her horse around, aiming away from her great-grandmother, she did not want Daenerys to see her cry.

"You disrespect me with turning your back to me, Princess Valaena." came the warning.

"And you disrespect me with your belief that I would give myself to any man. I have given myself to a man I truly believe I was born for." young girl turned to face her.

Daenerys saw face of her great-granddaughter soaked in tears and her gaze softened: "What man could possibly have such a sway over you?"

Valaena straightened in the saddle: "That man is Eddard Targaryen, heir of Highgarden."

Mother of Dragons was taken aback with what she has just heard, it was plain on her face, it was as great revelation came to her. 

"May I have my leave now, great-grandmother?" Princess said holding tears.

"You most certainly may not..." Daenerys said, dismounted her horse and walked to the young girl who also left her saddle, though reluctantly.

They faced each other silently, then Daenerys placed her hand on Valaena's cheek: "My sweet child, blood of my blood."

Next she embraced her great-granddaughter and kissed her brow: "I wish I could remove all the trials you will face, Valaena, and the burden of the shield which I must pass onto you."

"I do not understand what you are saying, Muña..." Valaena said, tears still rolling down her cheeks. 

"Why haven't you told me of Eddard and you? There was a time when you had no secrets before me, when you used to tell me what you were afraid to tell your mother and Rhaella."

"I... we decided not to tell you or anyone else..."

Daenerys smiled: "So... it is _we_ already? And why have _we_ been hiding and lying to the rest of the family?"

Valaena sighed: "I want Eddard to be my husband. I shall be the Queen of Dragonstone, he shall be the King of the Reach and the Rock. Our lands..."

"... will extend from Lannisport to Driftmark, from the Twins to the Oldtown. A large kingdom, united by your marriage." Daenerys said wiping the tears off girl's face.

"That is how we foresee our future, yes." princess replied with whole certainty.

"I know very well that you have also foreseen all the issues and dangers coming with that future. " 

"I have, Eddard as well. For that we've been hiding. Though in vain as it seems..."

"Your beloved is skillful in hiding his true face. Those that guard over you thought him to be some petty lord from the Reach." 

A chuckle escaped Valaena and she saw for the first time that day how Daenerys looks at her approvingly, but with mark of sadness:

"Young fools, both of you. Though... I am happy to know that this...love you feel for Eddard has not blinded him or you of how your marriage could affect the future of our whole family." 

"We talk oft about it. And we have agreed not to lose each other or our crowns. We want your support and your blessing, Muña, but if you disapprove of Eddard and me that will not change anything. Of course, grandmama can give the crown to any of my cousins by aunt Daena or aunt Elaena."

"Your cousins all bear Velaryon or Celtigar name. Queen of Dragonstone must be a Targaryen.  
Fear not, Rhaella would never remove you from the line of succession."

Older Targaryen woman was silent for a heartbeat, then said: "Uniting all those lands under one crown is clear undoing of what I achieved forty years ago." 

Valaena sighed: "So what then? I must never see Eddard again? To keep other kings and rulers of Westeros content and safe that Realm will never return? That cannot be." 

Daenerys shook her head: "No. No one will ask that of you... not now... not anymore." Then Mother of Dragons let out a loud sigh: "Tomorrow has taken roots in today... Once I said to a man how I am not an ordinary woman, how my dreams come true. I hoped how this dream will not be so, how you will be spared..." 

"Spared of what, great-grandmama?" Valaena asked, looking at her with bewildered gaze.

"What do you know of the evil one, the Soul of Ice, the Lord of Darkness?" 

"You have vanquished that foul creature, you and great-grandpapa Jon... he is caged in the body of a long dead Stark. Caged for fifty years almost." girl answered.

"And what do chronicles of days long gone which I know you've read over and over again say of that cage of flesh and bones?" Daenerys asked.

"That it will never rot away. That it is kept somewhere in the Known World by priests of R'hllor."

Daenerys nodded and placed her hand on Valaena's cheek again: "You have educated yourself well. But, that flesh has begun to rot. Not long ago I have received a message from Kinvara. " 

Valaena's eyes widened: "She still lives? That red priestess from Volantis?"

Muña smiled: "I dare say Kinvara lived when Valyria was still land of sheepherders..."

"How can that body be rotting? All the books and scrolls I've read..."

"Sweet child, no scroll can truly describe the power of light and the power of darkness, the nature of life and of death... no maester or scribe can capture the icy hate and the flaming love..."

Girl gazed at her great-grandmother without a word, thoughts swarming in her head. "When I was of same age as you are now, Valaena, a young Northern lord came before me and he spoke of things I did not want to believe in. Then I saw the death he told me about and I knew that only war which matters is one between light and darkness, between life and death."

"That war is over, you have won, grandpapa Jon and you. You have defeated the evil one twice, he fell as the Night King and as the raven king." Valaena said. 

Daenerys smiled at the her: "Wars of men have beginning and the end, kingdoms may rise and fall, king and queen may unite their lands through marriage... but the war between dawn and night never ends. Lord of Darkness is caged, but not powerless. The world has forgotten about him. He senses his new chance. He senses the waning of the champions of light."

The eyes of silver-haired princess watered as she understood the last words: "No, Muña, no..."

Her great-grandmother placed her arm around Valaena: "Jon and I were given the blessing of long life and slow aging. Yet no dragon and no dragon rider has lived forever. I have only one purpose in life left. And that, Valaena Targaryen, is you."

"Me...?" girl's voice trembled.

"You. I've seen you in my dreams. On a dragonback. On Drogon's back. And at your side, a young man of dark hair was riding another dragon. When I had that dream for the first time, I thought I was dreaming of my youth. Of Jon and me. I was wrong. I was dreaming of the future. Of the two that will be the champions of fire. Champions of light. Forever bound by love burning bright in them." 

"Eddard.... and me?" "Jon and I were oft called to be Jaehaerys and Alysanne of our time. Two of you shall be Jon and Daenerys of your time, I know that now. A heavy burden will fall on your shoulders." Daenerys said solemnly. 

"How... how can we ever be as two of you? I could never replace you, Muña, even if I were to live a thousand years..." 

"You will not be my replacement, Valaena. You shall be my heiress." 

Violet eyes looked at violet eyes and young princess said firmly: "I shall. Whatever task you have for me, I shall see it done." 

"I know you shall. So will Eddard. Our young dragonwolf. Jon will teach him same as I will teach you. Together you shall withstand many blows. Your heart will bleed many times, my dear child, it is not only a blessing that I pass to you, but also a curse." 

"I am the dragon's daughter." Valaena replied looking at her great-grandmother's eyes.  
"Yes. That is who you are. Now and always." Daenerys said with smile.

Suddenly the sky above them darkened and strong gusts of wind came from above. Their horses neighed as fear overtook them. Valaena looked up and saw large dark wings lazily moving in the air, yet enough to raise the dust off the ground.

Smile came to her face and she said aloud: "Drogon!" Daenerys said dragon's name as well and then she looked at young princess: "Come, Valaena, there is someone you must meet." 

Not long after, a young girl was standing next to the oldest and largest living dragon, a Black Dread Reborn. She used to listen stories of sailors from Driftmark which told of dark dragon hunting leviathans in the waters near Lorath.

Her great-grandmother's mount filled hearts of men with fear and awe, same as her own heart now when she was only a few feet away from Drogon's jaws.

His teeth were as long as greatswords, he bared it as his eyes, two red smoldering pits, were as glued to both Daenerys and young woman standing next to her.

"Drogon..." Daenerys said softly as she placed both her hands on dragon's head, beneath left nostril. Valaena saw how Muña whispers something. It was not Common Tongue, but High Valyrian.

Young princess spoke it as mother tongue, she spoke Valyrian of Elyria as well, but purring which Drogon made as Daenerys kept talking to him was so loud Valaena could not understand a single word.

"Māzigon, riña, zūgagon daor." (_Come, child, fear not. _) Daenerys called her. Valaena approached cautiously, last time she found herself this near Drogon was when she was three and ten.

"Nyke zūgagon daor, Muña." girl denied having fear while she slowly paced toward dragon of black and red scales. Drogon moved his large head just as slow and mere inches were now between young princess and him.

Valaena hesitated for a brief moment and placed her hand on dragon's jaw.   
Then young Targaryen whispered words, with her great-grandmother nodding in approval:  
"Dārilaros Valaena hen Targārien Lentor iksan. Ñuha raqiros ao kessa sagon."  
( _I am __Princess Valaena of House Targaryen. You shall be my friend. _)


End file.
